Chapter 1 - THE GIRL WITH THE ROSESFor twenty years, Victoria Rosewood had believed there was only one ring like hers left in the world.
At 2:16 on a bright Thursday afternoon, a seven-year-old girl proved her wrong.
Victoria sat alone near the enormous windows of the Grand Ashford Hotel in Boston, turning the old gold ring around her finger while she waited for her driver.
Five delicate rose petals surrounded a dark red stone.
Inside the band was one word.
Rosewood.
Her grandmother had given it to her on her eighteenth birthday.
There had once been two.
One for Victoria.
One for her younger sister, Emily.
The second ring disappeared when Emily left the family more than two decades earlier.
Victoria hated thinking about that part.
So when a small girl carrying a basket of red roses approached her, she welcomed the distraction.
“Would you like a rose, ma’am?”
Victoria smiled.
The girl had brown hair in a ponytail, a dusty-blue cardigan and an expression far too serious for someone so young.
“How much?”
The child shook her head.
“You can have one.”
“That’s terrible business.”
“My mom says sometimes you give somebody a flower because they look sad.”
Victoria laughed.
“Do I look sad?”
“A little.”
The honesty surprised her.
“Then I suppose I need one.”
The child selected a rose.
Victoria reached toward it.
Sunlight struck the ring.
The red stone flashed.
The girl froze.
“Your ring looks just like my mom’s.”
Victoria stopped moving.
“What?”
The girl pointed.
“That one.”
Victoria instinctively rotated the band.
“Lots of rings have flowers.”
“No. Hers is exactly like yours.”
Victoria’s smile weakened.
“This belonged to my family.”
The girl frowned.
“So does Mom’s.”
A cold sensation moved through Victoria’s chest.
“What do you mean?”
The girl leaned closer, completely unaware that she was touching a twenty-year-old wound.
“Does yours say Rosewood inside too?”
Everything around Victoria disappeared.
The rolling suitcases.
Elevator bells.
Conversations.
Hotel music.
She stared at the child.
“How do you know that word?”
“My mom’s ring says it.”
Victoria closed her hand.
It had to be coincidence.
A copy.
A replica.
Something purchased at an estate sale.
Anything.
“Where is your mother?”
The child pointed toward the café.
“She delivers flowers here sometimes.”
“What’s her name?”
“Emma.”
Victoria’s heart jumped.
Emily.
Emma.
Too close.
Then the girl added:
“Emma Carter.”
Different surname.
Victoria forced herself to breathe.
“And you?”
“Lily.”
“Lily Carter?”
She nodded.
Victoria studied her.
The eyes.
The small nose.
The slight dimple near the left side of her mouth.
She had seen that dimple in an old photograph.
Emily at thirteen.
Standing on a beach beside Victoria.
Victoria whispered:
“Can I see your mother’s ring?”
Lily became cautious.
“Why?”
Victoria realized how frightened she must look.
“I’m sorry. My family had another ring like mine. I thought it disappeared.”
Lily considered this.
“Mom keeps hers in a blue box.”
Victoria shut her eyes.
Blue velvet.
Matching boxes.
Their grandmother had ordered them together.
Then a woman’s voice called:
“Lily?”
Victoria opened her eyes.
A woman in her mid-thirties hurried across the lobby.
Brown hair tied back.
Simple work dress beneath a tan coat.
Several empty flower boxes in her arms.
At first, Victoria saw a stranger.
Then the woman came closer.
The eyes.
The jaw.
The dimple.
Not Emily.
But close enough to make Victoria’s knees weak.
“Lily, I told you to stay near the café.”
“Sorry, Mom.”
The woman looked at Victoria.
“I’m sorry if she bothered you.”
Victoria could barely speak.
“Emma?”
The woman froze.
“How do you know my name?”
Victoria stared at her.
“Was your mother named Emily?”
Emma’s expression changed immediately.
Alarm.
“Who are you?”
Victoria lifted her hand.
The rose ring caught the light.
Emma stared.
Then recognition moved across her face.
Not joy.
Something closer to dread.
Victoria whispered:
“My name is Victoria Rosewood.”
Emma stepped backward.
“No.”
Lily looked between them.
“Mom?”
Emma grabbed her daughter’s hand.
“We’re leaving.”
“Please.”
Victoria moved forward.
Emma spun around.
“Don’t.”
Victoria stopped.
Emma’s eyes were wet.
“You don’t get to show up because a child noticed a ring.”
Victoria felt the words physically.
“You know who I am.”
“Of course I know.”
“Where is Emily?”
Emma’s anger flickered.
Then something worse replaced it.
“My mother died eleven years ago.”
Victoria gripped the chair.
“No.”
“Cancer.”
No one had told her.
For years, Victoria had imagined Emily somewhere else.
Alive.
Angry.
Choosing not to return.
“Why didn’t anyone tell me?”
Emma stared at her.
“You really don’t know.”
“What?”
Emma glanced at Lily.
“Not here.”
“Please.”
Emma hesitated.
Then said quietly:
“My mother spent fifteen years waiting for someone in your family to admit what they did.”
Victoria stared.
“My sister left.”
“No.”
Emma shook her head.
“Your sister was thrown out.”
“By who?”
“Your father.”
Victoria felt the floor move beneath her.
Then Emma delivered the sentence that changed everything.
“And your signature was on the papers that made sure she could never come back.”
Victoria stopped breathing.
“I never signed anything.”
Emma gave a bitter laugh.
“Then somebody used your name.”
Lily looked up.
“Mom, what’s happening?”
Emma softened instantly.
“Nothing you did.”
Victoria swallowed.
“What papers?”
Emma looked directly at her.
“The papers that took my mother’s inheritance.”
Victoria stared at the rose ring.
A minute earlier, she had thought the ring was the mystery.
May you like
Now she understood.
It was only the first piece of evidence.
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