Chapter 5
“Who was on the phone?”
Michael’s voice was sharp.
Officer Ramirez answered carefully.
“We’re working on that.”
“You have the recording.”
“The other person’s voice is faint.”
“Male or female?”
“Likely female.”
I immediately thought of one person.
Michael did too.
His face changed.
“No.”
I knew that look.
“What?”
He turned toward me.
“My sister.”
“Karen?”
Robert sat straighter.
Michael nodded.
Linda had a daughter.
Michael’s younger sister Karen.
She lived forty minutes away.
She rarely visited us.
Not because of me, according to Linda.
Because Karen was “busy.”
But every family argument somehow reached her.
Any boundary I set with Linda, Karen knew about within hours.
Any complaint Linda had about Lily’s allergy, Karen repeated.
“You think Karen knew?” I asked.
Michael rubbed his jaw.
“She always agrees with Mom.”
“That doesn’t mean she helped poison Lily.”
“No.”
He looked sick.
“But there was Christmas.”
I remembered.
Two years earlier, Karen had brought peanut brittle to Linda’s house.
When I asked her to put it away before Lily arrived, she rolled her eyes.
Then she said, “The world isn’t going peanut-free for one kid.”
Linda had laughed.
I had threatened to leave.
Michael made Karen remove it.
At the time, I thought they were insensitive.
Now every memory felt contaminated.
Robert suddenly spoke.
“Karen knows.”
Michael looked at him.
“Knows what?”
“About your mother.”
“How?”
“I contacted her three years ago.”
“You talked to Karen?”
“She answered me.”
Michael’s eyes narrowed.
“What did she say?”
“She said I was a liar.”
“Did you send her the notes?”
“Yes.”
“And?”
“She told me never to contact her again.”
Michael looked toward the phone.
“If Karen saw those records and still encouraged Mom…”
He couldn’t finish.
Officer Ramirez spoke.
“Please don’t contact your sister right now.”
“Why?”
“We’re already trying to locate her.”
Michael stiffened.
“What does that mean?”
“She didn’t answer at her home.”
“Maybe she’s working.”
“She did not report to work today.”
I felt a chill.
“And her phone?”
“Off.”
Michael swore under his breath.
Officer Ramirez continued.
“We’re not saying she was involved. We’re saying we need to speak to her.”
After the call ended, Michael sat in silence.
Then he looked at Robert.
“Tell me everything about Karen.”
Robert frowned.
“What do you mean?”
“She grew up with Mom after the divorce.”
“Yes.”
“Did Mom experiment on her too?”
Robert looked surprised.
“I don’t know.”
“You don’t know?”
“Karen was seventeen when I left. She refused to speak to me after.”
Michael’s eyes narrowed.
“Why?”
“She believed I was destroying the family.”
“Because Mom told her that?”
“I assume so.”
I sat across from Robert.
“What was Linda like with Karen?”
“Different.”
“How?”
“She praised her constantly.”
Michael laughed bitterly.
“Of course.”
“What does that mean?” I asked.
Michael looked at me.
“Karen was Mom’s favorite.”
Robert didn’t deny it.
“She did everything Mom wanted.”
“She still does.”
My phone buzzed.
A text.
Unknown number.
I opened it.
My stomach dropped.
There was a photograph of Lily leaving the hospital.
Taken from across the parking lot.
Underneath it were four words.
YOU SHOULD HAVE LISTENED.
“Michael.”
He came over.
“What?”
I showed him.
His face hardened.
Robert stood.
“Call the police.”
Before I could, another message appeared.
STOP DIGGING INTO THE PAST.
Michael grabbed his phone and called Officer Ramirez.
I kept staring at the photograph.
Someone had watched us leave the hospital.
Someone knew we were investigating.
Then a third message arrived.
ASK ROBERT WHAT HE DID.
We all turned toward him.
Robert went pale.
“What?”
I held up the phone.
His reaction frightened me.
“What did you do?” Michael asked.
“Nothing.”
The lie was immediate.
Too immediate.
Michael stepped forward.
“Dad.”
Robert looked at the floor.
“What did you do?”
“I made mistakes.”
“What mistakes?”
“Michael—”
“Stop protecting yourself!”
Robert flinched.
Then he sat down.
“I helped her.”
Nobody moved.
“You what?” I whispered.
He looked at me.
“Not with Lily.”
“I know that.”
“Years ago.”
Michael’s jaw tightened.
“What did you help her do?”
“At first, I believed her.”
