Chapter 6: The Woman at My Front Door
I read the message three times before the words made sense.
My house stood at the end of a quiet street lined with maple trees. I'd lived there for thirty-one years, through my marriage, my husband's death, and every lonely holiday that followed.
The photograph showed the front porch, the blue shutters Robert had painted himself, and the brass number beside the door.
It had been taken from the sidewalk.
Someone had been outside my home that afternoon.
Someone who knew exactly where I lived.
"Margaret?"" David asked.
"What's wrong?""
I handed him the phone.
He read the message, then passed it to Thomas.
Thomas's expression hardened.
"Don't reply. Don't delete anything. I'll arrange for the message to be preserved.""
"Preserved?"" I repeated.
"Someone is threatening me, and you want to preserve it?""
"I want to make sure whoever sent it can be identified.""
I stood so quickly that my chair scraped across the floor.
"I've spent twelve years believing my husband died of natural causes. I've spent fifteen years visiting my brother's grave. And now someone is telling me to stop asking questions about both of them.""
My voice shook.
"I'm finished being kept in the dark.""
Thomas studied me for a moment.
"Then we need to establish what happened after Robert's death.""
Olivia wiped her cheeks.
"Mom, please don't go home alone.""
I turned toward her.
"Why? Are you afraid someone will hurt me, or are you afraid I'll discover something you haven't told me?""
She looked as if I'd struck her.
"Both," she whispered.
Ethan closed his eyes.
"Olivia, I need to know whether I can trust anything you've told me.""
She reached for him, but he stepped away.
"Please," she said.
"I was trying to protect you.""
"From your family?""
"From the truth.""
He shook his head.
"Those aren't the same thing.""
David stood and straightened his jacket.
"Margaret, you're not going home alone. I'll have a driver take you, and Thomas can arrange security.""
I almost refused. I had never liked feeling helpless, and the thought of strangers watching my house made my skin crawl.
But when I looked at the photograph again, I noticed something I'd missed.
The porch light was on.
I always switched it off before leaving for the day.
Someone had been close enough to touch my front door.
"All right," I said.
"But I'm going to tell you everything I remember about Robert's last week.""
Thomas nodded.
"Start wherever you can.""
I closed my eyes.
"I remember he received a phone call three days before he died. He took it in the garage. When he came back inside, he was sweating, even though it was cold outside.""
"What did he say?"" Thomas asked.
"He told me a business problem had come up.""
"Did he name anyone?""
"No.""
I paused.
"Actually, he did say one name. Michael.""
David's face tightened.
"My brother?""
I nodded.
"Robert said, 'Michael knows what happens if Daniel comes home.'' I asked him what he meant, but he told me not to worry.""
Thomas wrote rapidly.
"Anything else?""
"That night, Robert moved a stack of papers from his desk into the old metal toolbox in the garage. I found the toolbox empty after he died.""
"Did you report that?""
"No. I thought the police had taken everything important.""
Thomas exchanged a glance with David.
"Did anyone else have access to the garage?""
I looked at Olivia.
She lowered her head.
"Olivia had a key," I said.
"She was home from college that week.""
My daughter began crying again.
"I was looking for the account documents.""
I felt my chest tighten.
"You went through your father's things?""
"He told me to keep them safe!""
"And you never told me?""
She covered her face.
Thomas intervened before I could speak again.
"Mrs. Hayes, we'll need to examine any remaining records. But first, we should get you home.""
Within forty minutes, I was sitting in the back of David's car while a second vehicle followed us. The vineyard receded behind us, its wedding arch still standing beneath the trees like a stage after the actors had vanished.
Nobody spoke during the drive.
When we reached my street, I noticed the first thing that was wrong.
My mailbox was open.
The second thing was worse.
My front door stood slightly ajar.
I grabbed David's arm.
"I locked that door.""
Thomas, who had followed us in the other car, was already stepping out.
"Stay here.""
He approached the porch cautiously and called for the police. David remained beside me while his driver waited with the engine running.
Then I saw something on the front steps.
A small white envelope.
My name was written across it in handwriting I recognized immediately.
Robert's.
I left the car before David could stop me.
"Margaret, wait!""
But I was already on the porch, staring at the familiar loops of the letters. Robert had written my name thousands of times: birthday cards, grocery lists, notes left on the kitchen counter.
I knew that handwriting better than I knew my own.
Thomas came up behind me.
"Don't touch it yet.""
I pointed at the envelope.
"That's my husband's handwriting.""
He examined it without picking it up.
"Are you certain?""
"Absolutely.""
A police siren sounded faintly in the distance.
I couldn't wait.
I slipped a finger beneath the flap and opened the envelope.
Inside was a single sheet of paper, folded twice.
The message contained only four lines.
Margaret, I'm sorry.
I tried to tell you before it was too late.
Daniel is alive, and Olivia knows where he is.
If you want the truth, look beneath the floorboards in the garage.
My knees nearly gave way.
Thomas took the note carefully and placed it in an evidence sleeve he had retrieved from his case.
"Nobody goes into the garage until the police arrive.""
I stared through the open doorway into the dark hallway.
For twelve years, I'd believed Robert had left me with nothing but memories and unanswered questions.
Now someone was telling me he had left a message behind.
And if that handwriting was genuine, the message meant one of two things.
Either Robert had known his death was coming and prepared for it.
Or someone had been keeping his secrets long after he was gone.
The police arrived minutes later. Two officers searched the house while another photographed the envelope and the note.
Nothing appeared to be missing.
The living room was untouched. The kitchen drawers were closed. My bedroom looked exactly as I'd left it.
But in the garage, beneath the old metal toolbox, the officers found a section of floorboards that had been lifted and replaced.
One board came loose with a sharp crack.
Underneath lay a small metal box.
Thomas knelt beside it.
"Mrs. Hayes, do you recognize this?""
I did.
Robert had kept his important documents in a box exactly like it when we were first married.
The lid was locked, but a key had been taped beneath the bottom.
Inside were bank statements, a photograph of Daniel, and a sealed envelope addressed to me.
I opened it with shaking hands.
The letter began with a sentence that made every hair on my arms stand up.
My darling Margaret, if Olivia has brought you to this box, then she has finally decided to tell you what she did the night I died.
I stopped reading.
Behind me, my daughter made a small, broken sound.
I turned.
Olivia stood in the garage doorway, her wedding dress gathered in one hand, her face white as the paper I was holding.
She hadn't come with us.
She had followed us.
May you like
And when she saw the letter in my hands, she whispered the words I'd feared most.
"Mom, please don't read the next page.""
