Chapter 9
The blood was not Margaret’s.
That was the first piece of good news.
The second was that police found a trail leading behind the house.
The third was that Daniel’s rental car was discovered abandoned two miles away.
The bad news was everything else.
By the time we arrived, Margaret’s small farmhouse was surrounded by police vehicles.
My father helped me out carefully.
An officer immediately approached.
“You’re Emily Callahan?”
“Yes.”
“You should not be here.”
“I’ve heard that a lot lately.”
My father gave me a look.
I ignored him.
“Did you find Margaret?”
“No.”
“Daniel?”
“No.”
“Whose blood?”
“We don’t know yet.”
Marcus showed his credentials and spoke quietly with the officer.
I looked at the house.
It was small.
White siding.
Blue shutters.
A porch with two rocking chairs.
This was where a woman who had once made me heart-shaped pancakes had hidden for twenty-two years.
My chest hurt.
Then I saw something through the open door.
A framed photograph lying broken on the floor.
A child.
Me.
I stepped forward.
The officer blocked me.
“Ma’am.”
“That picture.”
He looked.
“What about it?”
“That’s me.”
My father stared.
The officer put on gloves and picked up the frame.
The photograph showed me at maybe ten years old.
Standing beside my mother.
Margaret behind us.
All three smiling.
I covered my mouth.
“She kept it.”
My father looked away.
The officer studied me.
“When did you last see Margaret Ellis?”
“Her name was Margaret Shaw then.”
His eyes narrowed.
“How long ago?”
“Twenty-two years.”
That got his attention.
We explained enough to make the situation sound even stranger than it already was.
Then a voice came from the back of the property.
“We found a phone!”
Everyone moved.
The device was old and cracked.
Not Daniel’s.
Marcus examined it without touching.
“Could be Margaret’s.”
The screen was still lit.
One unsent text message was visible.
EMILY CALLAHAN. FIND HER. TELL HER ELEANOR—
That was all.
My grandmother’s name.
My father stared at the message.
“She was trying to contact you.”
“Why now?”
Marcus looked toward the open house.
“Maybe because Daniel arrived.”
The officer interrupted.
“We have footprints heading into the woods.”
“How many people?”
“Possibly two.”
I immediately moved forward.
My father grabbed my arm.
“No.”
“Let go.”
“You are not walking into the woods two days after a C-section.”
“Daniel may have Margaret.”
“And police will find them.”
I hated that he was right.
I hated waiting more.
So we stayed at the house.
For forty minutes.
Then fifty.
Then an hour.
Darkness settled.
My phone rang.
Unknown number.
Every person around me went silent.
I answered.
“Hello?”
Breathing.
Then Margaret’s voice.
Older.
Weak.
But unmistakable.
“Emily?”
My knees nearly gave out.
“Margaret.”
My father moved closer.
Her breathing became frightened.
“Is Richard with you?”
I looked at him.
“Yes.”
“Get away from him.”
My father closed his eyes.
I stepped outside.
Alone.
“Where are you?”
“I’m safe.”
“Are you hurt?”
“A little.”
“Was the blood yours?”
“No.”
“Whose?”
“Daniel’s.”
My heart jumped.
“What happened?”
“He came to my house.”
“What did he want?”
“The same thing everyone wants.”
“What?”
“The truth.”
“Did he hurt you?”
“No.”
That surprised me.
“He was angry. Desperate. But he didn’t hurt me.”
“Then why is his blood in your house?”
“Someone else came.”
My skin went cold.
“Who?”
“I don’t know.”
“Margaret.”
“I couldn’t see his face.”
“A man?”
“Yes.”
“What happened?”
“He attacked Daniel.”
“Why?”
“I think he wanted me.”
I looked toward the house.
Police officers were watching me.
“Where are you?”
“Do you remember the lake?”
My breath caught.
As a child, my mother had once rented a cabin in Maine.
Margaret came with us.
I remembered canoeing.
Blueberry pancakes.
A wooden dock.
“Lake Sebago?”
“Yes.”
“There are hundreds of houses.”
“The old cabin.”
I closed my eyes.
“Is it still there?”
“Yes.”
“How far?”
“Emily.”
“What?”
“Come alone.”
“No.”
“If Richard comes, I leave.”
“Margaret, someone attacked Daniel in your house.”
“I know.”
“You need police.”
“No police.”
“Why?”
“Because I made that mistake once.”
My heart pounded.
“What mistake?”
“I trusted the wrong policeman.”
The call ended.
I stared at the phone.
My father came outside.
“Well?”
“She wants me alone.”
“No.”
“Dad.”
“Absolutely not.”
“She won’t talk if you come.”
“You are not going alone.”
Marcus stepped forward.
“You don’t have to.”
My father looked at him.
Marcus continued.
“We can keep distance. Emily approaches alone. We stay within response range.”
My father hated it.
I could tell.
But he knew Margaret might disappear again.
Forty-five minutes later, we reached the lake.
The old cabin stood behind a line of pine trees.
Memories hit me immediately.
My mother laughing on the dock.
Margaret chasing me with a towel after I jumped into the water fully dressed.
My father had not been there.
I remembered asking why.
Mom had said he was busy.
Now I wondered if she had already been planning to leave him.
Marcus stopped the SUV two hundred yards away.
“You keep your phone open.”
“Yes.”
“We’ll hear everything.”
“Fine.”
