Chương 7
He had been reported missing six days earlier.
Mara had never met him.
At least, that was what she had told Ruiz.
The problem was the letter with his name on it contained a sentence written in her father's handwriting that made no sense.
Thomas knows what happened the night everything changed.
Mara had read the sentence twelve times before calling the police.
She had told herself she was calling because she wanted answers.
She had not admitted that she was also calling because she was afraid of what answers might look like.
Ruiz opened his folder.
"You said your father never mentioned Thomas Vale."
"He didn't."
"Not once?"
"No."
"Not even when you were younger?"
Mara folded her arms.
The kitchen suddenly felt too warm.
The old refrigerator hummed in the corner, making the silence between them feel longer.
"My father wasn't exactly the sharing type."
That was true.
It was also incomplete.
Her father, Andrew Ellis, had been a man who could repair almost anything except a conversation.
He fixed broken chairs, leaking roofs, old engines, and neighbors' appliances without charging them.
But when Mara had asked why her mother left when she was seven years old, he had stared at the television and said, "Some things don't get better because you talk about them."
She had hated that answer.
She hated that she still remembered it word for word.
Ruiz tapped the folder lightly.
"There are people who believe your father was involved in what happened to Thomas."
"Who?"
"I can't discuss an active investigation."
"You came into my house, found a letter from my dead father, and told me I'm connected to a missing person, but you can't tell me who thinks that?"
His expression barely changed.
"That's usually how investigations work."
Mara almost laughed.
Not because it was funny.
Because it was such a normal sentence in such an impossible moment.
She looked past him through the kitchen window.
Her father's truck was still parked beside the garage.
She had planned to sell it after cleaning it out.
That plan suddenly felt like it belonged to someone else.
"Can I keep the letter?" she asked.
Ruiz hesitated.
That hesitation answered before he did.
"No."
"Why?"
"Because it may be evidence."
"It has my name on it."
"It also has a name connected to an open case."
Mara looked at the envelope again.
The paper had yellowed around the edges.
Her father had written her name carefully, almost formally.
Not the nickname he used when she was a child.
Not the shortened version her friends called her.
Mara Elise Ellis.
Like he was writing to a stranger.
After Ruiz left, she stood in the kitchen for nearly twenty minutes without moving.
The house felt different when it was empty.
Not quieter.
More aware.
She hated that thought immediately.
She grabbed a trash bag from under the sink and began cleaning because cleaning was what she did when she did not know what else to do.
She organized closets after arguments.
She washed dishes after bad news.
She folded laundry when she was too angry to cry.
By sunset, she had emptied three drawers that did not need emptying and found a collection of batteries, expired coupons, and a birthday card from her mother that had never been sent.
The card was dated twelve years earlier.
Mara sat on the floor holding it.
She had spent years believing her mother had forgotten her.
The evidence was suddenly less comfortable.
Her mother had written the card.
She had bought the card.
She had kept it.
But she had never mailed it.
The next morning, Mara drove to the local hardware store because she needed a new lock for the basement door.
That was the excuse.
The real reason was that she knew the owner, Calvin Reed, had been friends with her father for decades.
Calvin was sixty-eight and always wore the same faded blue jacket no matter the weather.
He looked at Mara when she entered and immediately knew something was wrong.
People in small towns were good at noticing problems.
They were less talented at respecting privacy.
"You look tired," Calvin said.
"Thank you."
"That wasn't an insult."
"I know."
He leaned on the counter.
"That makes it worse."
Despite herself, Mara smiled.
Calvin smiled back for half a second before his face changed.
"What happened?"
She looked at the shelves behind him.
Rows of tools.
Boxes of screws.
Things that had clear purposes.
"I found something at my father's house."
Calvin stopped moving.
It was barely noticeable.
A pause.
A hand lowering a little too slowly.
But Mara noticed.
"Did you know Thomas Vale?" she asked.
Calvin looked toward the front window.
Outside, a woman pushed a stroller past the store.
A delivery truck blocked the street for a moment.
The world continued normally.
"I haven't heard that name in a long time," he said.
"So you know him."
"I knew of him."
"That's not the same answer."
"No."
"Why did you say it like you were hoping I wouldn't ask again?"
Calvin rubbed his forehead.
He looked older than he had a minute earlier.
"Your father made mistakes."
Mara felt the sentence hit harder than she expected.
"What kind of mistakes?"
"The kind people make when they're scared."
"My father wasn't scared."
Calvin gave her a sad look.
"Everyone is scared of something."
She hated how often people said things that sounded wise when they were avoiding the truth.
"What happened between my father and Thomas?"
Calvin reached under the counter and pulled out a small box of nails.
He opened it, closed it, and put it back.
A meaningless action.
Except it was not meaningless.
It was something people did when their hands needed a job.
"I can't answer that."
"Can't or won't?"
"Both."
She stared at him.
Calvin sighed.
"Your father asked me to protect something."
"What?"
"I don't know."
"You don't know?"
"He didn't tell me."
May you like
"Then what did you protect?"
His eyes moved to hers.
