Chapter 6 - The Girl Behind the Blue Door
The little girl had been holding a stuffed fox.
That was the first thing I remembered.
Not her mother's face.
Not the street.
The fox.
It was orange, with one ear bent backward and a green ribbon tied around its neck.
The girl had been asleep when Natalie Collins climbed into my car outside Mercer House.
It was raining hard enough to turn the sidewalks silver.
Natalie was soaked.
Her daughter wore a yellow raincoat and held the fox against her chest.
I had been at Mercer House delivering decorations for a donor luncheon.
Daniel had left early.
Natalie approached me in the parking lot.
"Mrs. Mercer?"
She looked frightened.
"Could you give us a ride?"
I remembered glancing at the little girl.
"Of course."
Three years later, sitting across from Detective Reed, the rest of the memory came back in pieces.
Natalie had directed me to the brick townhouse with the blue door.
She had barely spoken during the drive.
But just before she got out, she asked me a question.
"Does your husband read your mail?"
I remembered laughing nervously.
"Sometimes."
"Then be careful."
I had thought she was embarrassed to be receiving services from the nonprofit.
Now I understood that she had been trying to warn me.
"Did she give you anything?" Reed asked.
I closed my eyes.
"An envelope."
He leaned forward.
"What kind?"
"Small. White."
"What was inside?"
"I don't know."
"Where did it go?"
I felt a cold sensation spread through my chest.
"Daniel took it."
"Are you sure?"
I nodded.
"He was waiting when I got home."
The memory sharpened.
Daniel standing in the garage.
His arms folded.
My headlights catching his face.
"Where have you been?"
"Helping someone from Mercer House."
"Who?"
"I don't know her last name."
He had opened the passenger door and inspected the seat.
Then he saw the envelope wedged beside the center console.
"What's this?"
"She asked me to keep it."
"Why?"
"I don't know."
Daniel had stared at me.
Then he took the envelope.
"You're not qualified to involve yourself in these women's problems."
I'd tried to take it back.
He caught my wrist.
"Go inside."
I remembered refusing.
Not dramatically.
Not bravely.
Just one exhausted sentence.
"Give me my keys."
That was when he slapped me.
Once.
Hard enough to make my ears ring.
I had stood in the garage, stunned.
Then he took the keys from my hand.
For three days, I was told the car needed repairs.
Reed gave me a moment.
I sat staring at the table.
"I'm sorry," I whispered.
"For what?"
"For not remembering."
He folded his hands.
"Emily, your husband deliberately controlled information, movement, and access to people. That affects what you could know."
"But Natalie died."
"That is not something you caused by forgetting a conversation."
I looked up.
"How did she die?"
He paused.
"She was found in her vehicle outside the city eighteen months ago."
"What happened?"
"The death was initially determined to be an accidental overdose."
I stared at him.
"Did she have a drug problem?"
"That isn't something I can establish from what we have right now."
"Then why is Hannah suspicious?"
"Because Natalie had contacted her shortly before she died."
"What did she say?"
Reed glanced toward the door.
Then he opened his notebook.
"She said she had found the missing money."
My pulse quickened.
"From Mercer House?"
"That's what Hannah believes."
"Did she tell Hannah where it was?"
"She said she had proof."
"What proof?"
"We don't know yet."
I thought of the white envelope.
"Maybe she gave it to me."
"That's possible."
"And Daniel took it."
"That's what we need to verify."
I stared at the table.
"Was her daughter in the car?"
"No."
Relief struck so hard it hurt.
"Where is she?"
"In protective care with family."
"Is she safe?"
"To the best of our knowledge."
I wanted to ask her name.
I stopped myself.
Reed noticed.
"She has people protecting her privacy."
I nodded.
"Good."
That evening, I sat with Rachel in the apartment kitchen.
I told her everything I remembered.
She listened without interrupting.
When I reached the part about the garage, she closed her eyes.
"Emily."
"What?"
"That was the week you told me you couldn't come to my birthday dinner."
I nodded.
"Daniel said my car was being fixed."
Rachel looked away.
"You told me you had fallen."
"I know."
"I asked whether he had hit you."
"I remember."
"You screamed at me."
I covered my mouth.
"I know."
She shook her head.
"No. I'm not telling you to make you feel worse."
"Then why?"
"Because I spent three years wondering what I could have said differently."
I looked at her.
"Rachel—"
"And I'm finally starting to understand that the problem wasn't the words I chose."
Tears rolled down my face.
She reached for my hand.
"He was the problem."
We sat there until the kettle boiled dry and June came in to ask why the kitchen smelled like hot metal.
For the first time in a week, Rachel and I both laughed.
The next morning, Hannah Price agreed to speak with investigators.
She had been living in Pennsylvania under her own name but had severed nearly every connection to Baltimore.
Reed did not give me her address.
He told me she had retained legal counsel and would provide documents through the proper channels.
I was relieved.
I was also terrified.
Daniel had frightened so many people into silence.
What would happen when they all started talking?
Late that afternoon, Sarah Kim called.
"Emily, I have a question about your former home."
"What kind of question?"
"Did Daniel keep any storage areas off-limits?"
"His office."
"Anywhere else?"
"The basement utility room."
"Was it locked?"
"Yes."
"Do you know what he stored there?"
"Old files. Holiday decorations. At least that's what he said."
Sarah was quiet.
Then she asked, "Do you remember a metal filing cabinet?"
I closed my eyes.
A memory surfaced.
A tall gray cabinet in Daniel's office.
One drawer that never opened when I was present.
"Yes."
"Did you ever see what was inside?"
"No."
"Emily, can you describe it?"
I did.
She thanked me.
Then I asked why she wanted to know.
"Because investigators have obtained a warrant for certain records and electronic devices at your former home."
I held my breath.
"Are they there now?"
"Yes."
"Did they find anything?"
"I can't discuss the search in progress."
I understood.
But I still heard something in her voice.
"Sarah?"
"Yes?"
"Something's wrong, isn't it?"
A pause.
Then she said, "A locksmith opened the cabinet."
I gripped the phone.
"And?"
"There were no files."
My heart sank.
"Of course not."
"Emily, there were photographs."
"What photographs?"
"Photographs of women."
I went still.
Sarah spoke slowly.
"Some appear to have been taken without their knowledge."
I closed my eyes.
"And there was a folder with your name on it."
The room seemed to shrink.
"What was in it?"
"Copies of medical records, financial documents, and personal notes."
"Daniel's notes?"
"Apparently."
I pressed my free hand against the table.
"What did they say?"
Sarah hesitated.
Then she answered.
May you like
"The first page was titled 'Emily — Exit Strategy.'"
And it was dated four years before I found the loan.
