Chapter 6: The Woman in the Photograph
I didn’t sleep that night.
I sat in the diner long after the police left, staring at the empty tables and the notebook sitting in front of me.
The place where my father had made pancakes on Sunday mornings.
The place where he taught me how to count change.
The place that burned because someone wanted a secret buried.
And now he was alive.
Somewhere.
With the person responsible.
At sunrise, Rick placed a coffee cup in front of me.
“You’ve been staring at that notebook for six hours.””
I didn’t touch the coffee.
“I heard my father’s voice.””
“I know.””
“He’s alive.””
Rick nodded slowly.
“But someone is keeping him hidden.””
I looked at him.
“You believe me?””
He leaned against the counter.
“Emma, yesterday a child ran into my diner, a man chased her, and we found a notebook connected to your supposedly dead father.””
He paused.
“So yes. I believe you.””
For the first time all night, I almost smiled.
Almost.
Maya was sleeping in the corner booth.
She had refused to leave.
Every time someone suggested taking her somewhere safe, she shook her head.
She knew something.
Something important.
I opened the notebook again.
This time I looked at the photographs.
Missing people.
Witnesses.
Names.
Then I found one photograph that made my hands go cold.
It was a picture of three people standing outside Carter Diner.
My father.
A younger version of me.
And a woman.
I knew her.
Everyone in town knew her.
She had been my father’s business partner.
My mother’s closest friend.
The person who comforted me after the fire.
The person who brought meals to our house.
The person who sat beside me at my father’s funeral.
Her name was Claire Whitmore.
Rick saw my face.
“Who is that?””
I showed him.
He went silent.
“You know her?””
“She raised me after my father died.””
Maya woke up.
She saw the picture.
Immediately, she grabbed my arm.
Her hands moved rapidly.
I watched.
Then I understood.
“You know her?””
Maya nodded.
She pointed at Claire.
Then she pointed at Thomas.
Then she made a circle with her hands.
A connection.
“They work together?””
Maya shook her head.
No.
Then she signed:
“Thomas works for her.””
The room felt colder.
Claire wasn’t just involved.
She was in charge.
I grabbed my phone.
I searched for her number.
My finger hovered over the call button.
Rick stopped me.
“Emma.””
“What?””
“If she’s the person your father warned you about…”
“I need answers.””
“You might not like them.””
I looked at Maya.
Then at the notebook.
Then at the photograph of the woman who had held my hand while I cried after my father’s funeral.
I pressed call.
One ring.
Two rings.
Three.
Then she answered.
“Emma?””
Her voice was warm.
Gentle.
The same voice I remembered.
My stomach twisted.
“Claire.””
A pause.
“Is everything okay?””
I looked at Maya.
She was watching me.
Waiting.
“I found something.””
Another pause.
Longer this time.
“What did you find?””
I tightened my grip on the phone.
“The notebook.””
Silence.
Then Claire whispered:
“Oh.””
Not surprise.
Not confusion.
Fear.
“Emma,” she said quietly.
“You need to listen to me.””
I stood.
“Where is my father?””
The silence that followed answered before she did.
Finally, Claire spoke.
“He told you?””
My heart stopped.
“Told me what?””
Her voice cracked.
“Your father didn’t die because of the fire.””
I looked at Rick.
At Maya.
At the notebook.
Then Claire said the words I never expected.
“He died because he tried to expose me.””
The call went silent.
And before I could respond, another voice came from behind me.
A voice I knew.
A voice that should not have been there.
“Emma.””
I turned.
Maya gasped.
Standing at the diner entrance was the man who had been taken away hours earlier.
Thomas Hale.
And he was holding a photograph of my father.
May you like
Alive.
The photograph was dated yesterday.
