Chapter 11 - The Secret Beneath Our Mother's Floor
The farmhouse looked exactly as I remembered.
White siding.
A red front door.
A crooked mailbox.
And the enormous oak tree where Emily and I had carved our initials when we were children.
It was nearly eleven at night when we arrived.
Detective Morales had arranged for two investigators to accompany us.
Rebecca remained with Emily and Lily at a secure location.
The house had been empty for months, but the electricity still worked.
When I stepped inside, the smell hit me first.
Old wood.
Dust.
Lavender.
For a second, I expected my mother to walk out of the kitchen carrying a cup of tea.
Instead, the hallway was dark.
An investigator named Officer Blake switched on his flashlight.
"Where's the room?"
"Down the hall."
We passed the living room.
A faded photograph of Emily and me still hung above the fireplace.
Emily was twelve in the picture.
I was nine.
She had one arm around my shoulders.
Even then, she looked like someone determined to protect everyone she loved.
I pushed open the sewing-room door.
The old blue curtains hung over the window.
Mom's sewing machine sat beneath a white sheet.
Beside it stood a rocking chair Lily used to climb into whenever we visited.
I stood in the doorway for a moment.
Then Blake said, "Mr. Carter?"
I forced myself to move.
"Over here."
The floorboards beneath the sewing table had always been loose.
Dad had planned to repair them before he died.
He never got around to it.
I knelt.
Lifted the edge of the third board.
And found a small metal box wrapped in plastic.
My heart raced.
I pulled it out.
The brass key Emily gave me fit perfectly.
Inside were three folders.
Two flash drives.
A sealed envelope.
And an old photograph.
The photograph showed Ryan standing beside a man I recognized vaguely.
A tall man with sandy hair.
Maybe forty.
They stood outside a construction site.
Written across the back were two names.
Ryan Whitmore and Michael Avery.
I frowned.
Michael Avery.
The name sounded familiar.
Then I remembered.
He had been Ryan's original business partner.
A man who supposedly died in a boating accident four years earlier.
I picked up the first folder.
Bank transfers.
Property documents.
Insurance records.
Copies of emails.
The second folder contained correspondence between Ryan, Margaret Price, and Keller.
The third held documents related to Michael Avery.
Blake examined the papers carefully.
"These should be logged and preserved."
I nodded.
Then I opened the envelope.
Inside was a letter written in Emily's handwriting.
Jimmy,
If you found this, it means Ryan discovered what I was planning, or I wasn't able to finish it.
I need you to know that Michael Avery's death was never properly explained.
Ryan told me Michael drowned after drinking too much on a fishing trip.
But before he died, Michael contacted me.
He said Ryan was stealing from investors and that he was afraid.
He also said Margaret Price had helped arrange legal documents that would leave Ryan in control if something happened to him.
I didn't understand what he meant until I found these records.
Ryan benefited financially from Michael's death.
I cannot prove Ryan caused it.
But I know Michael was frightened.
And I know Ryan lied about what happened afterward.
I lowered the letter.
My hands were shaking.
Blake looked at me.
"What is it?"
I handed him the photograph and letter.
"We may need to revisit an old death investigation."
He read them.
Then looked at the documents again.
"We'll make sure the appropriate investigators receive this."
I turned to the next page.
It contained an insurance summary.
Michael Avery had carried a policy connected to the business.
Following his death, payments had helped Ryan acquire Michael's remaining interests.
Margaret's legal office had handled part of the transaction.
I stared at the photograph.
I remembered Michael.
He had attended Lily's second birthday party.
He brought a giant stuffed giraffe that barely fit through the front door.
He made everyone laugh by pretending it had eaten all the birthday cake.
Emily had liked him.
She once told me Michael was the only person at Ryan's company who still treated employees like people.
And four years earlier, he had died.
Conveniently.
I looked at Blake.
"Can we find his family?"
"That's something investigators can pursue."
I set the photograph down.
Then I noticed the second flash drive.
It was labeled with a date.
Three days before Michael disappeared.
I looked at Blake.
"Can we check it?"
"We'll need to preserve it properly before examination."
I nodded.
The officers photographed and collected the evidence.
Then we prepared to leave.
That's when headlights swept across the front windows.
Blake turned.
"Stay here."
An engine stopped outside.
A car door slammed.
Then another.
I heard footsteps approaching the porch.
Blake moved toward the entryway.
"Police! Identify yourselves!"
A man's voice answered.
"James!"
Ryan.
My blood turned cold.
He was standing outside our mother's house.
"James, I know you're in there!"
Blake called for backup.
I moved behind the hallway wall.
Ryan started pounding on the door.
"Those documents belong to me!"
I looked at the investigators.
Neither moved to open it.
Ryan shouted again.
"You think Emily's innocent? You think you know everything?"
I felt my anger rising.
But then he said something I hadn't expected.
"Ask your sister what happened the night Michael died!"
I went still.
Ryan laughed outside.
"Go on, James!"
He struck the door again.
"Ask Emily why Michael called her instead of his own wife!"
Then the pounding stopped.
An engine roared.
By the time officers reached the porch, Ryan's vehicle was moving down the road.
I stood in the hallway, staring at the closed door.
One sentence kept repeating in my head.
May you like
Ask your sister what happened the night Michael died.
And for the first time since finding Emily alive, I wondered whether she was still keeping something from me.
