“She’s a Connecticut congresswoman. Powerful and well-connected. She’s got half of Washington’s lobbyists putting money in her pocket. Rumor has it, she even has a connection with one of the remaining crime families in New York. She’s a loose cannon, politically. But she knows how to play the game, and she plays for keeps. And when she wants something, she gets it, no matter who it hurts. The knife goes in and out quite silently, and she leaves no fingerprints behind.”
“And she wants what’s in here?” Skye asked, pulling out an envelope and placing Clare’s notes on top. “What’s so important, and what was my mother doing with it?”
Arthur shook his head slowly. “Madeline built her entire career spouting off about family values. Neglected children, bad parenting, etc. She’s all about protecting the sanctity of the home. She shows up randomly at school board meetings and Sunday fundraisers, kissing babies and preaching support for working mothers and fathers. Either party would canonize her to keep her on their side of the political aisle.”
He paused, his voice dropping. He laid a hand lightly on the table and pointed one finger at the envelope. “But in that folder is evidence that she wants buried.”
“What is it, old man?” Henry demanded, tapping his cane on the floor. “What’s in there?”
“She had a child of her own,” Arthur continued. “A baby boy, born with a disability. And she had him institutionalized. It’s a secret she has kept locked away. There has never been any public recognition of his existence. No name, no photos, not a single mention. Erased. As if he never existed.”
Henry gestured with his cane at the papers on the table. “We have our suspect.”
Arthur shot him a look. “No, we don’t, Henry. Don’t jump to conclusions.”
“Wait.” Skye’s brow furrowed. “Are you saying my mother was blackmailing her?”
Arthur scoffed. “Of course not. But an administrator from the now-defunct institution was doing exactly that. In that box, there are birth records. Copies of cashed checks. Letters from the time that the place was closing, demanding that Hart come and get her son. She didn’t. She sent another check and told them to handle it.”
“The woman is nefarious, and this...this is The Adventure of the Second Stain exactly,” Henry said. “A hidden packet of letters, damning enough to ruin reputations, upend political ambitions, perhaps even bring down a government.”
“What’s he saying?” Skye asked.
“He’s talking about a Sherlock Holmes case,” Arthur muttered.
“And as in Conan Doyle’s story,” Henry continued, undeterred. “It wasn’t rage or revenge that pulled the trigger. It was fear. Fear of exposure. Fear of those words landing in the wrong hands. A collection of letters like these can kill as cleanly as a bullet.”
Arthur didn’t dismiss it. He couldn’t.
Henry fixed his gaze on Skye. “So yes. I’d wager these letters got your mother killed. They surely gave this woman the motive to try.”
Arthur looked at Skye. “Our friend here believes this provides a possible motive for the attack.”
The fact that Clare still had this box certainly meant she’d been holding on to something very dangerous.
“All this had been in the possession of Penelope Arden, the institution’s administrator,” he said quietly. “She was the one blackmailing the congresswoman.”
Skye’s voice was barely above a whisper. “How did Clare get it?”
“The same way she ended up with a barn full of forgotten lives.” Arthur gave a small shrug. “An auction. An estate sale. Someone passed away.”
“This Penelope Arden?”
“Yes.” Arthur hesitated, the weight of it pressing down. “And so is…”
“Madeline Hart’s son?” Skye asked.
He nodded.
Henry let out a long, dramatic sigh. “Another Holmes case. The Naval Treaty. Confidential documents, ruined lives, political fallout. And also, A Scandal in Bohemia. One photograph, one letter, was enough to bring kings to their knees.”
Arthur watched him circle the table slowly, thinking and tapping the handle of his cane gently against his temple.
“In every case,” Henry continued, “it was the written word that did the damage. A scrap of paper with a damaging truth on it. Fear, not fury, was the killer’s motive. These letters were enough to ruin Hart. Her political career, her personal reputation, everything. She was attempting to make damn sure they never come to light. She is the villain.”
“What’s Henry saying?” Skye pressed. “Tell me.”
“I will, in a moment, my love,” Arthur said before looking back at the ghost. “Is that your last word on this, Sherlock?”
