Chương 4
Her apartment was usually the one place where nobody could surprise her.
The walls were thin, the windows stuck when it rained, and the upstairs neighbor practiced trumpet at the worst possible hours, but it was hers.
Or it had been.
Now a stranger had searched through her bedroom closet, opened a loose section of flooring beneath the old rug, and found a photograph that should not have existed.
The picture showed Clara standing beside a man she had never met.
At least, that was what she had been telling herself for the past forty-eight hours.
The man in the photograph was older, maybe in his sixties, with silver hair and a tired expression that made him look like someone who had spent years apologizing for things nobody had forgiven.
On the back of the photograph, written in black ink, were six words.
She deserves to know the truth.
Clara pushed the mug away.
“Why are you asking me like I’m the one who hid it?”
Daniel leaned back in the chair.
“Because it was hidden under your floor.”
“By someone who owned this place before me.”
“That’s possible.”
“But?”
He glanced toward the hallway leading to her bedroom.
“But the photograph was inside an envelope with your name on it.”
The silence after that felt heavier than the accusation.
Clara looked at the table.
She noticed a tiny crack in the wood near Daniel’s elbow.
She had seen that crack every morning for three years.
She had never noticed how it curved like a lightning bolt.
“You’re saying someone left it for me.”
“I’m saying someone expected you to find it.”
“That doesn’t make sense.”
Daniel did not answer immediately.
That bothered her more than if he had.
People who were certain rushed to fill silence.
People who knew something dangerous usually waited.
“What happened here?” Clara asked.
“Your neighbor called after hearing noises.”
“Mrs. Alvarez?”
“Yes.”
“She hears everything.”
Daniel almost smiled.
“She also told me the previous owner of this apartment disappeared twelve years ago.”
Clara looked up.
“Disappeared?”
“She moved out suddenly.”
“She didn’t disappear.”
“You knew her?”
Clara hesitated.
That was the part she hated.
The hesitation.
The tiny delay that made people think there was something hidden.
“I knew her enough.”
“Enough for what?”
Clara looked toward the window.
Outside, a delivery truck blocked half the street, and a man in a yellow jacket argued with someone over the phone.
Normal things.
Ordinary things.
The world continuing while hers became unfamiliar.
“Her name was Evelyn Marsh,” Clara said.
Daniel waited.
“She rented this apartment before me.”
“I know.”
“She used to leave notes.”
“Notes?”
“Little ones.”
Clara almost laughed because saying it aloud made it sound ridiculous.
“She would put them on my door when I first moved in.”
“You didn’t live here then.”
“No.”
She looked down.
“I lived across the hall.”
Daniel opened his notebook.
“Clara.”
The way he said her name made her look up.
Not harsh.
Not accusing.
Just careful.
That was somehow worse.
“You moved into this building after Evelyn left?”
“Yes.”
“And you never mentioned knowing her?”
“I didn’t think it mattered.”
“Why?”
Because Clara had spent twelve years convincing herself that the strange woman from apartment 4B was just a lonely person with too much imagination.
Because Evelyn had once grabbed her arm in the hallway and whispered, “If anyone asks, you never saw me.”
Because Clara had been twenty-three and tired and working two jobs and had not wanted someone else’s problems.
Because ignoring a warning felt easier than admitting she was afraid.
“She was strange,” Clara said.
Daniel looked at her.
“Strange how?”
Clara stared at the photograph.
“She knew things.”
“What things?”
“Personal things.”
“About you?”
“Yes.”
“Like?”
Clara opened her mouth.
Then closed it.
The memory came back unexpectedly.
Not as a clear picture.
As a smell.
Lavender soap.
Evelyn always smelled like lavender soap.
The old woman had stood outside Clara’s door one rainy evening holding a grocery bag and said, “You should call your brother before you regret not calling.”
Clara had frozen.
She had not spoken to her brother in eleven months.
She had never told anyone in the building.
Not even once.
The next morning, her brother called.
He had been diagnosed with a heart condition.
He was fine now.
Mostly.
But Clara had never forgotten the feeling of hearing the phone ring after Evelyn’s warning.
“She knew about my family,” Clara said quietly.
Daniel stopped writing.
“How?”
“I don’t know.”
“Did you ever ask her?”
“Yes.”
“What did she say?”
Clara looked at him.
“She said some people spend their lives noticing things other people ignore.”
“That’s not an answer.”
“No.”
She looked back at the photograph.
“She never gave answers.”
Daniel closed the notebook.
“Do you know where she is now?”
Clara shook her head.
“No.”
“Do you know if she’s alive?”
The question felt unnecessarily cruel.
Maybe because it was the one question she had avoided asking herself.
“I don’t know.”
Daniel stood.
“We’ll need to keep the photograph for now.”
Clara’s fingers tightened around the edge of the table.
“No.”
He paused.
“That’s evidence.”
“It’s mine.”
“It was found during a search.”
“A search of my home.”
“A search because someone broke into your apartment.”
“And now you’re taking the only thing they left?”
Daniel looked at her for a moment.
Then he placed the photograph back on the table.
“I’ll leave it for tonight.”
“Why?”
“Because I don’t know what it means yet.”
That answer stayed with her after he left.
Not because it comforted her.
Because it confirmed something she had already suspected.
The police did not know.
The person who left the photograph knew.
And Clara was caught between the two.
She locked the door after Daniel walked away.
Then she checked the lock again.
Then once more.
She hated that she did that.
She hated that fear could make a person feel twelve years old again.
May you like
The apartment was quiet.
Too quiet.
