It was with the following picture that my heart skipped a beat and jumped to my throat, forcing me upright.
Daisy looked a little older in that one. She was dressed in a dark blue ball gown. Her hair had been dyed pale pink, and her girlish smile was back on her face. Next to her was a dark-haired boy, much taller, dressed in a tuxedo, with a proud expressionon his face. I didn't need the caption to tell me it was Lester Fury; I had seen pictures of him, but even if I hadn't, his eyes would be enough to give away his identity. They were identical to the Senator's.
Next to him, Daisy looked stunning, her joy contagious even through the picture, and I felt a twinge of something unpleasant when I noticed the boy's arm around her waist.
I cleared my throat, scrolling down, and seeing the following pictures was like being punched in the gut.
They weren't just everyday snapshots, but hospital and police records.
A picture of Daisy, with the same hair and dress, but without the smile and with her face streaked with tears, taken by the police. Then another one, where she was no longer the chubby girl, but a young woman with a gaunt, almost anorexic face, covered in bruises. It had been taken by a psychiatric clinic upon admission.
I frowned and went back to the report.
Shortly after Lester Fury's death, Daisy was hospitalized for over two years in a psychiatric ward. The intervention was requested by Elizabeth Parker, her aunt. I opened another file. It was part of a subfolder labeled MEDICAL REPORTS and was described only as PSYCHIATRY. It was a lengthy report covering the period Daisy spent at the clinic.
I began to read.
She was diagnosed with anorexia and severe depression, but also with post-traumatic stress disorder, with marked dissociation and non-suicidal self-harm behavior.
I shifted uncomfortably in my chair. It was difficult for me to associate such a diagnosis with the cheerful waitress who served me a mug of hot chocolate full of colorful sprinkles and whipped cream days ago.
I finished what was left of the report. It contained information about her boss. Oliver Fitzgerald, leader of a biker gang, with a past that was anything but boring. Robberies, violence, an involuntary homicide... Who would have thought that such a figure would end up opening a diner in a rural town?
Apparently, Daisy had been working for him for six years, and the man was currently romantically involved with her aunt. Then, of course, in capital letters, was the very important detail about Olivia Goodwin being her best friend. Apparently, the two were almost like Siamese twins, which didn't surprise me after seeing how they interacted.
But there was more.
Apparently, Daisy took a loan five years ago to reclaim the house that belonged to her father, and I let out a low whistle the instant I saw the interest rate.
And then they say we're the criminals...
Finally, a word caught my attention: ‘rhinoplasty’.
I went back to the PICTURE RECORD, immediately nodding my head as realization hit me. Yes. You could see it clearly. She used to have a round, broad nose, perhaps even too large for herface. Now it was narrow, elegant, natural enough that no one would suspect it had been changed.
I lingered just a few more moments over the information about my hostage. Lombardi had sent me other medical records of hers, in addition to the psychiatric ones, and detailed financial summaries. I read each one, finding nothing unusual.
When I knew everything I needed, I picked up my phone.
“Good morning!”
“Buongiorno, Alessandro,” I replied. “I've seen the documents. I need you to take care of something.”
“I'm all ears.”
“Pay off her mortgage.”
On the other end of the line, Lombardi cursed. “How generous! You do realize that, with interest, the debt exceeds one million seven hundred thousand dollars, correct?” He reminded me, with a playful tone in his voice. “Should I also prepare your canonization,Saint Camillo of the Mortgaged?”
I snorted. “I didn't know we paid you to make jokes.”
“No, but you can't live without them,” he replied, making me roll my eyes and pinch the bridge of my nose. Themaledettousually took advantage of our friendship to say whatever he wanted to. "Very well. Pay off the woman’s mortgage. I'll need power of attorney for that, as you well know."
“Sì, right. Email me the document and I'll sign it.”
“What about the contract you asked me for?”
"That's exactly why I'm asking you to pay off Signorina Parker's debt. I need a discreet and efficient housekeeper to clean my villa. She has bills to pay. It's the perfect deal."