My father caught my hand.
“Emily.”
I looked at him.
“If she tells you something about me…”
He struggled with the words.
“Listen to her.”
That surprised me.
“Even if you think she’s wrong?”
“Yes.”
I squeezed his hand.
Then walked toward the cabin.
Every step hurt.
My body reminded me I had given birth less than seventy-two hours earlier.
But adrenaline kept me moving.
The door opened before I knocked.
Margaret stood there.
She was seventy now.
Her hair was white.
Her face lined.
But I knew her immediately.
And she knew me.
“Oh, sweetheart.”
I started crying.
She did too.
We hugged carefully.
For a moment, I was twelve again.
Then she pulled me inside.
“Lock the door.”
I did.
“Are you hurt?”
“Bruises.”
“Who attacked Daniel?”
“I told you, I don’t know.”
“Where is Daniel?”
“He ran into the woods.”
“Was he badly hurt?”
“No.”
She looked at my stomach.
Then my hospital bracelet.
“You had the baby.”
“Yes.”
“A girl?”
“Yes.”
“What did you name her?”
“Grace.”
Margaret’s face crumpled.
“Your mother would have loved that.”
We both cried.
Then I forced myself back to the reason I was there.
“My mother wrote ‘find Margaret.’”
Margaret looked at me.
“I know.”
“You read the journal?”
“No.”
“Then how?”
“Elizabeth told me she was writing it.”
“What happened the night before she died?”
Margaret sat down.
I remained standing.
“Your grandmother came to the house.”
“Eleanor.”
“Yes.”
“They argued.”
“Yes.”
“About the money?”
“At first.”
“At first?”
Margaret’s hands trembled.
“Then about you.”
My heart stopped.
“Me?”
“Eleanor wanted Elizabeth to leave you with Richard.”
“Why?”
“Because she believed Richard could protect the Callahan family name.”
“From what?”
“Scandal.”
I shook my head.
“That doesn’t make sense.”
“Elizabeth planned to cooperate with investigators. She knew it could destroy both families financially.”
“So Eleanor wanted her quiet.”
“Yes.”
“Did Eleanor kill her?”
Margaret looked horrified.
“No.”
“Did she follow Mom?”
“I don’t know.”
“What did you see?”
“The next afternoon, Peter called.”
“I know.”
“Elizabeth left the house.”
“Then?”
“Ten minutes later, a car followed.”
“Whose?”
“I couldn’t see.”
“What kind?”
“Dark sedan.”
My heart sank.
That could be anyone.
“What about my father?”
“He arrived at the house thirty minutes later.”
I froze.
“Dad wasn’t following her?”
“Not from the house.”
“Are you sure?”
“I opened the door for him.”
That changed everything.
If my father arrived after Mom had already left, then Peter’s implication that he directly followed her weakened.
“What did he do?”
“He asked where she was.”
“You told him?”
“Yes.”
“Then?”
“He left.”
“So he could still have followed her.”
“Yes.”
I sighed.
“Why did you run from him after the funeral?”
Margaret looked down.
“Because of Frank.”
“Frank Wallace?”
Her eyes widened.
“You know.”
“Some.”
“He came to my apartment.”
“Why?”
“He wanted the documents.”
“What documents?”
“Elizabeth gave me copies.”
My pulse raced.
“You had them?”
“Yes.”
“Do you still?”
Margaret looked toward an old cabinet.
“Yes.”
I almost stopped breathing.
“Where?”
She stood.
Then froze.
A noise outside.
A branch snapping.
My blood went cold.
“Marcus?” I whispered.
But my father and Marcus were supposed to remain far back.
Margaret switched off the lamp.
“Someone’s here.”
My phone was still connected.
I whispered, “Marcus.”
His voice came through quietly.
“We heard. Stay inside.”
Margaret panicked.
“No.”
“What?”
“You brought them.”
“They’re protecting me.”
She backed away.
Then another sound came from behind the cabin.
A window shattered.
I screamed.
Margaret grabbed my arm.
A man climbed through.
Dark clothing.
Face covered.
He moved fast.
Too fast.
I reached for a chair.
Before I could lift it, the man grabbed Margaret.
“Where are the files?”
She screamed.
I hit him with the chair.
He stumbled.
Then turned toward me.
His mask slipped.
Just enough.
I saw gray hair.
A scar near his chin.
Margaret gasped.
“You.”
The man froze.
She knew him.
Then the front door burst open.
Marcus entered.
My father behind him.
The masked man shoved Margaret toward us and ran through the broken window.
Marcus chased him.
My father caught Margaret.
She screamed when she realized who held her.
“Get off me!”
He immediately released her.
“Margaret.”
She stared at his face.
Then began shaking.
“You don’t know.”
My father frowned.
“What?”
“You never knew.”
“Knew what?”
She pointed toward the broken window.
“That man.”
“Who is he?”
Margaret looked at me.
Then at my father.
Her voice barely came out.
“Frank Wallace.”
My father went completely still.
“That’s impossible.”
I stared between them.
“Frank is dead.”
Margaret shook her head.
“No.”
My father whispered, “I went to his funeral.”
“Then you buried the wrong man.”
Before anyone could speak, Marcus shouted from outside.
“STOP!”
A gunshot cracked through the night.
My father threw himself over me.
Margaret screamed.
May you like
A second shot echoed across the lake.
Then silence.
