Chapter 8
Detective Alvarez took my phone immediately.
“Call trace.”
She moved toward the hallway while speaking to another officer.
My hands were numb.
Michael stared at the dead screen.
“Was that really him?”
The detective looked back.
“We’ll find out.”
Twenty minutes later, they traced the call to a motel near Arlington.
Police arrived.
Dr. Warren was alive.
The bang had been a door slamming somewhere nearby.
For once, the worst possibility had not happened.
He agreed to speak with detectives.
But only with an attorney present.
By afternoon, the case had expanded far beyond my marriage.
Financial crimes.
Identity theft.
Illegal surveillance.
Possible poisoning.
Possible conspiracy.
And maybe something connected to my father’s death.
Natalie forced me to eat.
I managed half a sandwich.
Then she sat across from me.
“We need to discuss the divorce.”
I almost laughed.
“The divorce seems like the smallest problem.”
“It may feel that way, but Ryan can still create damage if we don’t act.”
“What do you need?”
“Permission to file today.”
“Yes.”
“No hesitation?”
I looked down at the pale mark where my wedding ring had been.
“None.”
Natalie nodded.
“I’ll request temporary orders concerning property.”
“He can have the house.”
“Don’t say that yet.”
“I don’t want it.”
“Maybe not. But don’t give away leverage because you’re angry.”
That was why Natalie was my lawyer.
I wanted fire.
She wanted strategy.
She left to prepare documents.
Emma came in carrying a notebook.
She sat beside me.
“I made something.”
“What?”
“A timeline.”
Of course she had.
The girl who recorded adults because they changed their stories had organized the entire disaster.
She opened the notebook.
Dates.
Times.
Events.
Ryan’s trips.
Linda’s strange comments.
Family dinners.
My dizzy spells.
Claire’s appearances at events.
Even Thomas’s memorial.
“You did all this?”
Emma nodded.
“I couldn’t sleep.”
I looked at one date.
March 18.
Beside it she had written:
Grandma told Uncle Ryan: “She looked bad tonight. Keep doing exactly what we discussed.”
“Where did you hear that?”
“Grandma’s kitchen.”
I remembered March 18.
A family dinner.
I became so confused that night I forgot where I parked my car.
Ryan laughed in front of everyone.
Then drove me home.
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
Emma’s face fell.
“I thought they were talking about your anxiety.”
I hugged her.
“You are not responsible for any of this.”
She nodded against my shoulder.
Then she whispered, “There’s another thing.”
There was always another thing.
“What?”
“Grandma has a storage unit.”
I pulled back.
“How do you know?”
“I went with her once.”
“Where?”
“Near Plano.”
“What’s inside?”
“I don’t know. She told me never to tell Dad.”
My heart accelerated.
“When?”
“Last summer.”
“Why were you with her?”
“She picked me up from school because Dad was working.”
“What did she do at the unit?”
“She took two boxes inside.”
“What kind of boxes?”
Emma thought.
“Banker boxes.”
Documents.
I called Detective Alvarez.
She took the information.
An hour later, they began working on a warrant.
Meanwhile, Michael received a message from Linda.
One photograph.
His house.
Taken from across the street.
Under it:
BRING EMMA HOME.
Michael showed the detective.
She immediately sent a patrol car to his property.
Emma went pale.
“She knows where we are?”
“No,” Michael said quickly. “That’s an old picture.”
But I wasn’t convinced.
Linda had cameras.
Investigators.
People willing to post bond.
We still didn’t know who helped her.
At four, Detective Alvarez returned.
“Dr. Warren is talking.”
I stood.
“What did he say?”
“He admits giving Linda medication.”
“For me?”
“Yes.”
Michael cursed.
“What kind?”
“The same sedative referenced in the files.”
My stomach twisted.
“Did Ryan know?”
“According to Warren, Ryan picked up the medication twice.”
I closed my eyes.
There it was.
No excuse left.
No possibility that Ryan had only followed his mother without understanding.
He knew.
“He says Linda wanted you to appear mentally unstable during a specific period.”
“What period?”
“The weeks leading up to a competency evaluation.”
I stared at her.
“I never agreed to an evaluation.”
“You didn’t know one had been scheduled.”
Natalie, who had just returned, stopped in the doorway.
“What?”
Detective Alvarez nodded.
“Ryan had contacted a private psychiatrist.”
