Chương 7
“She did that.”
“Did she ever mention why?”
“She said writing things down helped her organize her thoughts.”
Clooney looked at his notes.
“This message was created two days before her death.”
Margaret felt her chest tighten.
“What did it say?”
The detective hesitated.
Not because he did not know.
Because he understood what words could do to people.
“She wrote that if anything happened to her, someone needed to look at the financial records.”
Margaret stared at him.
“Financial records?”
“Yes.”
“What kind?”
Clooney looked toward the hallway.
Then back at her.
“Accounts connected to Nathan.”
“Accounts connected to Nathan.”
Margaret stared at Detective Clooney.
For several seconds, she did not react.
Not because she did not understand.
Because she understood too quickly.
Emily had spent years building a life with Nathan.
A house.
A family.
A routine.
A future.
The idea that money had become part of the danger felt impossible.
Then again, so had everything else that morning.
“What kind of accounts?” Margaret asked.
Clooney looked down at his notes.
“We’re still reviewing details.”
“That means you know something.”
“It means we know enough to be concerned.”
Margaret folded her arms.
She had worked with detectives before.
She knew the difference between someone who had evidence and someone who was searching for a direction.
“What did Emily find?”
Clooney looked at her.
“That’s the question we need answered.”
The office became quiet.
Sophie watched them from the couch.
Margaret noticed.
She lowered her voice.
“Can we talk somewhere else?”
Clooney nodded.
They stepped into the hallway.
The door remained slightly open.
Margaret did not want Sophie alone.
Not even for a minute.
“What exactly did the message say?” she asked.
Clooney opened his notebook.
“Emily wrote, ‘If I’m wrong, I’ll apologize. If I’m right, someone needs to know.’”
Margaret felt a sharp pain in her chest.
That sounded like Emily.
Careful.
Fair.
Always leaving room for the possibility that she could be wrong.
“She didn’t accuse him directly,” Margaret said.
“No.”
“Why?”
Clooney looked at her.
“Maybe she wasn’t sure.”
Margaret nodded slowly.
Or maybe she was afraid.
The thought appeared before she could stop it.
“Did she write anything else?”
“Yes.”
Margaret waited.
“She mentioned a folder.”
“What folder?”
“We don’t know yet.”
Margaret looked back toward the chapel.
The dark wooden door was closed now.
Behind it was the last place she had seen her daughter alive.
Or the closest thing to alive.
“Where is Nathan now?”
“Still with the officers.”
“Did he know about the message?”
Clooney shook his head.
“Not until we saw the notification.”
Margaret remembered his reaction.
The sudden fear.
The instant recognition.
“He knew something was there.”
Clooney did not answer immediately.
That bothered her.
“Detective?”
“I’m saying his reaction is something we will document.”
Margaret looked at him.
“You’re being careful.”
“I have to be.”
The answer was honest.
That helped.
Margaret had spent years around people who wanted simple answers.
Sometimes simple answers were the most dangerous.
“I need to ask you something,” Clooney said.
Margaret nodded.
“Did Emily ever express concerns about Nathan before?”
Margaret almost answered no.
The word reached her mouth.
Then stopped.
Because the truth was not no.
The truth was complicated.
“She complained.”
“About what?”
“Normal things.”
“Normal?”
Margaret looked away.
“Arguments.”
“About?”
“Money sometimes.”
Clooney waited.
Margaret sighed.
“His work. His hours. The way he made decisions without asking.”
“Did she ever say she was afraid of him?”
Margaret thought of Sophie’s hand around hers.
The words she had whispered.
Don’t let them cremate Mom.
“She didn’t say it.”
“But?”
Margaret looked back at him.
“But I think she was trying to.”
The detective wrote something down.
A phone rang somewhere in the hallway.
A funeral home employee answered quietly.
The ordinary sound felt strange.
A person discussing flowers.
Another person arranging paperwork.
Normal things happening beside an impossible day.
Clooney closed his notebook.
“Mrs. Collins, I need you to think carefully about something.”
“What?”
“Before Emily died, did she give anything to you?”
Margaret frowned.
“No.”
“Any envelope?”
“No.”
“Any key?”
“No.”
“Any reason she would want you to find something?”
Margaret shook her head.
Then she stopped.
A memory surfaced.
Not dramatic.
Not obvious.
Just a small moment.
Three weeks earlier.
Emily had come over for dinner.
Sophie had been doing homework at the kitchen table.
Nathan had called twice.
Emily had ignored both calls.
Margaret had noticed.
“You two okay?” she had asked.
Emily had smiled.
The kind of smile people use when they do not want another person to worry.
“Yeah.”
But later, when Margaret was washing dishes, Emily had stood beside her.
“Mom.”
The way she said it had made Margaret look over.
“What?”
“If something ever seems strange…”
Margaret had laughed lightly.
“Strange how?”
Emily had looked toward the living room.
Nathan was helping Sophie build something with wooden blocks.
“He’s not a bad person.”
Margaret had dried her hands.
“I didn’t say he was.”
“I know.”
Emily had gone quiet.
Then Nathan had called her name.
The moment disappeared.
At the time, Margaret had assumed Emily was just frustrated.
Now she wondered if it had been something else.
“I remembered something,” Margaret said.
Clooney looked up.
“What?”
Margaret told him.
Not leaving anything out.
Not adding anything.
When she finished, the detective was quiet.
“That may be important.”
“I should have asked her.”
Margaret’s voice changed.
Clooney noticed.
“You didn’t know.”
“I’m her mother.”
“That doesn’t mean you can read her mind.”
Margaret looked down.
“I spent my whole career telling families not to blame themselves.”
She swallowed.
“And now I’m doing exactly that.”
Clooney did not respond with a comforting speech.
Margaret appreciated that.
Some wounds did not need words placed over them immediately.
They needed room.
The office door opened.
Sophie looked up.
“Grandma?”
Margaret returned quickly.
“I’m here.”
Sophie looked relieved.
A child’s trust was both simple and terrifying.
May you like
It could survive almost anything.
But once damaged, it took years to rebuild.