The room went silent.
“She was persuasive. She said parents were creating fragile children. She showed me articles about exposure therapy and anxiety.”
“She wasn’t qualified.”
“I know that now.”
“What did you do?”
Robert’s eyes filled with tears.
“I helped document things.”
Michael stepped back.
“You helped with the experiments.”
“I thought they were observations.”
“On children.”
“Yes.”
“How long?”
“Six months.”
Michael looked like he wanted to hit him.
“What happened after six months?”
“Daniel.”
“The boy with asthma?”
Robert nodded.
“That was the first time I saw how far she would go.”
“What did you see?”
Robert’s voice cracked.
“Linda took his inhaler.”
The words landed heavily.
“You saw her do it?”
“Yes.”
“And you didn’t stop her?”
“I didn’t know what she was doing until she hid it.”
“But once you knew?”
“I demanded she return it.”
“How long?”
Robert closed his eyes.
“Eleven minutes.”
Exactly what Linda’s note said.
Delayed access by eleven minutes.
My stomach turned.
Michael whispered, “You stood there for eleven minutes?”
“I was arguing with her.”
“A CHILD COULDN’T BREATHE!”
“I know!”
“Then why didn’t you give him the inhaler?”
“I couldn’t find it!”
Michael turned and slammed his fist into a cabinet.
I jumped.
Robert cried.
“She had hidden it in another room.”
Michael spun around.
“You should have gone to police that day.”
“I should have.”
“But you didn’t.”
“No.”
“Why?”
“Because she said I would go to prison too.”
Michael stared at him.
“She threatened you.”
“Yes.”
“And you believed her.”
“Yes.”
“You chose yourself.”
Robert looked destroyed.
“Yes.”
That answer was worse than an excuse.
Because it was true.
Officer Ramirez arrived thirty minutes later.
We showed him the messages.
He photographed everything.
He asked Robert questions.
A lot of questions.
Robert admitted his involvement.
He gave names.
Dates.
Locations.
Some he remembered clearly.
Others he didn’t.
Then Ramirez asked, “Who else knew?”
Robert thought for a moment.
“There was another woman.”
Michael leaned forward.
“What woman?”
“Linda’s friend.”
“What friend?”
“I only met her twice. Her name was Diane.”
My breath caught.
Diane.
Linda still had a friend named Diane.
Diane Mercer.
She came to every birthday.
Every Christmas.
Every major family gathering.
She had held Lily as a baby.
She had once babysat her for two hours.
I felt dizzy.
“Diane Mercer?”
Robert looked at me.
“I don’t know her last name.”
“What did she look like?”
“Tall. Dark hair back then. Green eyes.”
My hands went numb.
“That’s her.”
Michael stared at me.
“No.”
“Yes.”
“Mom met Diane at church five years ago.”
“That’s what she told us.”
Robert shook his head.
“No. Linda knew Diane before I did.”
“How long?”
“At least thirty years.”
Michael whispered, “She lied about that too.”
Officer Ramirez wrote the name down.
Then another officer called him.
He stepped into the hallway.
We waited.
When he returned, his expression was grim.
“We found Karen.”
Michael stood.
“Where?”
“At Diane Mercer’s house.”
Nobody spoke.
“Is she okay?”
“She’s fine.”
“Did you arrest her?”
“She agreed to come in for questioning.”
Michael exhaled.
“What did she say?”
Ramirez hesitated.
“She says your mother didn’t act alone.”
I looked at him.
“What does that mean?”
“She claims Diane prepared the peanut mixture.”
My legs felt weak.
Then Ramirez continued.
“And Karen says she tried to stop both of them.”
Michael stared.
“Do you believe her?”
“I don’t know yet.”
“Why would she turn off her phone?”
“She says Diane took it.”
“And the threatening texts?”
“We’re tracing them.”
He looked toward Robert.
“There’s something else.”
“What?”
“When officers arrived at Diane’s house, they found several boxes packed near the back door.”
“Boxes of what?”
“Old records.”
Robert stood.
“What kind?”
“Medical notes. Photographs. Audio tapes.”
His face went white.
Officer Ramirez looked directly at him.
“Some have your name on them.”
Robert stopped breathing.
“And one of the boxes was labeled MICHAEL.”
My husband stared at him.
“What does that mean?”
Ramirez shook his head.
“We don’t know.”
But I knew one thing.
May you like
Linda had kept records of what she did to her own son.
And somebody had been preparing to make those records disappear.
