Chapter 8: The Floorboard Beneath Her Closet
We returned to my father's house that evening under the supervision of the sheriff's investigator.
Patricia came with me.
Daniel followed in his own car.
My father and Vanessa were being questioned separately, and Brianna had been taken to stay with a family friend.
The house looked exactly as it had that morning.
The expensive chandelier.
The spotless marble kitchen.
The framed family photographs arranged along the staircase.
Except now, every photograph felt like a lie.
I stopped in front of one.
It showed my father, Vanessa, and Brianna smiling at a beach in Florida.
I wasn't in it.
I had been home alone that weekend.
I remembered because I had spent my eighteenth birthday eating cereal in my bedroom while they celebrated Brianna's dance competition.
Patricia touched my shoulder.
"Are you ready?""
I nodded.
We walked upstairs.
My mother's old bedroom was now Vanessa's dressing room.
The door was painted pale gray.
A gold sign reading VANESSA'S PRIVATE SPACE hung from the handle.
Patricia tried the handle.
Locked.
"Do you have a key?"" she asked.
I shook my head.
"She never let me inside.""
Daniel spoke to the investigator, who authorized the door to be opened.
A few minutes later, a locksmith arrived.
The lock clicked.
The door swung inward.
The smell of expensive perfume hit me immediately.
Everything inside was perfectly organized.
Designer handbags lined the shelves.
Shoes stood in glass cabinets.
A large vanity occupied the wall where my mother's dresser used to be.
I walked slowly across the room.
I remembered sitting on the floor as a little girl while Mom brushed my hair.
I remembered her letting me wear her red lipstick when I was six.
I remembered her laughing when I accidentally colored outside the lines while drawing pictures.
"Emily?""
Patricia's voice brought me back.
"Where was the floorboard?""
I pointed toward the closet.
"Under the left side.""
The investigator photographed the area before allowing Daniel to examine it.
The floor was covered with thick white carpeting.
We moved the shoe boxes.
Then Patricia knelt and pressed her fingers against the wood.
"There.""
A small section sounded hollow.
The investigator carefully lifted the carpet edge.
Beneath it was a narrow wooden panel.
Daniel used a small tool to loosen it.
The board lifted.
Inside was a little wooden box.
My breath caught.
It was painted yellow, with tiny blue flowers around the lid.
I recognized it immediately.
My mother had painted it with me during one rainy afternoon.
I reached for it.
"Careful," the investigator said.
"We'll photograph everything first.""
The box was opened on the floor.
Inside were birthday drawings, an old bracelet, several photographs, and a sealed envelope.
But there was something else.
A small silver key.
And a folded receipt.
Daniel picked up the receipt.
His expression changed.
"What is it?"" Patricia asked.
He turned it toward her.
It was from an auto repair shop.
The date was the day before my mother's accident.
The description listed an inspection and replacement of a brake component.
The customer name was Marcus Carter.
My stomach tightened.
"Why would Dad take Mom's car to a repair shop?""
Daniel examined the receipt.
"That's something investigators will need to establish.""
The investigator photographed it and placed it inside an evidence bag.
I picked up the envelope.
It had my mother's handwriting.
For Emily, if the truth becomes necessary.
Inside was a single letter.
My darling,
If you've found this, then I wasn't able to keep the promise I made to you.
I need you to know that the night before my accident, I discovered that my car had been taken to a repair shop without my permission.
I asked Marcus about it. He told me he had arranged a routine inspection.
But the mechanic called me the following morning and asked why I had authorized a second repair.
I stopped reading.
Patricia covered her mouth.
The letter continued.
I never authorized a second repair.
I asked the mechanic to preserve the service records. He seemed frightened. He told me someone had paid cash and specifically requested that the work not appear on the regular invoice.
I looked toward the investigator.
"Can we find the mechanic?""
She nodded.
"What's the shop's name?""
I handed her the receipt.
She studied it.
"Possibly. We'll check the business records.""
I continued reading.
I don't know whether this was an attempt to frighten me or something more serious. But if anything happens to me, please don't accept the first explanation you are given.
The final paragraph was underlined.
The person who arranged the repair may not have acted alone.
I lowered the letter.
"Not alone?""
Daniel looked toward the investigator.
"We need to identify everyone who had access to the vehicle.""
Patricia gently touched my hand.
"Your mother was trying to leave you a trail.""
I looked at the empty closet.
Then I noticed something behind the built-in shelves.
A small rectangular section of wallpaper had been cut and carefully replaced.
I pointed toward it.
"What's that?""
The investigator examined the wall.
The wallpaper section came away easily.
Behind it was a narrow cavity.
Inside sat an old black smartphone.
Its screen was cracked.
A faded sticker of a yellow sunflower covered the back.
I recognized it.
It was my mother's phone.
The same phone my father had claimed was destroyed in the accident.
Daniel stared at it.
"Don't touch it yet.""
The investigator photographed the device and placed it into an evidence bag.
Then she turned toward me.
"Emily, if this phone still contains data, it could be extremely important.""
I looked at the device.
For six years, my father had told me that nothing from that night survived.
But my mother had hidden the one thing he had insisted was gone.
And just as the investigator was preparing to leave, her phone rang.
She answered.
Listened.
Then her expression changed.
"Are you certain?""
A pause.
"Send the information immediately.""
She ended the call and looked at us.
"We found the repair shop.""
I stepped closer.
"What did they say?""
The investigator glanced at the receipt.
"The mechanic remembers your mother's vehicle.""
She paused.
"He also remembers the man who paid for the work.""
"Who?""
May you like
She looked directly at me.
"Your father's business partner.""
