Chương 8
People walking.
Cars passing.
Everyone continuing their day.
Meanwhile, my small bakery had somehow become part of a conflict that started before I was born.
"Detective Ortiz."
"Yes?"
"Is Nathaniel in danger?"
The question came out before I could stop it.
Silence.
Then she answered.
"Everyone around Nathaniel Caldwell is in danger when he refuses to let go of something."
I did not like that answer.
Because it sounded like a warning.
And because part of me wondered if I had already become one of those things he refused to let go of.
That evening, Nathaniel came to the bakery carrying a cardboard box.
"What is that?"
He placed it on the counter.
"Something I should have given you earlier."
Inside was the drawing Maisie had made on his birthday.
The green dragon.
The crooked lines.
The terrible coloring.
I smiled.
"You kept it."
"Yes."
"Why?"
He looked embarrassed.
"I don't know."
That was probably the most human answer he had ever given me.
I picked up the drawing carefully.
The paper was worn at the edges.
"You carried this around?"
"Sometimes."
"Why?"
He looked at the dragon.
"Because it reminded me that someone saw me before they knew my name."
I looked at him.
And before I could respond, my phone buzzed.
A message.
Unknown number.
I opened it.
One picture.
A photograph of Maisie leaving school that afternoon.
My blood turned cold.
Underneath it were four words.
Ask him what happened at Pier Nine.
Ask him what happened at Pier Nine.
I stared at the screen until the words blurred.
The picture was not violent.
That almost made it worse.
Maisie was walking out of school with her pink backpack hanging from one shoulder, holding a piece of paper in one hand and looking down at something she had drawn.
Someone had been close enough to take that picture.
Someone had watched her.
My fingers went numb.
"Emma."
I looked up.
Nathaniel was standing across the counter.
He had seen my face change.
"What happened?"
I turned the phone toward him.
The second he saw the photograph, everything in him went still.
Not frozen.
Controlled.
Which was somehow more frightening.
"How long ago was this sent?"
"Just now."
He took the phone carefully.
He did not touch the screen immediately.
He looked at the message.
Then the picture.
Then the time stamp.
"Where is Maisie?"
"With Mrs. Holloway."
"Is she there now?"
"Yes."
"Call her."
The command came out quickly.
I almost snapped back.
Then I realized why.
He was scared.
Not worried.
Not concerned.
Scared.
I called.
Mrs. Holloway answered after one ring.
"Emma?"
"Is Maisie with you?"
"Yes."
"Where are you?"
"At my apartment."
"Are you alone?"
There was a pause.
"Emma."
"Please."
Her voice softened.
"We are fine."
I closed my eyes.
The relief lasted only a second.
Because the picture still existed.
Someone had been watching my daughter.
"Do not leave," I said.
"What happened?"
After I hung up, Nathaniel handed my phone back.
His face had changed.
The tired man from the birthday dinner was gone.
The man everyone feared had returned.
I hated seeing it.
Because I understood now that it was not an act.
It was a part of him he had spent years trying to keep buried.
"Who sent it?" he asked.
"I don't know."
"Did they send anything else?"
"No."
He looked at the message again.
"Ask him what happened at Pier Nine."
"What does that mean?"
"It means someone wants you to believe I am hiding something."
"Are you?"
The question came out quietly.
His eyes lifted.
"Yes."
The honesty hurt.
I looked away.
"That is not the answer I wanted."
"I know."
"Then why say it?"
"Because you deserve better than another lie."
I laughed once.
Not because it was funny.
Because I did not know what else to do.
"You have a strange idea of making people feel safe."
"I know."
"You keep saying that."
"Because I keep deserving it."
That stopped me.
Nathaniel walked toward the window.
The temporary covering moved slightly in the evening wind.
"Pier Nine is where everything started."
"With Clara?"
"With my family."
He looked outside.
"My father used that place to build his legitimate businesses."
"And the illegitimate ones?"
"Yes."
"What exactly happened there?"
Nathaniel was quiet.
For a moment, I thought he would avoid answering.
Then he reached into his coat and pulled out an old photograph.
He placed it on the counter.
A younger Nathaniel stood beside a woman with dark hair and a bright smile.
Clara.
Behind them was a warehouse near the water.
Pier Nine.
She looked nothing like someone connected to the stories people told about the Caldwell family.
She looked normal.
Happy.
"She was twenty-six when she died," Nathaniel said.
I touched the edge of the photograph.
"What happened?"
"She discovered my father had been moving money through Pier Nine."
"For who?"
He looked at me.
"People who did not like being questioned."
I waited.
"She wanted to go to the police."
"Why didn't she?"
"Because my father found out."
The bakery was silent.
"What did he do?"
Nathaniel looked down.
"He tried to scare her."
"Did he?"
"No."
The answer was immediate.
"He underestimated her."
A strange sadness crossed his face.
"That was Clara's problem."
"Problem?"
"She believed courage could fix everything."
I looked at the photograph.
"And you don't?"
"No."
The word was quiet.
"I believe courage without protection gets people hurt."
I thought about the message.
The picture of Maisie.
The broken window.
"Who knows about this?"
Nathaniel took the photograph back.
"Only a few people."
"Richard?"
"Possibly."
"Daniel Mercer?"
"Definitely."
"Then why is he warning me?"
Nathaniel did not answer.
I noticed.
"You have a theory."
"Yes."
"What is it?"
He looked toward the door.
"I think Daniel is afraid."
"Of you?"
"No."
That surprised me.
"Then who?"
Nathaniel folded the photograph carefully.
May you like
"Whoever is trying to finish what started at Pier Nine."
I wanted to tell him that sounded impossible.
