Chapter 7: The Night My Mother Died
I read the message three times before I could make sense of it.
Your mother should have kept her mouth shut.
My fingers tightened around the phone. Beneath the message was the photograph of the blue notebook, taken from an angle that showed the bedroom window reflected in its glossy cover.
Someone had been watching me.
Someone knew I'd found it.
“Emily?”” Dad called from the hallway.
“What happened?””
I turned the screen toward him.
He read the message, and all the color drained from his face.
“Don't answer it,” he said.
“Who sent it?””
“I don't know.””
“You recognized Daniel's voice downstairs. You knew someone was trying to take the house before Mom died. And now a stranger is threatening me with information about her death.””
My voice broke.
“Dad, how much more do you know?””
He reached for my shoulder, but I stepped away.
For a moment, he looked as though he might collapse.
Then he whispered, “The night your mother died, Daniel was here.””
I stared at him.
“What?””
“Not in the house. He was outside. I saw his car parked near the driveway when I came back from the pharmacy.””
My mother's final night returned to me in fragments: the low hum of the oxygen machine, the scent of lavender lotion, the warm pressure of her hand around mine.
She had been weak, but she'd insisted I sleep beside her.
At around midnight, she'd woken me and asked me to bring her the small leather bag from her dresser.
Inside it had been her wedding ring, a photograph of us at the beach, and an envelope addressed to Dana Wells.
She'd told me to keep the envelope safe.
I had been sixteen. I didn't understand why she was speaking as though she were preparing for a journey from which she wouldn't return.
“Why was Daniel outside?”” I asked.
Dad rubbed his face.
“He said he wanted to speak with me about the trust. I refused. We argued.””
“About what?””
“He wanted me to sign a document transferring control of the property. Your mother had already told me she suspected something was wrong, and I finally believed her.””
I struggled to breathe.
“Did you sign it?””
“No.””
“Are you sure?””
He met my eyes.
“Yes. I refused that night.””
“Then what happened?””
Dad looked toward the stairs.
“Your mother called for me. I went back inside. By the time I returned to the driveway, Daniel was gone.””
“And Mom?””
His voice broke.
“She died shortly before dawn.””
I pressed a hand over my mouth.
For seven years, I had believed cancer had taken my mother in the ordinary, terrible way cancer takes people. There had been no mystery, no conspiracy, no reason to question the hospital records.
But someone had threatened me with what happened that night.
And my father had kept silent.
“Did you tell the police about Daniel?””
“No.””
“Why not?””
“Because I had no evidence that he'd done anything. He'd been involved in our financial affairs, and I thought the argument was about the property.””
“Did Mom know he was coming?””
Dad shook his head.
“I don't know.””
I looked down at the phone again.
The message contained a second attachment.
It was a photograph of an old medical report.
My mother's name appeared at the top.
Beneath it, someone had highlighted a line in yellow.
*Patient's medication history requires further review.*
I felt the room tilt.
“What is this?””
Dad took the phone.
His lips moved silently as he read the page.
Then he sat on the edge of my bed.
“No,” he whispered.
“What does it mean?””
“I don't know.””
“Dad!””
He looked up, eyes wide with fear.
“Your mother was taking medication for pain. Her doctor prescribed it during the final weeks. I collected the prescriptions myself.””
“Was something wrong with them?””
“I never noticed anything unusual.””
I grabbed the phone back.
The photograph was blurry, but a pharmacy label was visible near the bottom. The date was from the week before my mother died.
I remembered that week vividly.
Mom had been sleeping more than usual. She'd struggled to finish sentences and had once asked me the same question three times in ten minutes.
The hospice nurse had explained that her illness was progressing.
I had accepted that explanation because I desperately wanted to believe my mother was comfortable.
Now someone was telling me to question it.
A heavy knock sounded downstairs.
Then Daniel's voice rose through the house.
“Robert! I know you're up there!””
Dad stood abruptly.
“Stay here.””
“No.””
“Emily, please.””
“You don't get to tell me to stay out of this anymore.””
I took the notebook and slipped it into my backpack.
Dad stared at me, then nodded slowly.
“Then we face him together.””
We went downstairs.
Daniel stood in the living room wearing a charcoal suit and a watch that probably cost more than my first car. Linda sat on the sofa, twisting a tissue between her fingers.
Mark was beside the fireplace.
All three looked at us when we entered.
Daniel smiled at me.
“Emily. You've grown up.””
“Apparently, not quickly enough for you.””
His smile tightened.
“I can understand why you're upset. You've been given a great deal of confusing information.””
“You sent me a photograph of my mother's medical report.””
“I didn't send you anything.””
I held up my phone.
“Then how did someone get a photograph of the notebook I found in my bedroom?””
Daniel glanced at the screen.
For a fraction of a second, his expression changed.
Then he turned to Dad.
“Robert, this is exactly what I warned you about. Your daughter is drawing conclusions from incomplete information.””
“My daughter isn't the problem,” Dad replied.
“Then perhaps you should explain the consequences of your decisions.””
Linda rose from the sofa.
“Daniel, please. We agreed not to discuss this in front of her.””
I stared at her.
“You agreed to what?””
She pressed her lips together.
Daniel opened his folder and removed a document.
“The sale closes tomorrow morning. If it goes through, the outstanding debts will be settled, and everyone can move on.””
“Everyone except me.””
“You'll be compensated.””
“By whom?””
He slid the document across the coffee table.
“There's an offer for you to sign. You receive a cash settlement in exchange for relinquishing any claims connected to the property.””
I didn't touch it.
“My mother left me a trust.””
“And your father has obligations that must be addressed.””
“Did you forge his signature?””
Daniel's expression hardened.
“Be careful.””
“Did you use a dead notary?””
Mark shifted uncomfortably.
Linda began crying.
Daniel closed the folder.
“You have until midnight to sign. After that, the offer expires.””
“And if I refuse?””
He looked at me with a coldness that erased every trace of his earlier smile.
“Then you'll learn why your mother was so desperate to keep certain information buried.””
He turned toward the door.
Just before leaving, he paused beside Dad.
“You should tell her what you found in the garage after Margaret died.””
Dad went completely still.
Daniel walked out.
The front door clicked shut.
I turned to my father.
“What did you find?””
He didn't answer.
I grabbed his arm.
“Dad, what did you find?””
His eyes filled with tears.
“A second prescription bottle,” he whispered.
“Hidden behind the spare tire in Daniel's car.””
My heart stopped.
“What was in it?””
“I never found out.””
May you like
He looked at the front door.
“Because Daniel took it before I could show anyone.””
