Chapter 4 - Rebecca’s Name
For four years, Daniel had learned how to live around Rebecca’s absence.
He did not move through grief in a straight line.
No one did.
At first, it had filled every room.
Her mug beside the coffee machine.
Her shoes beneath the mudroom bench.
The half-read novel on her nightstand.
The voicemail Daniel saved because he could not bear the idea of forgetting exactly how she sounded when she said his name.
Eventually the pain stopped occupying everything.
It became architectural.
A wall.
A doorway.
Something permanently built into the shape of his life.
But Detective Ruiz saying Rebecca’s name in connection with Maya’s missing mother knocked down every wall at once.
Daniel arrived at the station twenty-three minutes later.
Rachel was already there.
Ruiz placed the photograph inside a clear evidence sleeve.
Daniel stared at it.
Rebecca was unmistakable.
Blonde hair tied loosely behind her neck.
Blue cardigan.
The silver necklace Daniel gave her on their tenth anniversary.
She stood beside a dark-haired woman Daniel assumed was Julia Bennett.
Behind them was a black SUV.
Rebecca’s hand rested on Julia’s shoulder.
Both women looked serious.
Not smiling.
On the back, someone had written a date.
Eight months before Julia disappeared.
Daniel swallowed.
“Where was this taken?”
“We’re working on it.”
“I’ve never seen that woman.”
“Are you sure?”
“Yes.”
“Rebecca never mentioned Julia Bennett?”
“No.”
“Could they have worked together?”
“Rebecca volunteered with several organizations.”
“What kind?”
“Women’s shelters.”
“Food programs.”
“School drives.”
Ruiz made notes.
“Anything involving domestic violence?”
Daniel’s silence answered.
Rebecca had spent five years volunteering with Harbor House.
A confidential support organization for women leaving dangerous homes.
He suddenly understood why Rebecca might never have mentioned Julia.
Confidentiality.
Rachel saw it too.
“Harbor House?”
Daniel nodded.
Ruiz wrote the name.
“When did Rebecca stop volunteering?”
“She didn’t.”
“Not until she became ill.”
“How long before she died?”
“About six months.”
Ruiz looked at the photograph again.
“Your wife died four years ago.”
“Yes.”
Daniel frowned.
Then the inconsistency hit him.
He grabbed the evidence sleeve.
Rachel stopped him from touching it.
Daniel pointed.
“That date can’t be right.”
Ruiz nodded.
“We noticed.”
The photograph was stamped eight months ago.
Rebecca had been dead four years.
“So either the date was altered,” Ruiz said, “or someone printed an older image with a newer date.”
Daniel stared.
“Why?”
“We don’t know.”
Rachel leaned forward.
“Could the photograph itself be a message?”
Ruiz nodded.
“That’s what I’m considering.”
“To whom?”
“Maybe Julia.”
“Maybe Grant.”
“Maybe us.”
Daniel remembered the storage unit had been emptied only hours after Maya passed him the address.
“Wade knew about it.”
“Probably.”
“Then why leave the photograph?”
Ruiz looked at him.
“Maybe he didn’t.”
Daniel went still.
Someone else had been in Unit 314.
The detective continued.
“The lock showed signs of being cut recently.”
“But there were two different shoe impressions inside.”
“One large.”
“One smaller.”
“Adult?”
“Likely.”
“Could Maya have been there?”
“Possible.”
Daniel pictured her worn sneakers.
“Can you check?”
“We will.”
His phone rang.
Rosa.
Daniel answered immediately.
“What happened?”
Rosa was breathing hard.
“Mr. Carter, there is somebody outside.”
Daniel stood.
“Who?”
“I don’t know.”
“A car stopped near the driveway.”
“Ethan saw it from upstairs.”
“What kind of car?”
There was a pause.
Then Rosa said the words Daniel already feared.
“Gray sedan.”
Daniel was moving before the call ended.
Ruiz followed.
“Daniel.”
“My son.”
“We’ll send officers.”
“I’m not waiting.”
Rachel grabbed her bag.
“I’m coming.”
Daniel drove home faster than he should have.
The sedan was gone.
Two police cruisers were outside.
Rosa stood in the foyer with Ethan behind her.
Daniel entered.
“Are you okay?”
Ethan nodded.
“Did anyone come to the door?”
“No.”
“Did you see Wade?”
“I think so.”
“Think?”
“He was across the street.”
“He had his phone out.”
Daniel’s chest tightened.
“Taking pictures?”
“Maybe.”
Ruiz arrived.
Officers canvassed the area.
A neighbor had security footage.
The gray sedan appeared at 9:36.
It remained across from Daniel’s house for almost seven minutes.
Then drove away.
The license plate matched Wade’s vehicle.
That changed things.
Ruiz called him.
Wade answered.
Daniel could not hear the conversation, but he saw Ruiz’s expression.
Wade claimed he had been driving through the neighborhood.
No destination.
No explanation.
Legally suspicious was not the same as legally sufficient.
But Daniel no longer needed convincing.
Someone had followed Ethan home.
Daniel activated every exterior camera on the property.
He called his security company.
For the first time since Rebecca died, he checked every lock himself before bed.
Ethan watched.
“Dad.”
“What?”
“Mom knew Maya’s mom?”
Daniel sat beside him on the stairs.
“I don’t know.”
“The picture says she did.”
“The picture says they were together once.”
“That’s different.”
Ethan absorbed that.
“Do you think Maya knew?”
“I don’t know.”
“Do you think that’s why she trusted me?”
Daniel had not considered it.
The idea made him uneasy.
Maybe Ethan meeting Maya was not chance.
Maybe Julia had once known Rebecca.
Maybe Maya recognized Ethan’s last name.
“Did Maya know your mother’s name?”
“I never told her.”
“Did she ever ask about our family?”
“No.”
“Did she know my name before yesterday?”
“I don’t think so.”
Daniel believed him.
At 1:12 a.m., his phone buzzed.
An unknown number.
One message.
YOU SHOULD HAVE LEFT THE GIRL ALONE.
Daniel read it twice.
Then a second message arrived.
Your wife tried to help too.
Daniel’s heart stopped.
He stared at the screen.
Four years of grief rearranged itself into something far more dangerous.
Rebecca’s illness had been sudden.
Aggressive.
Medically documented.
There had never been anything suspicious about her death.
Daniel knew that.
He repeated it to himself.
But fear rarely respected logic.
A third message appeared.
ASK WHAT SHE HID IN THE BLUE BOX.
Daniel stood.
The blue box.
He had not thought about it in years.
Rebecca kept a small blue metal lockbox in the closet of her home office.
Daniel had found it after she died.
It contained receipts.
Old photographs.
Volunteer paperwork.
Nothing important.
At least he had believed that.
He walked downstairs.
Rebecca’s office had remained mostly unchanged.
Daniel opened the closet.
The box was still there.
He placed it on the desk.
Unlocked it.
Receipts.
Photographs.
A Harbor House badge.
Old thank-you cards.
Then Daniel noticed something he had never noticed before.
The bottom felt too thick.
He pressed it.
A false panel lifted.
Beneath it lay a sealed envelope.
On the front, in Rebecca’s handwriting, were three words.
May you like
FOR DANIEL ONLY.
His hands began to shake.
