He Called the Waitress His Wife at the Gala

CHAPTER 4 - THE SIGNATURE

They sat around a low table while Nina spread out copies of documents from her case file.

Lease termination.

Mail forwarding.

A withdrawal from the joint account.

All signed in Hugh's name.

Lucia stared at the pages until the letters blurred. "I saw one of these. The property manager showed me the signature."

Hugh leaned in. "That's not mine."

"It looks like yours," Lucia said.

"It isn't." Nina tapped the page. "Look at the date."

Lucia did. March 18.

Hugh had left on March 17.

Daniel said quietly, "He was in a hospital waiting room with me on the eighteenth. I can prove it."

Lucia's pulse pounded in her ears.

Nina slid another paper across the table. "The forwarding address was local. Not Maine. Whoever did this wanted Lucia removed before Hugh came back."

"Why?" Lucia asked.

No one answered at once.

Then Hugh did.

"My father wasn't the only one who hated our marriage."

The memory struck her instantly. Claire.

Hugh's older sister had come by the apartment two days after Hugh left. She had brought soup, asked too many questions, and looked at Lucia with that smooth, polite smile that never reached her eyes. At the time, Lucia had been too scared and too heartsick to notice much else.

Lucia whispered, "She had a spare key."

Nina nodded once. "And she works with a notary we are already investigating."

Hugh shut his eyes. "Claire told me she went to check on you and found the place empty. She said you must have gone back to your mother."

"My mother died three years ago," Lucia said.

He looked shattered. "I know."

The pain in his face finally told her what words had not. He had believed lies because he had been drowning too.

But pain did not erase consequence.

Lucia placed her palm over her belly. "I slept in a church shelter for eleven days before I got this job."

Hugh sat back as if she had struck him.

Nina stood. "Claire is downstairs. She came to meet me before the charity dinner."

Lucia rose too.

"No," Hugh said. "You shouldn't have to face her tonight."

Lucia lifted her chin. Her uniform was plain. Her shoes hurt. Her feet were swollen. But she had survived worse than one elegant liar in a ballroom.

"Yes," she said. "I should."

"I slept in a church shelter for eleven days before I got this job."

And downstairs, beyond the music and chandeliers, Claire Mercer was waiting.