Chapter 2 - The Scent of Rosemary
The envelope smelled faintly of burned dried herbs and Elena’s signature rose perfume. Mark shoved it deep inside his jacket pocket as the hospital orderly entered with paperwork. He signed his name without reading the fine print, his mind racing faster than his racing pulse. Every shadow in the hospital corridors seemed to stretch toward him.
The drive back to the family estate at Blackwood Ridge was silent and suffocating. Rain began to fall in heavy drops against the windshield, smearing the yellow glare of roadside lamps. When Mark pulled into the gravel driveway, the Victorian manor sat shrouded in mist, dark except for a single amber light burning on the second floor: Chloe’s bedroom window.
Entering through the heavy oak doors, the house felt altered. The familiar scent of polished mahogany was overridden by a bitter, medicinal odor. Clara was resting in the parlor, sedated by the family physician, while Robert paced by the fireplace with an untouched glass of bourbon.
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Mark bypassed them both, taking the back stairs toward Elena’s private study. The door stood slightly ajar. Pushing it open, he found drawers pulled open, books displaced, and files scattered across the floor like dead leaves.
In the center of the desk lay Elena’s opened jewelry box. Her antique silver locket, passed down through three generations, was missing. On the blotter lay a single dried sprig of rosemary tied with a green silk thread—the exact ribbon Chloe had used to wrap gifts that morning. A floorboard creaked behind him.
