Chương 6
Calls from Margaret sent to voicemail.
Difficult conversations postponed until bedtime when both of them were too tired to finish them.
She had mistaken avoidance for gentleness more than once.
“Did Claire ever accuse your mother of setting the fire directly?”
“Yes.”
“To her face?”
“Yes.”
“What happened?”
“My mother left.”
“Just left?”
“She packed a bag and drove back to the city.”
“And Claire?”
“She called the insurance company.”
Rachel glanced toward the bedroom again.
“Was my father still assigned to the claim then?”
“I think so.”
“Think.”
“I was not reading the paperwork.”
“Did Claire talk to him?”
“Yes.”
The answer came quietly.
“When?”
“A few times.”
“After the fire?”
“Yes.”
“In person?”
“At least once.”
Rachel looked at the photograph.
“Could this have been after the fire?”
“No.”
“You’re sure?”
“The picture was from Lily’s first birthday weekend.”
Rachel looked at the handwritten date again.
Lily’s first birthday.
That meant the photograph could not be a casual insurance visit after a disaster.
Her father had been invited, or at least expected, before anything burned.
“Why was an insurance adjuster at Lily’s birthday?”
Daniel did not answer.
Rachel’s pulse quickened.
“You know.”
“I know what Claire thought.”
“Say it.”
“She thought your father and my mother knew each other before the claim.”
Rachel stared at Margaret’s face in the photograph.
“What kind of knew each other?”
“I don’t know.”
“Daniel.”
“I don’t.”
“Did Claire think they were having an affair?”
“No.”
The answer was immediate.
Rachel believed that one.
“Then what?”
“She thought they had some business connection.”
“What business?”
“I never understood it.”
“Try.”
“Property deals.”
Rachel frowned.
“My father didn’t do property deals.”
“That’s what Claire said.”
Rachel’s stomach dropped slightly.
“What?”
“She said his job didn’t match what he was doing.”
Rachel looked again at Thomas.
She remembered his modest house, his old sedan, the way he complained about property taxes, the envelopes of receipts stacked in disciplined rows on his dining room table.
Nothing about him had suggested secret money.
Nothing about him had suggested secret anything.
Then another memory surfaced.
Not dramatic.
Almost stupid.
Her father once taking a call during Thanksgiving dinner and stepping into the garage to answer it.
Rachel’s mother had rolled her eyes and said, “He treats everything like classified information.”
Rachel had laughed.
Her parents had been divorced by then, but they could still make each other irritated with astonishing efficiency.
She had never asked who was calling.
“Did Claire have evidence?”
“She had copies of checks.”
Rachel straightened.
“Checks from whom?”
“My mother.”
“To my father?”
“Yes.”
“How much?”
“I only saw one.”
“How much?”
“Twenty-five thousand.”
Rachel stopped breathing for a second.
“That’s impossible.”
“I saw the copy.”
“For what?”
“There was no memo.”
“When was it dated?”
“Before the fire.”
“How long before?”
“I don’t remember.”
“Weeks?”
“Months.”
Rachel set the photograph down because her hand had started shaking.
“Where is that copy now?”
“I don’t know.”
“Did Claire keep records?”
“She kept everything.”
“What happened to them after she died?”
Daniel said nothing.
Rachel closed her eyes.
“Daniel.”
“My mother helped clear out Claire’s office.”
The anger returned so quickly Rachel almost felt dizzy.
“You let Margaret handle Claire’s papers?”
“I was barely functioning.”
“When?”
“Two weeks after the funeral.”
“Where were you?”
“At the hospital.”
“You were working?”
“I had already taken six weeks off while Claire was sick.”
Rachel pressed her fingers against her lips.
There it was.
A consequence she could not flatten into accusation.
Claire had not died suddenly.
She had been sick.
Daniel had been exhausted.
Margaret had stepped into the practical vacuum the way she always did, organizing drawers, making lists, deciding what everyone else could not manage.
Rachel hated the possibility that Margaret’s usefulness had given her access to everything.
“What happened to the records?”
“Some boxes went into storage.”
“Which storage?”
“The unit near Elmhurst.”
“Do you still have it?”
“Yes.”
Rachel looked toward the bedroom door.
“Who has the key?”
“I do.”
“Anyone else?”
Daniel hesitated.
“My mother.”
Rachel stared at the phone as though Daniel had handed her the key through the screen and Margaret had already taken it away.
“Change the lock.”
“I can’t do that tonight.”
“Why not?”
“Because it’s a storage facility, not my garage.”
“Then call them.”
“They close at six.”
Rachel looked at the time.
Six twenty-three.
Of course.
Daniel said, “I can go first thing tomorrow.”
“You’re not going alone.”
“I wasn’t planning to.”
“Good.”
A pause opened between them.
Then Daniel said, “Rachel, I need to see Sophie.”
The request was quieter now.
It did not sound like a demand.
That made it harder.
Rachel looked toward the bedroom.
“I’ll ask her.”
“Thank you.”
“But not tonight if she says no.”
“I understand.”
“You also need to tell your mother she is not coming near Sophie.”
“She already left the house.”
“Where did she go?”
“I don’t know.”
“You don’t know where your mother went after hitting my child and possibly having access to evidence connected to my father?”
“Rachel, I have been on the phone with you.”
She closed her eyes.
He was right.
She hated that he was right.
“Call her.”
“Do not tell her we’re going to the storage unit.”
Daniel was silent for half a beat.
“I won’t.”
“And Daniel?”
“Yes.”
“If anything is missing tomorrow, I am not going to accept coincidence.”
“I wouldn’t ask you to.”
Rachel ended the call before either of them could say something softer.
She did not trust softness yet.
For several seconds she stood with the phone in her hand and listened to the faint sounds from the bedroom.
Sophie was humming.
It was barely audible, the tuneless little hum she made when concentrating on something with her hands.
Rachel recognized it from mornings when Sophie tied and retied shoelaces or arranged crayons by colors no adult could distinguish.
Rachel put the photograph in a kitchen drawer.
May you like
Then she took it back out.
Leaving it in an unfamiliar apartment suddenly felt careless.
