Chapter 11: The Empty House
“No.””
Michael read the message over my shoulder.
“You are not going anywhere alone.””
Detective Morris took my phone.
“Don’t respond yet.””
“She has the box.””
“I see that.””
“She could destroy it.””
“She wants you frightened enough to make a mistake.””
Another text arrived.
*Midnight. David’s old storage unit.*
I stared at it.
Peter was still on speaker.
He inhaled sharply.
“What storage unit?””
I looked at Michael.
“I don’t know.””
Peter said, “I do.””
Everyone turned toward the phone.
“David rented one shortly before his death.””
My pulse quickened.
“Why?””
“He said he needed somewhere secure for personal records.””
“You never told me.””
“He canceled it.””
“When?””
Peter paused.
“I thought he had. After his death, the account stopped appearing in the estate expenses.””
“Where is it?””
“Northfield Storage. Industrial district.””
Detective Morris wrote down the name.
“Unit number?””
“214.””
Michael grabbed his coat.
Morris stopped him.
“Mr. Bennett.””
“She’s there.””
“Maybe.””
“She just sent us the location!””
“She sent Claire a location. That doesn’t prove Diane is physically there.””
Christopher frowned.
“She could be trying to pull us away from somewhere else.””
Morris nodded.
“Exactly.””
I looked at the photo again.
Something bothered me.
Lily’s birthday crown.
Diane had left the party hours ago.
The crown had fallen near the gift table when Diane grabbed Lily.
“How did she get Lily’s crown?””
Michael stared at the screen.
“She must’ve picked it up before leaving.””
“No.””
Rachel stepped into the room.
“I picked it up.””
Everyone looked at her.
“What?””
“I remember because one of the plastic points was broken. I put it on the kitchen counter.””
My skin prickled.
“When?””
“After Diane left.””
Silence.
Michael slowly turned toward the kitchen.
The counter was empty.
“She came back.””
Rachel shook her head.
“I never saw her.””
Detective Morris looked toward the rear door.
“Does this house have another entrance?””
“Back patio.””
We checked it.
Locked.
Then Ethan said, “Basement.””
I turned.
“What?””
“There’s a door from the garage into the basement.””
Michael ran.
The door was closed.
But not locked.
On the basement floor, muddy footprints crossed toward the stairs.
Diane had returned.
While we were upstairs.
While Lily slept.
While we were trying to understand what she had already done.
Michael slammed his fist against the wall.
“She was inside this house.””
Detective Morris photographed the prints.
“Do not touch anything.””
Then Ethan appeared behind us.
His face was pale.
“Mom?””
“Yes?””
“My backpack is gone.””
I froze.
“The same backpack from the video?””
He nodded.
“What was inside?””
“School stuff.””
“Anything important?””
“My tablet.””
Michael swore.
Ethan continued.
“And Grandpa David’s old watch.””
I stared at him.
“What watch?””
“You gave it to me last year.””
I remembered.
David’s silver watch.
Broken clasp.
I had given it to Ethan because he wanted something that had belonged to the man who raised him.
“Why was it in your backpack?””
“I took it to show Noah.””
Detective Morris looked at me.
“If Diane took the backpack, we need that added to the report.””
My phone buzzed again.
A video this time.
Morris told me not to open it until she could record the screen with another device.
We played it.
Diane appeared inside what looked like a storage corridor.
The black box sat on a concrete floor beside her.
She looked directly into the camera.
“Claire, you have spent years pretending David left you a perfect little life.””
Michael muttered, “Mom…”
Diane continued.
“He didn’t.””
She lifted the black recorder.
“This contains the truth about Ethan.””
My heart pounded.
“And about David’s final day.””
She smiled.
“If the police come to Unit 214, this burns.””
The video ended.
Morris immediately made a call.
Michael looked furious.
“She knows police are involved.””
“She assumed they would be,” Morris said.
Peter’s voice came through my phone.
“Claire, there’s something wrong.””
“What?””
“Unit 214 shouldn’t exist anymore.””
“What do you mean?””
“The lease ended six years ago.””
“Could Diane have reopened it?””
“Possibly.””
Then Peter went silent.
“What?””
“I just remembered something.””
My patience snapped.
“Peter, stop remembering things one at a time!””
“David didn’t rent Unit 214 under his own name.””
“Whose?””
Peter hesitated.
“Diane Bennett.””
Michael stared at the phone.
“My mother rented David’s storage unit?””
“No. David paid for it, but he insisted the contract use her name.””
“Why would he do that?””
“I never understood.””
Christopher leaned against the wall.
“What if Mom wasn’t blackmailing David?””
We all turned.
He swallowed.
“What if they were working together?””
My stomach twisted.
“No.””
“Think about it. Why would David rent something under her name if he was afraid of her?””
Michael looked at Peter.
“That’s a good question.””
Peter didn’t answer.
“Peter?””
“I don’t know.””
I suddenly remembered Diane’s words.
*Money buys silence, not forgiveness. Stay away from my family.*
Maybe we had misunderstood who had written to whom.
“Peter.””
“Yes?””
“Those blackmail emails. Did you personally receive them from Diane?””
“No.””
“Did David?””
“He printed them.””
“That isn’t what I asked.””
Silence.
“You never saw the original emails.””
“No.””
“So David told you Diane was blackmailing him.””
“Yes.””
“But you couldn’t independently prove it.””
“No.””
My chest tightened.
“What else did David lie about?””
Peter sounded wounded.
“I don’t know.””
Michael looked at me.
The dead couldn’t explain themselves.
But the recorder could.
Detective Morris returned from her call.
“Northfield Storage has confirmed Unit 214 is active.””
“Under whose name?””
She looked at Michael.
“Diane Bennett.””
“Is she there?””
“They won’t disclose customer activity without proper authorization.””
“Then what now?””
“We handle it.””
My phone buzzed.
Another message.
This one wasn’t from Diane.
It was from an unfamiliar email address.
There was no text.
Only an attachment.
A photograph.
I opened it.
It showed David standing beside Unit 214.
Beside him was Diane.
And between them stood another man.
Peter Lawson.
The photograph was dated three days before David died.
Michael looked at the phone.
Then toward the speaker.
“Peter.””
No answer.
May you like
“Peter?””
The call had disconnected.
