Chapter 11 - The Friend Who Arrived Too Quickly
Harold arrived at my house before sunrise.
I hadn't invited him.
He knocked once.
Then twice.
Patricia stood beside the front window.
“Don't open the door yet.”
Marcus was upstairs.
I watched Harold through the glass.
He looked exactly as he always did.
Old blue jacket.
Coffee in one hand.
Concerned expression.
But now I noticed things I hadn't noticed before.
He didn't look surprised that Patricia was there.
He looked annoyed.
My phone buzzed.
A message from an unknown number.
Don't let him inside.
I stared at Harold.
Then at Patricia.
“How did someone know he was here?”
She didn't answer.
Harold knocked again.
“Robert!”
His voice carried through the house.
“I know you're home.”
Patricia finally opened the door.
Harold stepped inside.
His eyes moved around the room.
Quickly.
Checking.
Counting.
“What happened?”
I said nothing.
He looked at me.
“You aren't answering my calls.”
“I saw them.”
“We need to talk.”
“About what?”
He glanced at Patricia.
“Privately.”
“No.”
Harold looked irritated.
“Robert, we've known each other twenty years.”
“Exactly.”
He froze.
“What does that mean?”
I took out my phone.
“I have something to ask you.”
“What?”
“Did you know Carol was investigating Gregory Bell?”
His face changed.
Just slightly.
Enough.
Harold looked away.
“That was eleven years ago.”
“Yes.”
“She told me something once.”
“What?”
“That Bell was stealing money.”
My heart tightened.
“What did you do?”
“Nothing.”
“You didn't help her?”
“No.”
“Didn't know about an account?”
“No.”
“Didn't know about a recording?”
Harold stared at me.
“No.”
Patricia watched him carefully.
I asked one final question.
“Then why did Carol say you knew enough to be dangerous?”
Harold went silent.
He looked genuinely shocked.
“Carol said that?”
“Yes.”
He sat down.
For the first time since I had known him, he looked afraid.
“I didn't know what she meant.”
“Then explain the silver pickup.”
“I saw it.”
“Why?”
“I was driving past.”
“Twice?”
He didn't answer.
Patricia stepped forward.
“You've been near the property several times.”
Harold looked at her.
“I was checking on Robert.”
“From across the street?”
Silence.
Marcus came downstairs.
“Harold.”
They looked at each other.
Harold's expression changed.
“Marcus.”
Marcus asked:
“Were you working with Diana?”
Harold looked offended.
“No.”
“Were you working with Bell?”
“No.”
“Then what were you doing?”
Harold exhaled.
“I was trying to stop them.”
I frowned.
“How?”
“By keeping watch.”
“Without telling me?”
“I didn't know who I could trust.”
Patricia asked:
“When did you learn about Bell?”
Harold's eyes moved toward me.
“Carol told me.”
The room fell silent.
“When?”
“Before she died.”
“Why didn't you tell me?”
“Because she asked me not to.”
I didn't know what to say.
Harold continued.
“She believed someone close to you was helping Bell.”
“Diana?”
He shook his head.
“Someone else.”
“Who?”
Harold looked toward the stairs.
Marcus stood there.
Then Harold said:
“I thought it was your former accountant.”
My stomach tightened.
“He died six years ago.”
“I know.”
“So why bring him up?”
“Because he was involved before Bell disappeared.”
Patricia sat down.
“This story is larger than the house.”
Harold nodded.
“It always was.”
I asked:
“Then what is Bell after?”
Harold looked at the kitchen floor.
“Evidence.”
“What evidence?”
“Proof that he moved stolen money through multiple accounts.”
“Mine?”
“Carol's.”
I asked:
“How does that affect him now?”
Harold looked at me.
“Because the statute of limitations isn't what Bell thinks it is.”
Patricia said nothing.
Harold continued.
“He never found the final ledger.”
“What ledger?”
“The ledger connecting the money to the property.”
I stared at him.
“What property?”
Harold answered:
“Your house.”
Silence.
I finally understood.
The kitchen renovation.
The walls.
The flooring.
The cabinets.
Bell wasn't searching for a recording anymore.
He was searching for financial evidence hidden inside the property.
Patricia asked:
“Where?”
Harold looked toward the pantry.
“Carol told me she hid it beneath something they would never tear apart.”
I walked toward the pantry.
My heart pounded.
The floor looked ordinary.
Old tile.
Same as always.
But one tile near the back was different.
Slightly newer.
I crouched.
Then I heard footsteps behind me.
Diana.
She had entered through the back door.
She looked at the floor.
And whispered:
“No.”
Patricia stood.
“Diana?”
Diana shook her head.
“Don't touch that.”
I slowly looked up.
“Why?”
Her eyes filled with fear.
“Because Bell doesn't know it's there.”
Marcus stared at her.
“How do you know?”
May you like
Diana whispered:
“Because I was the one who put it there.”
