Chương 6
She did not unlock the phone in front of them.
Instead she bagged it again.
Daniel frowned.
“That’s it?”
“For tonight, yes.”
“You’re not going to open it?”
“Not in a room full of interested parties.”
“I gave you the code.”
“And I appreciate that.”
“It was Rachel’s.”
“Exactly.”
The answer irritated him.
Emma almost smiled.
Wealth could buy extraordinary privacy.
It did not prepare people for the experience of being told no.
Alvarez turned toward Emma.
“You should get medical documentation.”
“I’m fine.”
“You’re bleeding.”
“Less than before.”
“That’s not the standard.”
Emma nodded.
Daniel said, “I’ll have a doctor come.”
Emma looked at him.
“No.”
He seemed surprised.
“I can call—”
“I’m going to urgent care.”
“In this storm?”
“With a deputy if they’re willing.”
Alvarez nodded.
“We can arrange transport.”
Daniel took a step toward her.
“Emma.”
She waited.
He looked at the boys.
They were asleep together on one of the sofas now, Caleb’s head on Noah’s shoulder, Ethan curled beneath a cashmere throw with the toy car still in his hand.
“I’m sorry.”
Emma glanced at Victoria.
“For what part?”
Daniel’s face tightened.
She regretted the cruelty almost immediately.
Not because he did not deserve it.
Because she did not want to sound like Victoria.
She looked down.
“I’m sorry. That was—”
“No.”
Daniel’s voice was tired.
“It was fair.”
Emma shook her head.
“Fair isn’t always useful.”
“That sounds like something you tell the boys.”
“It is.”
A corner of his mouth moved.
Then disappeared.
“I should have asked more questions.”
“Yes.”
“I thought they were afraid of you.”
“Yes.”
“I saw bruises on Caleb.”
“He fell off the sled yesterday.”
“I know that now.”
Emma looked at him.
“Do you?”
He did not answer.
She continued quietly.
“You know what they told you tonight. That’s not the same thing as knowing everything.”
Daniel glanced toward Victoria.
“You think there’s more.”
“I think children lie for adults for a lot of reasons.”
He looked at Noah.
Emma softened.
“And I think Noah is seven. Don’t turn him into your witness.”
Daniel absorbed that.
“I won’t.”
She wanted to believe him.
She did not know if she did.
At urgent care, the physician diagnosed a split lip, facial bruising, and mild swelling.
No fracture.
Emma sat alone afterward in a plastic chair beneath fluorescent lights while a nurse printed discharge instructions.
Her beige shoulder bag rested in her lap.
The navy suitcase was still at the lodge.
That absurd fact bothered her more than it should have.
Her entire life had been thrown into the snow, and she had forgotten to pick it up.
She called Grace.
Her sister answered on the first ring.
“If you are calling because you finally murdered somebody, I need five minutes to delete texts.”
Emma started crying.
Not loudly.
Not gracefully either.
One second she was breathing.
The next she could not get enough air.
Grace stopped joking.
“Em?”
Emma pressed her fist against her mouth.
“Can you come get me?”
“Where are you?”
Emma told her.
“What happened?”
“I got fired.”
A pause.
“That doesn’t explain the crying.”
“Victoria hit me.”
“What?”
“And Rachel’s phone—”
“What phone?”
“I don’t know.”
“Emma.”
“I really don’t know.”
Grace was silent for several seconds.
Then, “Are the boys okay?”
“I think so.”
“And you?”
Emma looked at the discharge sheet.
“I have an ice pack.”
“That was not the question.”
“I don’t know.”
“All right.”
Grace understood that answer.
She did not tell Emma everything would be fine.
She said, “I’m coming.”
Grace lived in Basalt.
The drive normally took twenty-five minutes.
That night it took almost an hour.
Emma waited beside a vending machine and drank bad coffee because it gave her something to do with both hands.
At 1:18 a.m., Daniel texted.
The boys are asleep. Sheriff has the phone. Owen has not been located. Your suitcase is inside and secure. I am deeply sorry.
Emma read it twice.
Then turned the screen off.
Grace arrived wearing pajama pants beneath a ski jacket and bedroom slippers inside snow boots.
She saw Emma’s face.
“Oh, hell no.”
Emma almost laughed.
Grace hugged her carefully.
On the drive home, Grace asked very few questions.
That was one of the reasons Emma loved her.
She complained about the snowplow in front of them.
She complained about a man at work named Rick who microwaved salmon.
She complained that her windshield washer fluid was rated to negative twenty and had apparently taken that as a suggestion rather than a promise.
Emma rested her forehead against the cold passenger window and listened.
Halfway to Basalt, she said, “I think Rachel knew she was going to die.”
Grace kept her eyes on the road.
“From the phone?”
“From the photograph.”
“Do you actually know that?”
Emma closed her eyes.
“No.”
“Then don’t live in that sentence yet.”
Emma looked at her.
Grace shrugged.
“I’m not saying it’s wrong. I’m saying you’re exhausted.”
The advice annoyed Emma.
Which was how she knew it was probably good.
The phone did not produce an answer the next morning.
Or the morning after that.
The sheriff’s office obtained consent from Daniel, who was executor of Rachel’s estate, then brought in a digital forensics specialist because the device had been offline for years and several messages appeared to have been recently deleted.
Emma learned this not from Daniel but from Sergeant Alvarez, who called for a follow-up statement.
The phone had indeed been Rachel’s.
Its number had never appeared on the Whitmore family account.
It had been purchased with cash.
The passcode worked.
Inside were photographs, voice memos, draft emails, screenshots, and message threads.
But the most important files had been deleted.
Not years ago.
That week.
Someone had charged the phone, powered it on, and selectively erased material before Ethan found it.
May you like
The fresh message—DELETE IT. HE CAN’T KNOW.—had been sent through an encrypted messaging application from an account registered under a false name.
The account had recently connected through a cellular hotspot associated with Owen Price’s company.
