Chapter 8: The Photograph in the Envelope
Dad wanted to call the police immediately.
Susan advised him to wait until she could verify the photograph and the supplemental statement. She explained that the image might be useful, but a face in a photograph wasn't proof of wrongdoing.
For once, I appreciated someone refusing to jump to conclusions.
Still, the message on my phone left me shaking.
“Someone knows what we're doing,” I said.
Susan examined the screen without touching it.
“Have you received threats before tonight?””
“No.””
“Has anyone mentioned the investigation to you recently?””
“Only Vanessa, Uncle Robert, and Mr. Harrison.””
“Then we need to preserve everything. Don't respond to the sender.””
Dad paced beside the dining table.
“This is ridiculous. My daughter is seventeen. Someone is threatening her, and you're telling me to wait?””
“I'm telling you to act carefully,” Susan replied.
“We'll document the message, secure the original letter, and contact the appropriate authorities about the threat.””
I looked down at my mother's handwriting.
The paper had yellowed around the edges, but her words were still clear.
If anyone ever tries to take your home away, contact Mr. Harrison.
I turned the page over.
There was something written on the back.
A date.
And beneath it, a short sentence in my mother's handwriting.
The blue envelope contains the truth.
“Dad?””
He stopped pacing.
“What is it?””
I showed him the note.
His face tightened.
“Where did that come from?””
“The back of Mom's letter.””
He took the paper carefully and studied the writing.
“I've never seen that.””
“Do you know what the blue envelope is?””
He shook his head.
Susan leaned forward.
“Was there anything else in the wooden box?””
“The letter, the legal document, and Mom's locket.””
“Then the blue envelope may be somewhere else.””
I remembered the box's false-looking bottom. When I was younger, I'd sometimes heard a faint rattle when I moved it, but I'd never thought much about it.
I hurried upstairs and returned with the box.
Susan examined it without forcing the wood.
“There's a second compartment,” she said.
“See the narrow seam around the bottom?””
Dad ran his finger along the edge.
A small wooden panel shifted.
Inside was a folded photograph and a brass key.
I picked up the photograph.
It showed my mother standing outside a building with a blue awning. She was smiling, one arm around Mr. Harrison.
Behind them was a sign reading *RIVERSIDE STORAGE*.
On the back, Mom had written a date three weeks before her death.
Dad stared at it.
“I remember that place.””
“What is it?””
“An old storage facility near the river. Your mother rented a unit there when she was preparing to renovate the house.””
Susan examined the key.
“Do you recognize this?””
Dad shook his head.
I turned the key over.
A tiny number had been stamped into the metal.
*214.*
“Unit 214,” I whispered.
Susan closed the folder.
“I'm going to contact Mr. Harrison. We shouldn't visit the facility alone, especially after the threat you received.””
Dad nodded reluctantly.
But I couldn't stop staring at the photograph.
My mother had hidden a key inside a box she knew I might not open for years. She had written instructions in a letter intended for me. She had arranged for a lawyer to protect my inheritance.
Whatever she had discovered, she had expected someone to try to bury it.
And she had prepared for that possibility.
An hour later, Mr. Harrison arrived at our house.
He was a tall man with silver hair and tired eyes. I'd met him once when I was little, but I barely remembered the occasion.
He studied the photograph and key.
“Claire told me she had rented a storage unit,” he said.
“She didn't tell me what she placed inside it.””
“Did you know about the other car?”” Dad asked.
Mr. Harrison's expression darkened.
“I knew Claire was frightened in the final days of her life. She told me someone had been following her, but she refused to identify the person.””
“Why didn't you tell the police?””
“I asked her to make a formal statement. She said she wanted to collect one final piece of evidence first.””
“What evidence?”” I asked.
He looked at the key.
“I believe she intended to retrieve it from the storage unit.””
Susan crossed her arms.
“Then why did nobody check the unit after the accident?””
Mr. Harrison lowered his eyes.
“Because Robert contacted me two days after Claire died. He claimed she had canceled the rental and removed everything.””
Dad stared at him.
“And you believed him?””
“No. I asked for confirmation from the facility, but the records had been changed. The unit was listed as empty.””
My heart began pounding.
“Someone cleared it out?””
“That's what the paperwork suggested.””
“Then why keep the key?””
Mr. Harrison looked at me.
“Because Claire must have hidden it before the unit was supposedly cleared.””
Dad turned away, breathing hard.
I understood his anger. Every new discovery meant another memory had to be reconsidered. Every person he'd trusted had become another question.
But I had no memories of my mother to protect me from the truth.
I only had the truth itself.
“We're going to that storage facility,” I said.
Dad immediately shook his head.
“Not tonight.””
“Tomorrow, then.””
Mr. Harrison nodded.
“I'll arrange for the facility manager to meet us. We'll document everything and involve the authorities if we find evidence of a crime.””
Susan gathered her papers.
“Before we do that, there's one more thing I need to tell you.””
She placed a printed record on the table.
It showed the ownership history of the storage unit.
The last authorized person listed was Claire Carter.
The next name had been added four days after her death.
*Vanessa Carter.*
Dad stared at the record.
“She had access to the unit?””
Susan nodded.
“According to this, she did.””
I looked at the photograph of my mother.
Vanessa had thrown Mom's picture into the trash, tried to take my bedroom, and begged me not to call the lawyer.
Now her name appeared on the only record connecting us to my mother's hidden evidence.
I reached for my phone.
“I want to talk to her.””
Dad caught my wrist gently.
“Emily, no.””
“Why not?””
“Because we don't know what she'll do.””
I looked into his eyes.
“That's exactly why I need to know what she did.””
Before he could respond, the front doorbell rang.
Dad went to answer it.
A woman stood outside, her hair damp from the rain.
Vanessa.
Her makeup had run down her cheeks. She looked past Dad and found me immediately.
“Emily,” she whispered, “please tell me you haven't found the key.””
Dad blocked the doorway.
Vanessa began to cry.
“If you've found it, we have to go to the police right now.””
I held up the brass key.
“Why?””
She looked at it as though it were a weapon.
“Because whatever is in that storage unit,” she said, “your uncle has spent eleven years making sure nobody ever sees it.””
May you like
Then she leaned closer to Dad and whispered something that made him step away from the door.
“Robert wasn't the person in the other car.””
