Chương 7
Ellie ate three spoonfuls and fell asleep against Margaret.
Noah managed half a bowl.
Richard did not eat.
For nearly fifteen minutes, nothing dramatic happened.
The train moved through snow.
A staff member came to clear the abandoned desserts and quietly stopped when she saw the children. Helen whispered an explanation that explained nothing. The woman nodded, gathered crystal plates, and left.
Margaret watched Ellie sleep.
The rabbit was trapped between them.
Its stitched ear pressed against Margaret’s wrist.
She remembered Daniel at five, refusing to board a plane because a gate agent had told him stuffed animals counted as luggage and he believed Mr. Weatherby would have to travel under the aircraft.
Margaret had spent twenty minutes explaining humor.
Daniel had spent twenty years distrusting gate agents.
She realized she was smiling.
Then she became angry at him again.
Alive.
Eleven years.
He had been alive through every Christmas.
Through her breast cancer surgery six years ago.
Through Richard’s heart procedure.
Through the sale of the Aspen house because she could no longer bear the hallway outside Daniel’s room.
Alive.
She wanted to hold him.
She wanted to slap him too.
Both feelings fit inside her without canceling each other.
Noah noticed her looking at the photograph.
“Dad hates that picture.”
“Why?”
“He says his hair looked stupid.”
“It did.”
Noah considered the photograph.
“Yeah.”
Margaret laughed quietly.
“What does he look like now?”
Noah pulled at a loose thread on the blanket.
“Older.”
“I assumed.”
“He has a beard sometimes.”
“Unfortunately, many men do.”
“He cooks eggs bad.”
Margaret glanced at Richard.
“Genetic.”
Richard almost smiled.
Margaret hated that she saw it.
Noah continued as if Richard were not there.
“He fixes bikes. Not as a job. Just ours and kids on our street. He works on computers.”
“What kind?”
“I don’t know. Boring kind.”
“Also genetic.”
Richard said, “Daniel was never good with computers.”
Noah looked at him.
“He is now.”
The sentence was small.
It shut Richard out of eleven years.
He felt it.
Margaret could tell.
His shoulders lowered.
For the first time that night, she saw not the man who had stolen her grief but a grandfather being informed that the child he knew had become a stranger.
She did not forgive him.
But reality became inconveniently larger.
The satellite phone rang.
Everyone startled except Ellie.
Helen grabbed it.
Ava Morales.
Helen listened, then handed the phone to Margaret.
“They found Daniel’s truck.”
Margaret stood.
“Where?”
“Near Bellweather. Driver’s door open. Blood on the seat.”
Noah’s spoon dropped into the soup.
Margaret turned away from him.
“Was he there?”
“No.”
“Any sign—”
“Nothing conclusive. A county deputy is checking nearby maintenance buildings. The storm is slowing everything.”
“Was Mercer’s SUV seen?”
“A station employee reported a black SUV. That’s all I can confirm.”
Margaret looked toward the vestibule.
“Mercer is still aboard.”
“I have officers meeting the train at Aspen Ridge Junction.”
Richard said, “That’s forty minutes.”
Ava heard him.
“Mr. Whitmore?”
“Yes.”
“I suggest you keep Mr. Mercer away from the children.”
Richard’s face hardened.
“I do not need legal advice from you.”
“That wasn’t legal advice.”
She disconnected.
Noah was staring at Margaret.
“Is Dad hurt?”
She wished adults did not have to decide how much truth children could survive.
“They found his truck.”
“Is he in it?”
“No.”
“Then he got out.”
Margaret nodded.
“That’s what I’m hoping.”
Noah wiped his mouth with his sleeve.
She nearly corrected him.
Some instincts were indecently durable.
Instead she handed him a napkin.
He used it without argument.
“Dad’s good in snow,” he said.
Richard looked toward the storm.
“He always was.”
Noah’s eyes narrowed.
“You don’t know him.”
Richard absorbed that.
“No,” he said. “I suppose I don’t.”
The train crossed a bridge.
Far below, a river flashed black between white banks.
Margaret returned to Daniel’s letter and the small brass key.
It was old-fashioned, narrow, not a house key or vehicle key. There was a number stamped near the head.
214.
Richard recognized it.
She saw that instantly.
“What?”
He shook his head.
“You know what it opens.”
“I have an idea.”
“Then say it.”
Richard hesitated.
“Union Station.”
Margaret waited.
“There are private storage lockers in an older service area beneath the Denver terminal. Whitmore used several during the redevelopment project years ago. Most were decommissioned.”
“Number 214?”
“I don’t know.”
“You just looked at that key as though it bit you.”
Richard’s lips thinned.
“Daniel used to meet contractors there when he was working on the transit portfolio. Before Redstone.”
Margaret turned the key over.
A tiny stamped W was nearly worn away.
Noah said, “Dad said the key was more important than the letter.”
Richard stared at him.
“When did he say that?”
“In the car.”
“What exactly did he say?”
Noah shrank back.
Margaret stepped between them again.
Richard caught himself.
“I’m sorry,” he said.
Noah did not respond.
Richard lowered his voice.
“What did he say?”
Noah thought.
“He said, ‘The letter tells her I’m alive. The key tells her why I stayed dead.’”
No one spoke.
The train wheels settled into a hard rhythmic pulse.
Margaret slipped the key into the inside pocket of her coat.
Richard watched.
“You cannot go to that locker alone.”
“I wasn’t planning to.”
“Margaret.”
“What?”
“If Martin believes Daniel put the Redstone archive there, he will not simply walk away.”
“That almost sounded like concern.”
“It is concern.”
“For me?”
“For all of you.”
Margaret looked at him.
“Then prove it.”
Richard frowned.
“Call the chairman of the audit committee.”
His eyes hardened.
“No.”
“Call Judith Kane. Tell her there may be concealed records involving Redstone, that Martin Mercer has a conflict, and that the company is to preserve every relevant file.”
“You have no idea what that would trigger.”
“That is precisely why I’m asking.”
“On Christmas Eve?”
“Again, crimes appear to have survived the holiday.”
“This cannot be undone.”
May you like
Margaret looked at Noah and Ellie.
“Neither can eleven years.”
