Chương 3
“What is the key for?” Caroline asked.
Marianne’s right hand closed.
For the first time since entering, she met Caroline’s eyes.
“I don’t know.”
“That was a bad answer.”
“It is the only one I have.”
“You were holding it before the deputy cuffed him.”
“I found it in the sewing basket.”
“Grandma’s sewing basket has been empty since the funeral.”
Marianne rose too quickly. The chair legs scraped against the floor.
“You always do this.”
“Do what?”
“Turn everything into testimony.”
Caroline shifted against the bed. Pain moved under her ribs like a blade being slowly withdrawn.
“My father stood over me with a bat.”
“He is my husband.”
The words left Marianne before she could soften them. Her mouth opened again, but nothing followed.
Caroline nodded once.
“There it is.”
“No. Carrie, that isn’t—”
“Captain Hart?”
A hospital social worker stood at the curtain with a clipboard held against her chest. She glanced between them.
“I can come back.”
“No,” Caroline said. “My mother was leaving.”
Marianne remained in place long enough for the refusal to become visible. Then she lifted the canvas bag onto the chair, turned, and left without saying goodbye.
The social worker waited until the sound of her shoes disappeared.
“Would you like me to close the curtain?”
“Yes.”
The woman did so, sat down, and asked where Caroline planned to stay after discharge.
Caroline chose a room at a small waterfront inn twenty minutes from Evelyn’s house. The social worker arranged transportation because Caroline could not comfortably drive and because her rental car remained at the house behind police tape. Before releasing her, the hospital required someone to confirm that she would not be alone overnight. Caroline called Daniel Mercer.
The attorney answered with sleep in his voice and alertness in his words.
“Caroline?”
“I need a practical favor before I answer any questions.”
“Name it.”
“Can you stay at an inn with me tonight?”
Silence.
She added, “Separate rooms.”
“I understood that.”
“I have fractured ribs. The hospital does not want me alone.”
“Give me the address.”
He arrived forty minutes later wearing khaki pants, a faded college sweatshirt, and loafers without socks. Daniel had handled Evelyn’s estate planning for almost a decade. He was fifty-two, narrow-faced, slightly stooped, and looked most comfortable when carrying a file. Tonight he carried a plastic grocery bag.
“What is that?” Caroline asked as he approached the wheelchair.
“Crackers, ginger ale, and a toothbrush.”
“I have a toothbrush.”
“I panicked in the pharmacy.”
The nurse pushing Caroline toward the exit smiled. Daniel did not.
Outside, humid air settled around them. Daniel helped her into his sedan with such careful slowness that she nearly told him to stop. He placed a folded towel between the seat belt and her ribs, then stood beside the open door.
“I saw your uniform bag,” he said. “Your mother told me some of it.”
“How much?”
“Enough to know I should not ask you to repeat anything in a parking lot.”
At the inn, he carried her bag upstairs while Caroline took the elevator. Her room overlooked a marina where sailboat masts moved against the dark sky. Daniel set the grocery bag on the desk and tested the lamp twice.
“You do not have to inspect the wiring,” she said.
“The lamp flickered.”
“It is an old building.”
“That is when wiring becomes interesting.”
He placed his phone beside the bed. “My room is across the hall. Call before you stand up.”
“I can stand.”
“I am not challenging your patriotism.”
Despite herself, Caroline smiled. The movement pulled at the cut near her temple.
Daniel sat in the chair near the window. “Your grandmother executed the deed three years and four months ago. It was recorded that week. She retained the right to live in the house until her death. You became the owner subject to that right.”
“I know.”
“Harold and Claire appear not to.”
“They know now.”
“Knowing and accepting are different things.”
Caroline opened the bottle of pain medication the hospital had given her, read the label again, and set it aside.
Daniel watched but did not comment.
“Why did Grandma insist on secrecy?” she asked.
“I advised against secrecy.”
“That is not an answer.”
“She believed telling Harold would make her final years unbearable.”
Caroline looked toward the dark marina. A halyard struck a metal mast again and again, a small irregular tapping in the wind.
“She was right.”
Daniel folded his hands.
“There is more,” he said.
Caroline turned back.
“Claire contacted my office six weeks ago. She asked for a copy of Evelyn’s will.”
“Did you give it to her?”
“The will became part of the estate file after probate. She was entitled to request it as family. But the will does not transfer the house. The deed already did.”
“Did she ask about the deed?”
“No. She asked whether the will contained any restriction on selling real property.”
Caroline let that settle.
“What did you say?”
“I said she needed to identify the property and establish authority to act for the owner. She ended the call.”
The sale agreement in Claire’s hands returned to Caroline with painful clarity. The document had shown a purchase price high enough to erase Harold’s marina debt and leave both sisters with money. Claire had placed it on Evelyn’s dining table that afternoon and spoken as if signatures were a formality.
“Who is the buyer?”
“Soundline Development.”
Caroline knew the name. The company had purchased three neighboring parcels and replaced small coastal homes with raised luxury rentals.
“They think Claire owns it?”
“I do not yet know what they think.”
“Find out.”
Daniel’s expression remained neutral. “There is also the criminal matter.”
“That is the county’s job.”
“You will still have choices.”
“He made his choice.”
“Yes.”
May you like
Daniel waited.
Caroline hated the gentleness of the room: the weak yellow lamp, the framed print of a sailboat, the clean white blanket folded at the foot of the bed. It made the violence at Evelyn’s house feel less real and therefore more dangerous.
