Chapter 7
The blood wasn’t old.
That was the first thing Detective Lopez told me.
It was fresh.
Near the attic ladder.
A few drops on the hallway floor.
Another smear on the wall.
No body.
No person.
Just evidence that someone had been inside my house recently and had probably injured themselves while escaping.
Police searched every room.
The attic.
The garage.
The backyard.
Nothing.
My cameras had been disabled seventeen minutes before the break-in.
Someone knew exactly where the system was located.
Someone knew my home.
“Ryan,” I said.
Lopez shook her head.
“He’s still in custody.”
“Amanda?”
“Also in custody.”
“Then who?”
“We’re working on it.”
I hated those words.
Because every hour seemed to reveal another person who had been lying to me.
I stayed at the hospital with Lily until she was discharged that afternoon.
Child protective services interviewed me before allowing her to leave.
The investigator, Ms. Palmer, explained that because Amanda had been Lily’s primary caregiver during many incidents, they needed to document the safety plan.
Amanda would have no contact.
No unsupervised access.
No phone calls.
No messages.
That was fine with me.
What surprised me was the next part.
“We also recommend your daughter not have unsupervised contact with your brother or mother until the investigation clarifies what they knew.”
I looked at Mom.
She was sitting across the room with Lily.
My chest tightened.
“Grandma didn’t hurt her.”
“I understand.”
“She tried to help.”
“And we’ll consider that.”
I knew the investigator was doing her job.
But everything hurt.
Even people trying to protect Lily now reminded me how badly I had failed to protect her before.
We couldn’t return home because police were still processing the house.
So Lily and I checked into a hotel.
Mom stayed elsewhere.
That evening, Lily sat on the bed coloring.
I ordered macaroni and cheese from room service.
For the first time in twenty-four hours, we were alone.
No officers.
No doctors.
No detectives.
Just us.
Lily colored a picture of three people.
One was me.
One was her.
The third was Sarah.
I knew because she drew yellow hair around the head and a giant red heart above it.
“Is that Mommy?”
She nodded.
“You remember her?”
“A little.”
My chest ached.
She had been eighteen months old when Sarah died.
Most of what Lily “remembered” probably came from photographs and stories.
“Grandma says Mommy sings.”
“She did.”
“What song?”
I smiled despite everything.
“Badly.”
Lily giggled.
That sound felt like oxygen.
Then she looked at my face.
“Daddy?”
“Yes?”
“Are you mad at me?”
The smile disappeared.
“Why would I be mad at you?”
“Because I made Amanda go away.”
I moved onto the bed beside her.
“You did not make Amanda go away.”
“I told.”
“You did exactly the right thing.”
“She said telling is bad.”
“Amanda was wrong.”
Lily stared at the crayon.
“She said you would be lonely.”
My throat tightened.
“I’m not lonely when I have you.”
“She said grown-ups need wives.”
I almost laughed, but Lily was serious.
“No. Grown-ups don’t need wives or husbands to be okay.”
She thought about it.
“Can Grandma be your wife?”
That actually made me laugh.
“No.”
“Why?”
“Because Grandma is my mom.”
“That’s silly.”
“Yes, it would be very silly.”
She smiled.
Then she became serious again.
“Daddy?”
“Yes?”
“Uncle Ryan cried.”
I froze.
“When?”
“At our house.”
“What day?”
Lily shrugged.
“Before Christmas.”
“What happened?”
“Amanda yelled.”
“What did she say?”
Lily looked uncertain.
“Bad words.”
“That’s okay. You don’t have to say them.”
“She threw Mommy’s picture.”
I stared at her.
“What picture?”
“The box picture.”
I tried to understand.
“What box?”
“Mommy box.”
Then I remembered.
Sarah’s memory box.
I kept it in the master bedroom closet.
Photographs.
Letters.
Hospital bracelets from Lily’s birth.
Sarah’s wedding earrings.
