Chương 8
Daniel looked past her.
Across the street, Harold Bell closed his garage door halfway.
Too late.
Daniel had seen him.
Harold had lived there for forty years.
He had been his father’s closest neighbor.
He had also been the only person who came to the funeral and left before Daniel could thank him.
“Harold called?”
Lena did not answer.
She did not have to.
Daniel looked down at the envelope again.
The paper was yellowed around the edges.
His father’s handwriting was on the front.
Daniel Mercer.
Not Danny.
Not Son.
Not any of the names his father had used when they were younger.
Just Daniel Mercer.
A name written like it belonged on a legal document.
“I should have known he’d leave something like this,” Daniel said quietly.
Lena watched him.
“Like what?”
Daniel slid the envelope into his coat pocket.
“Something that makes my life harder.”
The officer’s expression changed slightly.
Not sympathy.
Not yet.
Something closer to recognition.
“You and your father weren’t close.”
It was not a question.
Daniel looked through the doorway into the study.
The room was exactly how he remembered it.
The old leather chair near the window.
The shelves filled with books his father never let anyone touch.
The brass clock that was always five minutes slow because Richard Mercer refused to fix it.
Daniel had once asked why.
His father had answered, “A clock that’s wrong still tells you something.”
At the time, Daniel thought it was one of those meaningless things older people said when they wanted to sound wise.
Years later, he still hated that the sentence stayed with him.
“He was complicated,” Daniel said.
Lena nodded.
“That usually means yes.”
The neighbors finally drifted away when they realized the entertainment was ending.
The house became quieter.
Not peaceful.
Just quieter.
Daniel had forgotten the sound of that street.
The distant traffic.
A lawn mower somewhere behind the houses.
A dog barking at nothing important.
Normal life continuing while his own had stopped inside a doorway.
Lena stepped closer.
“I’m not arresting you.”
Daniel looked back at her.
“You said someone called.”
“Someone called because they believed something suspicious was happening.”
“Was something suspicious happening?”
Her eyes moved briefly toward his pocket.
“That depends on what’s in that letter.”
Daniel felt irritation rise before fear could.
“You think I stole something from my own house?”
“I think people hide things for reasons they don’t always admit.”
The answer bothered him because it sounded reasonable.
And Daniel hated reasonable answers.
They were harder to fight.
“What happens now?”
“You show me what was in the box.”
“No.”
Lena studied him.
“No?”
“No.”
It came out faster than he expected.
The old version of himself would have apologized immediately.
His father had trained apologies into him before he was old enough to understand why he was giving them.
Sorry for asking.
Sorry for disagreeing.
Sorry for being upset.
Sorry for making things difficult.
Daniel had spent years trying to stop saying sorry when he had done nothing wrong.
Lena noticed the hesitation after the refusal.
“You’re worried about something.”
Daniel looked away.
“I’m tired.”
“That’s not the same thing.”
“No.”
He looked back at the house.
“It’s not.”
For a moment neither of them spoke.
Then Lena sighed softly.
“Your father had enemies?”
Daniel almost smiled.
That was the wrong word.
Enemies sounded dramatic.
Richard Mercer was not the kind of man who collected enemies.
He collected disappointments.
“He had people who didn’t like him.”
“Same thing sometimes.”
“Maybe.”
Daniel opened the envelope slightly.
Only enough to see the first line.
The handwriting inside was unmistakable.
Daniel,
If you are reading this, then I was right about one thing.
You came back.
His stomach tightened.
He stopped reading.
Not because he did not want to know.
Because he suddenly wanted to know too badly.
And that frightened him more.
Lena noticed his face.
“What does it say?”
Daniel folded the paper.
“I don’t know yet.”
“You just looked.”
“I looked at one sentence.”
“And?”
He placed the letter back into the envelope.
“And I think my father knew exactly how to make me curious.”
The officer glanced toward the empty house.
“That sounds like something you’re familiar with.”
Daniel looked at the study window.
The curtains moved slightly from the open door behind him.
For one strange second, it felt like someone was still inside.
Someone waiting.
Someone listening.
Then the feeling disappeared.
He hated that he noticed.
He hated that some part of him still expected his father to appear and tell him he was handling everything incorrectly.
“Can I ask you something?” Lena said.
Daniel looked at her.
“Why did you come back today?”
The question was simple.
That made it difficult.
He could have given the official answer.
Because the house needed repairs.
Because the property had to be sold.
Because paperwork needed to be completed.
Instead he said the truth.
“Because I dreamed about him.”
Lena waited.
Daniel looked embarrassed the second the words left his mouth.
“I know how that sounds.”
“It sounds human.”
He rubbed his thumb across the edge of the envelope.
“I dreamed he was standing in this room.”
He nodded toward the study.
“He didn’t say anything.”
“Just stood there?”
“Yeah.”
“What happened?”
Daniel looked down.
“I woke up before I could ask him why he left everything unfinished.”
Lena did not respond immediately.
The silence was not uncomfortable.
That surprised him.
Most people rushed to fill silence when someone said something personal.
They offered advice.
They offered explanations.
They offered things they could not possibly know.
Lena simply stood there.
Finally, she said, “Sometimes unfinished things are the only things people leave behind.”
Daniel looked at her.
“That’s not very comforting.”
“No.”
A faint smile appeared and disappeared.
“I wasn’t trying to be.”
For the first time that morning, Daniel almost smiled too.
Almost.
Then his phone vibrated.
The sound cut through the quiet street.
May you like
He pulled it out.
Unknown number.
