Chapter 4: The Safe Was Already Open
For several seconds, nobody moved.
Then I stood so quickly that my knee struck the porch railing.
“My safe?”” I asked.
“What are you talking about, Daniel?””
My son rubbed both hands over his face. His wedding ring caught the afternoon sunlight as he dragged his fingers through his hair.
“Mom, when was the last time you opened the fireproof box in your bedroom?””
“Two weeks ago. I put my insurance papers inside.””
“Did you check the contents?””
“Of course I checked them.””
“Did you see the blue folder?””
I stared at him.
The blue folder contained my original deed, Robert's life insurance documents, and a sealed envelope my husband had told me never to throw away.
“What about it?””
Daniel looked toward Brittany.
She had stopped crying.
“Don't look at me like that,” she snapped.
“I haven't been in your bedroom.””
Daniel's expression hardened.
“You had the key.””
“I had it because you asked me to organize your mother's paperwork!””
“You said you gave it back.””
“I did!””
Rebecca stepped between them.
“Let's slow down. Mrs. Walker, is the safe currently inside the house?””
“Yes. In the bedroom closet.””
“Then I suggest we document its condition before anyone touches it.””
I walked toward the front door.
Brittany blocked my path.
“Where do you think you're going?””
“To my bedroom.””
“You can't just start rummaging around. We're in the middle of a transaction.””
I looked at her.
“This is my house. Move.””
Perhaps it was the tone of my voice, or perhaps she finally understood that I wasn't going to obey her anymore. Either way, she stepped aside.
Rebecca followed me inside, with Daniel close behind.
The house smelled of lemon furniture polish and the cinnamon candle Brittany had lit that morning. My living room looked almost normal, except for the empty space where Robert's photograph had stood on the mantel.
I stopped.
“Where is the silver frame?””
Daniel followed my gaze.
“I packed it.””
“Why?””
He didn't answer.
I continued down the hallway, one hand sliding along the wall Robert had painted himself. In the bedroom, the closet door stood open.
My dresses hung neatly on one side. My shoes were lined beneath them.
But the small wooden cabinet where I kept the fireproof box had been moved several inches away from the wall.
I knew because Robert had scratched a mark into the floor when he'd installed it.
“Someone moved this,” I whispered.
Rebecca put on a pair of disposable gloves from her briefcase.
“Please don't touch anything yet.””
I watched her examine the cabinet.
Daniel stood in the doorway, breathing hard.
“Mom, I didn't know anything was missing.””
“Then help me understand why you asked about the blue folder.””
He looked down.
“Because Brittany told me you had signed another document.””
“What document?””
“A declaration. Something about allowing me to manage your property if your health got worse.””
My stomach tightened.
“Did I sign it?””
“I thought you had.””
“Did you see me sign it?””
He hesitated.
“No.””
“Then why did you believe her?””
He had no answer.
Rebecca carefully opened the cabinet's small door.
The fireproof box was still there.
But its combination dial had been forced, leaving a thin scratch across the metal.
My hands began to shake.
“Robert bought that safe after someone broke into our neighbor's house. He said nobody would ever take what belonged to us.””
Rebecca examined the lock.
“Has anyone else had access to the combination?””
“Daniel knew it. My husband taught him when he was a teenager. I never changed it after Robert died.””
Daniel closed his eyes.
“I should have told you to change it.””
“Yes,” I said.
“You should have.””
Rebecca photographed the damage before asking me whether I wanted her to open the box with the assistance of a locksmith.
I nodded.
Twenty minutes later, a locksmith arrived. He was an older man named Frank, who explained each step before carefully releasing the lock.
When the lid finally opened, I leaned forward.
My passport was there.
So were my insurance papers and the small envelope containing Robert's watch receipt.
But the blue folder was gone.
The sealed envelope was gone.
And the deed was missing.
I sank onto the edge of the bed.
“Someone took my house out of my safe.””
Rebecca pulled a chair closer.
“The recorded property information is still available through the county. A missing original deed does not, by itself, transfer ownership. But we need to find out what was taken and whether any of those documents were used.””
Daniel crouched in front of me.
“Mom, I'm sorry.””
I stared at him.
“Did you give Brittany the combination?””
He swallowed.
“Yes.””
“When?””
“About six months ago. She said she wanted to help you organize your estate documents.””
“And you thought that was a good idea?””
“I thought I was helping.””
I shook my head slowly.
“You keep saying that, Daniel. But every time you help me, something that belongs to me disappears.””
He looked as if I'd struck him.
Rebecca found a small white card wedged beneath the safe's lining.
She lifted it carefully.
On one side was a telephone number. On the other was a handwritten message.
*Ask Christopher about the second key.*
Daniel went completely still.
Rebecca turned toward him.
“Do you know what this means?””
He stared at the card.
“No.””
Brittany appeared in the bedroom doorway.
When she saw the card, all the color drained from her face.
For the first time, I saw something more frightening than her anger.
Recognition.
“Brittany,” I said quietly, “what is the second key?””
She backed into the hallway.
“I don't know.””
Rebecca held up the card.
“Then perhaps you can explain why you look as though you've just seen a ghost.””
Brittany turned and hurried toward the front door.
Daniel jumped to his feet.
“Where are you going?””
“Home!””
“This is your home!””
She stopped at the end of the hallway.
“No, Daniel,” she said, her voice suddenly cold.
“It hasn't been for a long time.””
Then she opened her handbag, pulled out her phone, and made a call.
I heard only three words before she walked outside.
May you like
“Get rid of it.””
And from the expression on Rebecca's face, I knew we had just discovered something far worse than a missing deed.
