Chapter 3 - The Flashing Lights
Those six words hung in the air like a death sentence.
"What did you just say?" I breathed, the phone still pressed against my ear.
Before Maya could answer, Julian—her husband and Adrian's older brother—grabbed her roughly by the elbow, yanking her back toward the corner. "Shut your mouth, Maya! You don't know what you're talking about. She's hysterical, Charles, she doesn't mean anything."
"Let go of her!" I shouted, pointing at Julian.
"Dispatcher," I spoke directly into the phone, my voice slicing through the chaos, "when the deputies arrive, they need to secure the basement immediately. There is evidence of a secondary crime on the premises."
Charles's face turned the color of ash. He lunged toward me, but the sudden glare of blue and red strobe lights washed across the high arched windows, casting spinning shadows over the vintage artwork and antique chandeliers. Tires crunched violently over the gravel driveway outside.
"You stupid, ungrateful bitch," Eleanor snarled under her breath, her polished socialite facade completely disintegrating. "You just destroyed this entire family."
"No, Eleanor," I said, dabbing at the blood dripping into my eyebrow. "You guys did that years ago. I'm just turning on the lights."
Heavy footsteps pounded up the stone steps of the front porch, followed by the authoritative thump of a heavy fist against the solid oak door.
"Sheriff’s Department! Open up!"
Adrian ran a frantic hand through his hair, looking at his father like a terrified child. "Dad... Dad, what do we do?"
"Keep your mouths shut. Both of you," Charles ordered quietly, straightening his silk tie with trembling hands. He walked toward the foyer, plastering on the practiced, charismatic smile that had charmed city councils and corporate boards for forty years. "Let me handle this."
He pulled the front door open wide. "Evening, deputies. There’s been a slight domestic misunderstanding, but everything is well under control—"
Two uniformed deputies didn't even wait for him to finish. They pushed past him into the dining room, their hands resting cautiously near their utility belts. Behind them, two paramedics carrying heavy trauma bags entered with brisk efficiency.
"Who called 911?" the lead deputy, a grizzled officer with a name tag reading Miller, demanded, his eyes scanning the chaotic scene.
"I did," I said, stepping out from behind the table.
Deputy Miller’s eyes locked onto the blood covering my face, my ruined designer blouse, and the cracked porcelain shards scattered across the floor. He immediately signaled his partner. "Get the paramedics on her right now."
"Officer, please," Eleanor piped up, stepping forward with her hands clasped delicately in front of her chest. "My daughter-in-law had an unfortunate fall. She bumped into the hutch, knocked over a decorative plate—"
"Ma'am, step back," the second deputy barked, pointing a stern finger at Eleanor. "Do not approach the victim."
A female paramedic gently guided me to a chair, shining a penlight into my dilated pupils while opening an antiseptic wash. "You've got a deep laceration near the hairline, hon. It's going to need stitches. Any dizziness? Nausea?"
"A little dizzy," I said, keeping my gaze locked onto Adrian, who was inching toward the hallway. "And he did it. Adrian Vance. He smashed the plate directly into my skull because I refused to sign over my real estate."
Deputy Miller turned sharply toward Adrian. "Sir, keep your hands where I can see them. Step away from that hallway."
"She's lying, officer," Adrian said smoothly, raising his hands in a mock gesture of innocence. "She threw a tantrum, started throwing dinnerware, and cut herself. Ask anyone in this room."
Every single relative in that room—aunts, uncles, cousins—nodded in silent, synchronized complicity.
"It's true," Julian chimed in. "Claire has a severe temper. She was screaming, throwing plates..."
Deputy Miller looked around the room, his jaw tightening as he recognized the orchestrated wall of silence. But then he looked down at the blood spatter on the table, which clearly showed a directional arc originating from Adrian's seat.
"Deputy," I said loudly, wincing as the medic pressed a sterile gauze pad to my wound. "Before you let anyone leave, you need to search the cellar beneath this house. Maya Vance just told me there is something hidden down there."
Julian instantly squeezed Maya's arm so hard her knuckles turned white, but Maya didn't look down. She looked right at Deputy Miller.
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"Check behind the wine racks in Cellar B," Maya said, her voice clear and ringing. "Check behind the false stone wall."
Charles Vance lunged toward Maya with a look of pure, unadulterated murder.
