Chapter 3 - Do Not Go HomeWe didn't go home.
Not immediately.
Quinn drove.
My mother sat beside me in the back seat.
Nathan sat on the other side.
No one spoke for almost ten minutes.
The rain started halfway to the highway.
Thin at first.
Then hard enough to blur the windshield.
“Who sent the messages?” Nathan asked.
“I don't know.”
Quinn glanced at me in the mirror.
“Show me.”
I handed him the phone.
He read each message.
“Have you received anything like this before?”
“No.”
My mother looked at the screen.
Her breathing changed.
“What?”
Quinn noticed.
“Mrs. Mercer?”
She swallowed.
“I've seen that number.”
“When?”
“Years ago.”
“Whose number is it?”
“I don't know.”
That answer was beginning to mean something different.
Not ignorance.
Fear.
Quinn pulled into a gas station and parked beneath a bright canopy.
“We're stopping.”
My father called.
My phone rang.
Nathan stiffened.
“Don't answer.”
I answered.
“Dad?”
His voice was calm.
Too calm.
“Where are you?”
“Driving.”
“With whom?”
“Mom and Nathan.”
There was a pause.
Then he said, “You shouldn't have involved them.”
“Involved them in what?”
Another pause.
“You don't understand what you're touching.”
“Then explain it.”
Silence.
I heard a faint sound in the background.
A door closing.
Then my father whispered.
“Check the clock.”
I frowned.
“What?”
“Your grandfather's clock.”
My mother suddenly grabbed my arm.
“Hang up.”
I ended the call.
“What clock?” Nathan asked.
My mother was crying.
“The library.”
Quinn looked at her.
“What about it?”
“My father-in-law's clock.”
“What about it?”
She covered her mouth.
“The hands never worked.”
Nathan frowned.
“So?”
My mother looked at him.
“They weren't supposed to.”
Quinn turned off the engine.
“What did they hide?”
She whispered the answer.
“A key.”
We drove to a motel on the outskirts of town.
Quinn checked us in under a different name.
The room smelled like disinfectant.
Nathan paced.
“This is insane.”
I sat beside my mother.
“Tell us everything.”
She stared at the carpet.
“Your grandfather believed your father was using the family company to move money.”
“Move it where?”
“Offshore.”
“Why?”
“Defense contracts.”
Quinn's face hardened.
“How much?”
“I don't know.”
“Millions?”
She nodded.
“Possibly more.”
Nathan stopped pacing.
“Why didn't Grandpa report him?”
My mother looked at him.
“He tried.”
“What happened?”
“He disappeared for three days.”
I stared at her.
“What?”
“He came back injured.”
A cold feeling moved through me.
“Dad did that?”
“I never saw Martin hurt him.”
“But you think he did.”
She didn't answer.
Quinn sat across from us.
“Did Edward have evidence?”
My mother slowly nodded.
“Yes.”
“What kind?”
“A ledger.”
“Where is it?”
She closed her eyes.
“He gave it to me.”
My heart stopped.
“You have the ledger?”
“No.”
“Then what did you do with it?”
“I hid it.”
“Where?”
She looked at me.
“In your room.”
I couldn't breathe.
“In my room?”
“When you were twelve.”
Nathan laughed nervously.
“You've had a secret ledger hidden in her room for eight years?”
My mother nodded.
“Where?”
She whispered.
“Inside the old piano bench.”
I remembered it.
A scratched wooden bench at the foot of my childhood piano.
We had thrown it away three years ago.
My father had ordered a junk service to clear the room.
I told her.
“The bench is gone.”
My mother shook her head.
“No.”
“What do you mean?”
“Martin didn't throw it away.”
Quinn stood.
“Where is it?”
She answered.
“In the house.”
The room went silent.
Then someone knocked.
Three times.
Slowly.
Everyone froze.
Quinn moved between us and the door.
The knock came again.
Three times.
Nathan whispered.
“Who is it?”
A woman's voice answered from outside.
“Room service.”
Quinn looked at the clock.
It was 1:17 a.m.
The motel was nearly empty.
“No,” he said.
He pulled his gun.
I stared at him.
“Quinn.”
He raised one finger.
Silence.
The handle moved.
Once.
Twice.
Then stopped.
A piece of paper slid beneath the door.
Quinn picked it up.
Four words.
THE BENCH ISN'T SAFE.
Nathan looked at me.
“What does that mean?”
Then the lights went out.
In the darkness, somebody whispered from inside the room.
“Claire?”
I froze.
Because the voice wasn't Nathan's.
May you like
It wasn't my mother's.
It was my father's.
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