Chương 8
And that was a kind of grief I was not prepared to carry.
Jason ended the call after less than two minutes.
He slipped the phone into his pocket and turned around.
“You should go home.”
I almost laughed.
“You don’t get to tell me where to go.”
His face tightened.
“Emily.”
“No.”
I stepped closer.
“You don’t get to act like you’re protecting me.”
“I’m not.”
“Then what are you doing?”
He looked exhausted again.
Not guilty.
Not innocent.
Just tired.
And that made him harder to hate.
“I’m trying to stop you from making the same mistake Lily made.”
The sentence stayed between us.
“What mistake?”
He looked toward the house.
“She thought knowing the truth would fix everything.”
I felt my anger rise.
“She deserved the truth.”
“Yes.”
The answer surprised me.
Jason looked back at me.
“She did.”
For a second, I saw regret.
Real regret.
Then it disappeared behind something harder.
Fear.
“You need to understand something.”
“What?”
“Some people are not afraid because they did something wrong.”
He paused.
“Sometimes they’re afraid because they know what someone else is capable of.”
I studied him.
“You expect me to believe you’re warning me?”
“I expect you to be careful.”
“Why?”
His jaw tightened.
“Because Lily wasn’t wrong about everything.”
That was the closest thing to an answer he had given me.
And it made me even more suspicious.
“What did she find?”
Jason looked away.
“I can’t tell you.”
“Can’t or won’t?”
He did not answer.
That was an answer.
I left before I said something I would regret.
On the drive home, I called Daniel.
“He knows.”
Daniel did not ask who I meant.
“What happened?”
“He reacted when I mentioned Marcus.”
A pause.
“What kind of reaction?”
“Fear.”
Daniel was quiet.
“Emily, fear does not automatically mean guilt.”
“I know.”
“Good.”
“But it means something.”
“Yes.”
His voice lowered.
“And we need to find out what.”
The following morning, Daniel and I met with a private investigator he trusted.
Her name was Susan Miller.
She was not what I expected.
I imagined someone intimidating.
Someone who looked like they belonged in an action movie.
Instead, Susan was a woman in her early sixties wearing a blue sweater and carrying a notebook covered in small stickers.
She looked like someone’s favorite aunt.
That somehow made her more convincing.
People underestimated people who did not look dangerous.
Daniel introduced us.
Susan shook my hand.
“I’m sorry about your sister.”
“Thank you.”
She sat down.
“Daniel explained the situation.”
I waited.
“What do you need from me?”
“Details.”
“About Lily?”
“About everyone.”
That answer bothered me.
“Everyone?”
“Yes.”
Susan opened her notebook.
“Grief makes people focus on the person they lost.”
She looked at me.
“Investigations often begin with the people who are still alive.”
The first thing Susan did was ask questions that seemed unrelated.
What time did Lily usually wake up?
Did she drink coffee before eating?
Did she lock doors?
Did she keep receipts?
Did she hide things when she was upset?
The questions felt strange until I realized what she was doing.
She was building Lily back into a person.
Not a victim.
A person.
“She kept receipts for everything,” I said.
Susan wrote that down.
“She was organized.”
“She was.”
“Did she trust people easily?”
I thought about it.
“Yes.”
Then I corrected myself.
“Actually, no.”
Susan looked up.
“She trusted people after they earned it.”
I swallowed.
“But once they earned it, she trusted them too much.”
Susan nodded.
“That matters.”
After two hours, she had a clearer picture of Lily.
Then she moved to Jason.
“Was he controlling?”
I hesitated.
That hesitation embarrassed me.
Because I realized how often people confuse control with care.
“He liked things his way.”
“That’s not what I asked.”
I looked down.
“Yes.”
Susan waited.
“He would say he was just being organized.”
“Examples?”
I thought.
“He handled most financial decisions.”
“Did Lily allow that?”
“Yes.”
“Did she choose that?”
I stopped.
I had never asked that question.
Susan noticed.
“That’s important.”
Daniel leaned forward.
“What about Rachel?”
Susan looked at her notes.
“Coworker?”
“Yes.”
“Known affair?”
“Confirmed.”
“By whom?”
“Lily’s messages.”
Susan nodded.
“Did Lily ever meet Rachel?”
I looked at Daniel.
“No.”
“That’s interesting.”
“Why?”
“Because if Rachel was part of the problem, Lily might have wanted to confront her.”
Susan closed her notebook.
“But she didn’t.”
The room became quiet.
“She was investigating something bigger.”
That was the same conclusion we kept reaching.
And every time it became more frightening.
That afternoon, Susan found something.
A camera.
Not from the house.
From a neighbor’s property.
The neighbor was an older man named Walter who lived three houses away.
He was known for installing cameras because his mailbox had been vandalized twice.
Susan spoke with him.
At first, he was hesitant.
Then she mentioned Lily.
His expression changed.
“I liked that girl.”
He rubbed his hands together.
“She always waved when she drove by.”
“Did your camera capture anything unusual the night she died?”
Walter looked uncomfortable.
“I don’t know.”
“You don’t know?”
He looked toward his driveway.
“My system records over old footage every week.”
My stomach sank.
“But?”
He sighed.
“There was one thing.”
“What?”
“A man came by the next morning.”
Daniel looked up.
“What man?”
Walter shook his head.
“I don’t know.”
“Can you describe him?”
“Tall.”
“That’s all?”
Walter frowned.
“No.”
He looked embarrassed.
“I remember his shoes.”
I almost smiled.
Of all the details.
The shoes.
“What about them?”
“They were expensive.”
Susan did not smile.
“Why do you remember that?”
“Because he was walking through my yard.”
Walter looked toward the street.
“And because he didn’t look like someone who belonged there.”
The next day, Susan reviewed what remained of the footage.
Most of it was useless.
Cars passing.
Neighbors walking dogs.
A delivery driver leaving packages.
Normal life continuing around tragedy.
Then she stopped.
“Wait.”
She rewound.
The image was blurry.
May you like
But visible.
A man standing near Lily’s house.