Things I almost never opened because the memories were too painful.
“Did Amanda open Mommy’s box?”
Lily nodded.
My heartbeat accelerated.
“What was she looking for?”
“Paper.”
“What paper?”
Lily shrugged.
“Uncle Ryan said, ‘It’s not there.’”
I leaned closer.
“What did Amanda say?”
“She said Grandma had it.”
My stomach tightened.
“Grandma?”
Lily nodded.
“And Uncle Ryan cried?”
“He sat on floor.”
“What else did they say?”
Lily went back to coloring.
I didn’t push.
A few minutes later, she whispered, “Amanda said he ruined everything.”
“Ryan?”
Another nod.
“What did Uncle Ryan say?”
Lily looked up.
“He said, ‘I loved her too.’”
I stopped breathing.
Sarah.
It had to be Sarah.
My phone buzzed.
Detective Lopez again.
“We found something in your attic.”
I stood.
“What?”
“Not the flash drive.”
My hope collapsed.
“But there’s a cavity behind the insulation.”
“Empty?”
“Mostly.”
“What do you mean mostly?”
“We found a plastic bag.”
“What was inside?”
“A handwritten note.”
My knees weakened.
“From Sarah?”
“We’re having handwriting confirmed, but it appears possible.”
“What does it say?”
“I’d rather show you.”
“Tell me.”
Lopez hesitated.
“It’s addressed to you.”
I closed my eyes.
“Read it.”
She did.
“Michael, if you find this, then either I finally told you everything or I didn’t get the chance.”
My hand tightened around the phone.
Lopez continued.
“I’m sorry I kept this from you. Ryan is involved in something serious with Amanda Bell. I have proof. I’m afraid he’s going to protect her because he thinks he loves her.”
Tears blurred my vision.
“Keep going.”
“The money matters, but that’s not what scares me most. Amanda knows things about our family she should not know. She has asked questions about Lily’s trust, the house, and your life insurance.”
My blood went cold.
Lily’s trust.
After Sarah’s parents died, they left Lily a substantial inheritance.
It was managed in trust until she turned twenty-five.
I had never discussed the exact amount with Amanda.
Very few people knew.
Lopez kept reading.
“If something happens to me, please don’t assume it was random.”
I sat heavily on the edge of the hotel bed.
There was one final line.
“Do not trust Ryan if Amanda is still in his life.”
Silence followed.
I couldn’t speak.
Detective Lopez waited.
Finally I whispered, “She knew.”
“Yes.”
“She knew something was going to happen.”
“We don’t know that.”
“She wrote that.”
“She was afraid something might happen.”
I wiped my face.
“Where’s the flash drive?”
“We don’t know.”
“Someone got there first.”
“Possibly.”
“Who sent those texts?”
“We’re tracing them.”
“Any result?”
A pause.
“The number was prepaid.”
“Of course.”
“But we found something else.”
“What?”
“There was a partial print on the attic hatch.”
“Whose?”
“We don’t have a confirmed match yet.”
She paused.
“Michael, do you know someone named Daniel Bell?”
“No.”
“Think.”
“Bell?”
“Yes.”
“Amanda’s family?”
“We believe so.”
I searched my memory.
Amanda rarely spoke about her family.
She said her father died.
Her mother lived overseas.
No siblings.
At least that was what I had been told.
“I don’t know him.”
Lopez answered quietly.
“According to public records, Daniel Bell is Amanda’s older brother.”
My skin prickled.
“She told me she was an only child.”
“She isn’t.”
“Where is he?”
“That’s what we’re trying to determine.”
I walked to the window.
Cars moved below.
Christmas lights blinked across the street.
Normal life.
Then Lopez added, “There’s a reason we’re concerned.”
“What?”
“Daniel Bell was questioned five years ago in connection with Sarah’s accident.”
My stomach dropped.
May you like
“Why?”
“Because the truck Ryan was driving belonged to him.”
