Chapter 6: The Man Who Came After Midnight
I stared at Linda.
She had gone so still that even Jessica noticed.
“Mom?”” Jessica whispered.
Linda didn't answer.
I pressed the phone against my ear.
“Ms. Wells, can you tell me who Daniel Mercer is?””
“Daniel Mercer is listed as the proposed transferee in a filing connected to the trust. I cannot confirm the validity of that filing until we examine the underlying documents.””
“Do you know why he would want our house?””
“Not yet. But I strongly advise you not to confront him alone if you believe he may be involved in fraudulent activity.””
I looked at Linda again.
She was already moving toward the front door.
“Where are you going?”” I asked.
“Out.””
“Do you know Daniel Mercer?””
She grabbed her purse from the console table.
“I don't have to answer your questions.””
“Then why are you afraid?””
She spun around.
“I'm not afraid of anything!””
Her voice cracked on the final word.
Dad stepped forward.
“Linda, stop lying. Who is Daniel Mercer?””
She stared at him.
Then she looked at me, and something cold settled behind her eyes.
“You should have left this alone, Emily.””
I ended the call only after arranging to meet the attorney the following morning. I placed my mother's letter and the trust documents back inside the envelope and held it against my chest.
Linda watched me do it.
“You think those papers make you untouchable?””
“No,” I said.
“I think they make it harder for you to lie.””
She let out a sharp, humorless laugh.
“You sound exactly like your mother.””
“Good.””
For an instant, I saw something that looked almost like hatred cross her face.
Then she opened the front door.
“I'm going to see someone who can actually fix this mess.””
Mark's black SUV was still parked across the street. He had been standing beside it, talking on his phone.
When Linda stepped outside, he immediately ended the call.
They exchanged a few words I couldn't hear.
Then Mark caught her by the elbow.
Linda pulled away.
He pointed toward our house, his expression furious.
She shook her head.
Whatever they were arguing about, neither wanted us to hear it.
Dad watched from the doorway.
“She's been meeting with him for months,” he said quietly.
I turned toward him.
“You knew?””
“I knew she'd been leaving the house late at night. She told me she was helping Jessica with a business opportunity.””
“And you believed her?””
He looked down.
“I wanted to.””
That answer was becoming painfully familiar.
I stepped back inside and walked into the kitchen. The lunch table was still covered with plates and half-empty glasses. My mother's place at the head of the table remained empty, as it had for seven years.
I picked up the set of keys Linda had dropped in front of me.
They were attached to a small brass tag.
On it, someone had engraved a single letter.
M.
“Dad, what does this key open?””
He took it from me and examined it.
“I don't know.””
“It's not a key to this house?””
“No.””
I remembered something my mother used to say whenever she locked her jewelry box.
Some things are safest when nobody knows where the key is.
I had never understood the comment.
Now I wondered whether she had been talking about something more important than jewelry.
I hurried upstairs to my bedroom.
The moving men had already carried two boxes into the hallway. One of them was wrapping my mother's bedside lamp in newspaper.
“Please don't touch that,” I said.
The man straightened.
“Your stepmother told us to pack everything.””
“I'll tell you what gets packed.””
He glanced at the other worker.
“We're just doing our job.””
“I understand. But please leave the room for a moment.””
They carried their supplies into the hallway.
I shut the door and examined the furniture.
My mother's old dresser stood against the wall beneath the window. It had a small brass lock on the bottom drawer, though I had never seen her use a key.
I tried the key Linda had left on the lunch table.
It fit.
My hands began to shake.
The lock turned with a soft click.
Inside the drawer were several folded blankets, a bundle of letters tied with blue ribbon, and a small leather notebook.
Beneath them sat an envelope bearing my name.
I opened it.
Emily, if you have found this drawer, someone has started asking questions about the house. Take the blue notebook to Dana Wells. Do not give it to Robert unless you are certain he knows the whole truth.
I read the sentence twice.
My mother had specifically warned me not to trust my own father with the notebook.
I sat on the floor beside the dresser.
The blue notebook contained dates, names, and handwritten notes about meetings with lawyers, bank representatives, and someone identified only as D.M.
Several entries mentioned large sums of money.
One page had been marked with a red line.
*November 14 — Daniel says the trust must be transferred before Emily turns eighteen. Once she reaches legal adulthood, she can challenge the arrangement.*
I checked the date.
It was written three months before my mother died.
My fingers went numb.
She had known someone was trying to take control of the house long before Linda married my father.
I flipped to the next page.
*Robert refuses to believe Daniel is involved. Linda insists the agreement is temporary. I no longer believe either of them is telling me the truth.*
I stopped breathing for a moment.
My father had been involved before my mother died.
And my mother had known.
A knock sounded at the bedroom door.
“Emily?”” Dad called.
“Can I come in?””
I quickly closed the notebook.
“Not yet.””
“Sweetheart, please.””
I looked at the letter again.
Do not give it to Robert unless you are certain he knows the whole truth.
“Did you know Mom kept a notebook about the trust?”” I asked through the door.
Silence.
Then Dad answered.
“No.””
I waited.
“Did you know someone was trying to transfer the house before Mom died?””
The silence lasted longer this time.
When he finally spoke, his voice was barely audible.
“Yes.””
I felt as though the floor had disappeared beneath me.
I opened the door.
Dad stood in the hallway with his hands at his sides.
“Why didn't you tell me?””
“Because I thought it had been resolved.””
“By whom?””
He looked toward the staircase.
“Your mother confronted Mark. She believed he was trying to arrange a loan using the property as security. I told her he was only helping us with our finances.””
“Was he?””
“No.””
Dad's eyes filled with tears.
“After she died, I found documents showing that Mark had been working with Daniel. I confronted him. He said he could make the problems disappear if I cooperated.””
“And you did.””
“I was afraid.””
“So was Mom.””
He lowered his head.
“I know.””
“No, Dad. You don't. She was dying, and she was trying to protect me from people you trusted.””
He wiped his face.
“I thought I could fix it before you ever found out.””
“That's what you always say.””
He looked up.
I wanted to forgive him. Some part of me still wanted him to pull me into his arms and promise that everything would be all right.
But I had heard too many promises.
I stepped away from the doorway.
“I need to go through these documents with the attorney tomorrow.””
“Of course.””
“And I need you to tell me everything you know about Daniel Mercer.””
Dad nodded.
“I will.””
Before he could say more, headlights swept across my bedroom wall.
A car had pulled into the driveway.
I heard the front door open downstairs, followed by the sound of a man's voice.
“Robert? We need to talk.””
Dad went rigid.
I recognized the voice from the few times I'd heard it on the other side of our front door.
Daniel Mercer.
He had come to our house after midnight before, always leaving before sunrise.
But tonight, he had arrived before dark.
And he wasn't alone.
Through the gap in my curtains, I saw Linda step out of the passenger seat of his car.
Daniel followed her to the front porch, carrying a slim black folder.
He looked up at the house, directly toward my bedroom window, and smiled.
Then he raised his phone.
Mine vibrated a second later.
An unknown number had sent me a photograph of the blue notebook lying open on my bedroom floor.
May you like
Beneath it was a message.
*Your mother should have kept her mouth shut. Now you have until midnight to decide whether you want to lose the house—or learn what really happened the night she died.*
