Chapter 8 - The Photograph in the Garage
Two days after the canceled wedding, I returned to my house.
Not alone.
Meredith had helped arrange a supervised opportunity to collect my belongings while the occupancy dispute was being addressed.
Delma came with me.
So did Thomas.
Hollis had agreed through counsel not to be present during the scheduled visit.
I stood in the driveway and looked at the pale-yellow house where I'd raised Wren.
Abel and I bought it eight months before she was born.
We'd painted the nursery together.
He'd gotten pale-blue paint on his nose.
I'd laughed so hard I nearly fell off the ladder.
After he died, I'd changed almost nothing.
For years, the house had been a place where his absence felt unbearable.
Then Hollis came along.
And slowly, the rooms seemed full again.
I was beginning to understand that a full house and a safe house weren't the same thing.
"Ready?" Delma asked.
I nodded.
We entered through the front door.
The first thing I noticed was the smell.
Hollis's aftershave.
Cedar and citrus.
It hung in the hallway like a memory I hadn't invited back.
The second thing was the empty wall.
"Delma."
She stopped.
"What?"
"Abel's photograph."
The large framed picture that had hung beside the staircase for nine years was gone.
In it, Abel stood in his dress uniform with his arm around me.
I was pregnant with Wren.
We were both laughing.
It was my favorite picture of us.
Delma looked at the wall.
"Maybe he moved it."
I already knew he had.
Hollis had suggested moving it more than once.
"Wouldn't you rather have our engagement picture there?" he'd asked last winter.
I'd said no.
He hadn't mentioned it again.
Now the hooks were empty.
I walked through the living room.
The smaller pictures of Abel were gone too.
One from our wedding.
One of him holding Wren in the hospital.
Even the snapshot of him teaching her to ride a bicycle had disappeared from the mantel.
I felt my chest tighten.
"He's been removing him."
Delma's expression changed.
"Let's find the pictures."
We searched carefully.
I didn't want to touch anything that might become relevant to the investigation without documenting it.
Thomas photographed the empty spaces.
We checked the spare bedroom.
Nothing.
The closet.
Nothing.
Then Delma called from the kitchen.
"Sloane, come here."
She was standing in front of the pantry.
On the top shelf sat a cardboard box.
Inside were picture frames wrapped in dish towels.
My wedding photograph with Abel.
The hospital picture.
The bicycle snapshot.
I picked up the smallest frame.
Wren was four in the photograph.
Her hair was flying behind her.
Abel stood beside the bicycle, laughing.
I pressed the frame against my chest.
"Why would he hide these?"
Delma looked at the box.
"Because he wanted the house to look like Abel had never existed."
I swallowed.
"I let him do it."
"You didn't know."
"I should have noticed."
She didn't argue.
Instead, she held out her hand.
"Let's get them somewhere safe."
I carried the box into the dining room.
Then Thomas came through the garage door.
"There's something you need to see."
We followed him.
The garage had always been Abel's favorite place.
He'd kept his tools organized on a pegboard and labeled every drawer.
After he died, I couldn't bring myself to change it.
Hollis called the space cluttered.
He'd said he wanted to install cabinets.
I'd told him he could use one wall.
He'd taken over nearly all of it.
Now I looked at the metal shelving along the back.
"What's wrong?"
Thomas pointed toward a stack of document boxes.
"These aren't yours, are they?"
I shook my head.
They were heavy-duty white storage boxes.
Each had a printed label.
Names.
Dates.
Account categories.
I read the first.
HALPERN, JUNE.
My breath stopped.
June Halpern.
The widow who'd spoken to me.
I looked at the next box.
REYNOLDS, C.
Then another.
WATKINS, MARA.
Another.
ELLISON, P.
I stepped back.
"Oh, God."
Delma whispered, "Who are these people?"
"I don't know."
Thomas raised his phone.
"I'm taking pictures."
"Don't open them," I said.
He looked at me.
"Why?"
"Because these may be somebody else's private records. We need to let the investigator know."
I called Mercer.
He listened.
Then said, "Don't disturb the contents. Photograph the labels and explain how you encountered them. We'll determine the proper way to obtain and examine them."
I looked around the garage.
"There's a whole shelf."
"How many boxes?"
"At least eleven."
He was silent.
Then asked, "Do the labels have dates?"
"Some."
"Any date range?"
I read the nearest labels.
"From about four years ago to this year."
I heard him writing.
"All right. I'll coordinate with you and your attorney about next steps."
After the call, we returned to the house.
I collected Wren's school records, clothes, medications, and favorite books.
I took the photograph of Abel she'd kept on her nightstand.
I found her stuffed rabbit beneath the bed.
Then I entered my home office.
The filing cabinet was unlocked.
I opened the drawer where I'd kept Abel's estate documents.
Half the folders were missing.
I stood there staring.
At first, I thought I'd opened the wrong drawer.
Then I checked the labels.
SURVIVOR BENEFITS.
LIFE INSURANCE.
WRen's TRUST.
The folders were gone.
I photographed the cabinet.
My mouth felt dry.
Delma came to the doorway.
"What is it?"
"The originals."
"What originals?"
"Some of the records Hollis had access to."
She looked at the drawer.
"Do you think they're in the garage?"
"I don't know."
I closed it.
I was beginning to feel as though every room in the house had been rearranged while my eyes were closed.
We finished gathering Wren's things.
Then Thomas carried the boxes outside.
I took one last walk through the downstairs rooms.
In the living room, I stopped beside the fireplace.
An old wooden cabinet stood beneath the window.
Abel had made it himself.
The drawers never quite lined up.
Hollis had wanted to replace it with something modern.
I'd refused.
Now I noticed the top drawer was open.
Inside lay a small padded envelope.
My name was written across the front.
SLOANE.
I recognized Hollis's handwriting.
I looked at it for a long moment before picking it up.
It wasn't sealed.
Inside was a photograph.
Not of me.
Not of Wren.
It showed Hollis standing outside a building with glass doors.
Beside him stood Martin Vale.
They were shaking hands with a third man.
On the building behind them were the words:
SUMMIT LEGACY PLANNING.
I turned the photograph over.
Someone had written a date.
April 6.
Three years earlier.
And beneath it:
Phase One Complete.
My stomach tightened.
I showed Delma.
She read it.
"What does phase one mean?"
I shook my head.
"I don't know."
Then another detail caught my eye.
The third man in the photograph looked familiar.
Short gray hair.
A narrow face.
A thin gold watch.
I stared at him.
"Delma."
"What?"
"I know him."
She leaned closer.
"Who is he?"
I had to swallow before answering.
"That's Peter Lang."
"Who's Peter Lang?"
I looked at the photograph again.
"He was the financial adviser Abel's father used."
Delma stared at me.
"And?"
May you like
I felt a horrible realization forming.
"He was one of the people who helped establish Wren's trust."
