Chapter 7 - The Keys Were Already in Her Hand
Patricia called the police.
Marcus called Diana.
No answer.
We drove home.
My leg hurt with every step, but adrenaline made me ignore it.
As we turned onto my street, I saw the silver pickup parked in the driveway.
The dark blue sedan was behind it.
Both vehicles were empty.
The front door stood open.
I stopped.
“Don't go in.”
Marcus was already reaching for the handle.
Patricia grabbed his arm.
“No.”
We waited.
Nothing.
No voices.
No movement.
Only the faint hum of the house.
The police arrived minutes later.
They entered first.
The house was empty.
But something had changed.
The cabinet samples were gone.
The documents on the kitchen table were gone.
The folder Patricia had prepared was gone.
The study desk drawers were open.
One drawer had been completely emptied.
The one with Carol's letters.
I felt a wave of panic.
“The tape.”
Patricia looked at me.
“Where is it?”
“Gone.”
Someone had taken Carol's cassette.
The police photographed everything.
Then an officer called us upstairs.
There was fresh dust on the attic floor.
A rectangular shape showed where the box had been.
Gone.
I felt sick.
“Why would they take the old documents?”
The officer shrugged.
“Could be theft.”
Patricia said nothing.
She was staring at the floor.
“What?”
She pointed.
There was a footprint.
Work boot.
Size eleven, approximately.
The same pattern appeared beside the garage.
The police took photographs.
Then one officer returned with a small object.
A disposable glove.
Black.
He bagged it.
Marcus was leaning against the wall.
“Dad.”
I turned.
He looked devastated.
“I think I know where Diana went.”
“Where?”
“My sister-in-law's house.”
“Why?”
“She had a storage unit.”
“What storage unit?”
“Diana's brother uses it.”
Patricia immediately called the investigator.
Within an hour, we had the location.
We went there with police.
The storage unit was locked.
The manager confirmed Diana's brother had access.
The police cut the lock.
Inside were boxes.
Furniture.
Business inventory.
Old computers.
A printer.
Plastic tubs.
And against the far wall, a row of banker boxes labeled with dates.
Patricia opened one.
Inside were copies of my bank statements.
Another contained property records.
Another had photographs of my house.
Another contained copies of Carol's letters.
I felt sick.
Someone had been building a dossier on me.
Not just information.
A strategy.
Patricia opened another box.
This one contained medical records.
My medical records.
Blood tests.
Doctor visits.
Medication lists.
Hospital paperwork.
Some documents were from before my stroke.
Others were recent.
She looked at me.
“Someone was monitoring your health.”
Marcus shook his head.
“No.”
Patricia found another file.
Inside was a printed article about strokes.
A handwritten note was attached.
If he becomes incapacitated, act quickly.
Marcus stared at it.
His face crumpled.
“She planned this.”
Patricia replied, “Someone planned this.”
Suddenly, the storage unit lights went out.
Everything went black.
Marcus whispered, “What happened?”
The roll-up door began moving.
Someone outside was opening it.
Police shouted.
The door stopped halfway.
A shadow moved across the opening.
Then footsteps.
Running.
Two officers chased the figure.
We heard a car start.
Tires screeched.
Then silence.
An officer returned holding another item.
A phone.
“We found this near the entrance.”
Patricia took it.
The screen was unlocked.
Messages were visible.
Most were between Diana and an unknown number.
One message stood out.
He's home.
Another:
Get the documents before Patricia gets them.
Then one from the unknown number:
And what about Marcus?
Diana's response was:
Marcus won't matter once Robert signs.
Marcus read it.
He looked shattered.
Then another message appeared.
What if Robert refuses?
Diana had replied:
Then we use the stroke.
The room went silent.
Marcus stepped away.
“No.”
Patricia looked at him.
“There's more.”
The final message had been sent only hours before.
Bell says the old recording is the real danger.
My blood ran cold.
The recording.
Carol's voice.
Whatever she had discovered eleven years earlier had terrified them enough to steal it.
Patricia searched the phone.
She found a saved note.
A location.
A date.
And a name.
Carolina Memorial Storage. Unit 214.
Marcus looked at me.
“Mom's storage?”
I nodded.
Carol had kept one small storage unit after her mother's death.
I had forgotten it existed.
The police asked whether we'd like to go immediately.
I looked at Patricia.
“Yes.”
We drove through the night.
Unit 214 was waiting.
The lock looked ancient.
Inside were boxes covered in dust.
We searched for almost forty minutes.
Nothing.
Then Marcus noticed a wooden trunk.
We opened it.
Inside was a sealed envelope.
My name on it.
Carol's handwriting.
I held it with trembling fingers.
Patricia said quietly, “Open it.”
I did.
There was one page.
And one photograph.
The photograph showed Carol.
Gregory Bell.
And Diana.
Standing together.
Eleven years ago.
My wife had never told me Diana knew him.
I looked at the photograph again.
Then turned it over.
On the back were six words.
Marcus is not the one to fear.
I stared at my son.
May you like
And suddenly, I wasn't sure whether that sentence was protecting him.
Or accusing him.
