Chương 9
“I’ll stop when you stop being medically inconvenient.”
She smiled faintly.
“Your father used to say things like that.”
The words landed wrong.
I turned toward the counter so she wouldn’t see my face.
Behind me, Mom said, “What?”
I opened the cabinet.
“Nothing.”
“You froze.”
“I’m looking for crackers.”
“I told you those are stale.”
I found the box anyway.
Then I saw something else.
An envelope lay beneath the sugar bowl.
White.
No stamp.
No address.
I stared at it.
“Mom.”
“What?”
“Where did this come from?”
She looked over.
Her expression went blank.
That frightened me.
“What envelope?”
I picked it up.
Her face changed.
“A man brought it.”
The room went cold.
“When?”
“This afternoon.”
“You opened the door?”
“No.”
“He slid it under.”
“Did you see him?”
“Through the peephole.”
“What did he look like?”
She rubbed her thumb along the mug handle.
“Baseball cap.”
My mouth went dry.
“What color jacket?”
“Avery.”
“What color?”
“Gray.”
I sat down across from her.
“Did you open it?”
She nodded.
“Where is what was inside?”
Her eyes moved toward the hallway.
I followed her gaze.
“Mom.”
“I didn’t know what it meant.”
“What was it?”
She set down the tea.
“A photograph.”
I waited.
Her voice became smaller.
“Of your father.”
I stood so quickly the chair scraped backward.
“Where?”
“My bedroom.”
I crossed the hall.
Mom followed more slowly.
The photograph lay face down on her dresser.
I turned it over.
My father was standing beside a loading dock.
Older than in most of our family pictures.
Work jacket.
Hands in his pockets.
A warehouse number painted on the wall behind him.
4176.
Someone had circled a man in the background with red ink.
I leaned closer.
The man was partially turned away.
Silver hair.
Dark suit.
Older now, but unmistakable.
Charles Whitmore.
My throat tightened.
Then I noticed the date printed in the bottom corner.
Three days before Dad died.
Mom stood behind me.
“What does it mean?”
I flipped the photo over.
There were five words written in black marker.
He was going to testify.
My fingers started shaking.
Mom read over my shoulder.
She sat down hard on the edge of the bed.
“No.”
I turned.
“Did Dad ever mention Whitmore?”
Her face had gone pale.
“No.”
“Anything about a warehouse?”
“No.”
“Testifying?”
“No.”
I crouched in front of her.
“Mom.”
She looked at the photograph.
Then at me.
“I said no.”
Her voice broke.
And I knew immediately she was lying.
I stayed very still.
“What did he tell you?”
She covered her mouth with one hand.
“Mom.”
Her eyes filled.
“He told me if anyone ever asked, I was supposed to say he worked maintenance.”
The air left my lungs.
“What else?”
She shook her head.
“What else?”
“Avery, I was trying to protect you.”
“From what?”
“I don’t know.”
“You do.”
“I knew pieces.”
“Then give me the pieces.”
She looked toward the bedroom door.
Her whole body seemed to fold inward.
“Your father came home six days before he died and burned documents in a metal bucket behind the garage.”
I stared at her.
“He told me he had made copies.”
“Copies of what?”
“He wouldn’t say.”
“Where are they?”
“I don’t know.”
I stood.
She grabbed my hand.
“But he gave me a key.”
I looked down at her.
“What key?”
“I kept it because he made me promise.”
“Where?”
Her grip tightened.
“Avery, if I give it to you, you don’t go anywhere tonight.”
“Mom.”
“Promise me.”
“I can’t promise that.”
“Then I won’t give it to you.”
I stared at her.
For the first time that night, anger rose clean and hot.
“My father is dead.”
“I know.”
“Someone followed me.”
Her face changed.
“What?”
“A man had your photograph in his car.”
She released my hand.
I immediately regretted saying it that way.
Mom looked toward the window.
I closed the blinds.
“There are people downstairs.”
“What people?”
“Security.”
“Whose security?”
I hesitated.
That was enough.
Mom looked at my face again.
“Avery Carter.”
“It’s complicated.”
“Apparently that runs in the family.”
A knock came from the front door.
Three slow taps.
Mom froze.
So did I.
Then Dominic’s voice came through the hall.
“Avery.”
I exhaled.
Mom stared at me.
“That’s not security.”
“No.”
“Who is that?”
“Dominic Moretti.”
Her face emptied.
Not confusion.
Recognition.
I saw it happen.
And suddenly the photograph in my hand felt much heavier.
“You know that name.”
Mom whispered, “Don’t open the door.”
I looked at her.
The fear in her face was not the startled fear from the photograph.
This was older.
Practiced.
“Why?”
Mom stood so quickly the tea on the nightstand trembled in its mug.
“Just don’t.”
Another knock came from the apartment door.
“Avery?”
Dominic’s voice was lower this time.
“I’m not coming in.”
Mom’s fingers closed around my wrist.
“Tell him to leave.”
I stared at her.
“You know him?”
“No.”
“You know his family.”
She looked away.
“That’s not the same thing.”
“It is tonight.”
“Avery.”
“Dad worked at a warehouse financed by his uncle.”
Her face tightened.
“You said you knew pieces.”
“I did.”
“What piece is Moretti?”
She shook her head.
“I don’t want him in here.”
“That isn’t an answer.”
“I’m aware.”
The sharpness surprised both of us.
Mom pressed her lips together.
Then she sat again, suddenly tired.
Dialysis did that to her.
One minute she could fight me over stale crackers.
The next her whole body seemed to remember what it had been through.
I hated myself for pushing.
I pushed anyway.
“Mom, somebody followed me for weeks.”
“I heard you.”
“They photographed you.”
“I heard that too.”
“Dad was going to testify before he died.”
Her eyes closed.
I lowered my voice.
“If you know something that helps me understand why, you don’t get to protect me from it anymore.”
She opened her eyes.
May you like
“You think that’s what I’m doing?”
“What else would you call it?”