Natalie’s face hardened.
“On what authority?”
“He claimed Sarah was experiencing dangerous behavioral changes.”
I laughed.
The sound came out broken.
“They drugged me so a doctor could diagnose the effects of the drugs.”
“That appears to be the plan.”
My stomach rolled.
“What happened?”
“The appointment never occurred.”
“Why?”
Detective Alvarez almost smiled.
“Because the psychiatrist insisted on speaking to you directly before scheduling.”
For once, a professional had asked to hear from the woman being discussed.
That simple decision may have saved me.
“What did Ryan say?”
“He stopped responding.”
Natalie crossed her arms.
“And Warren?”
“He says Linda asked him a year ago about your father.”
My body went still.
“What did he say?”
“He claims she asked generally about medications that might worsen symptoms in cancer patients.”
“Did he give her anything?”
“He says no.”
“Do you believe him?”
Detective Alvarez didn’t answer.
Which meant no.
“Can my father’s body be tested?”
David, standing near the window, spoke quietly.
“Robert was buried.”
I looked at him.
I had not attended a burial.
There had been a memorial.
“Where?”
David named a cemetery outside Dallas.
I stared at him.
“Why did I think he was cremated?”
Everyone looked confused.
Then I realized.
Ryan told me.
After the hospital.
I was barely functioning.
Ryan handled the arrangements.
He said Dad wanted cremation.
But apparently he hadn’t.
My memories from that week were fog.
Grief.
Medication prescribed for sleep.
Ryan making decisions.
I looked at David.
“You were at the burial?”
“Yes.”
“Why wasn’t I?”
His face changed.
“You were sick.”
“I was sick?”
“Ryan said you had collapsed.”
I looked at Natalie.
“I don’t remember collapsing.”
David went pale.
“He said the doctor told you not to attend.”
“I never knew there was a burial.”
David sat down.
“Oh God.”
Ryan had kept me away from my own father’s grave.
Why?
I knew the answer before anyone said it.
Because if Dad was buried, his body still existed.
Evidence still existed.
Maybe Ryan and Linda hoped I would never know where.
I stood.
“Where is he?”
David repeated the cemetery name.
I wanted to go immediately.
Natalie stopped me.
“Not yet.”
“That is my father.”
“I know.”
“I need to see his grave.”
“And you will.”
Her voice softened.
“But if investigators are considering exhumation, we do not interfere.”
I hated it.
But she was right.
At six, police searched Linda’s storage unit.
Detective Alvarez video-called us from outside.
“We found records.”
“What kind?”
“Financial. Medical. Insurance.”
She paused.
“And personal property.”
“What property?”
“Belonging to several people.”
She turned the camera.
Shelves filled the unit.
Boxes labeled with names.
MICHAEL.
THOMAS.
RYAN.
SARAH.
ROBERT.
My father had a box.
So did I.
Linda had cataloged human beings like inventory.
Detective Alvarez walked toward my box.
“We’re documenting everything before opening containers.”
Then an officer called her.
She moved away from the phone.
When she returned, her expression had changed.
“What?”
“We found jewelry.”
“Stolen?”
“Possibly.”
She turned the camera toward a locked glass case.
Necklaces.
Rings.
Bracelets.
Watches.
Dozens.
Michael stared.
“What is that?”
“I don’t know yet.”
Emma whispered, “Grandma’s collection.”
Michael looked at her.
“What?”
“She always said Grandpa bought them.”
Thomas’s voice came from behind us.
“I didn’t.”
Everybody turned.
He had arrived with police permission to provide a statement.
He stared at the screen.
“I bought Linda jewelry, but not that.”
Detective Alvarez said, “We’ll run serial numbers where possible.”
Then an officer in the storage unit shouted.
“Detective!”
She walked toward him.
He held up an envelope.
The camera shook.
I could barely see.
“What is it?”
Detective Alvarez opened the envelope.
Her face changed.
Inside was a photograph.
A younger Linda.
A younger Dr. Warren.
And my father.
All three standing outside a restaurant.
The date printed on the back was twenty-two years ago.
Long before Ryan and I met.
I stared at it.
“How did Linda know my father twenty-two years ago?”
David stepped closer.
His face went white.
“She didn’t.”
Thomas said, “Yes, she did.”
We all turned toward him.
He looked like he wanted to disappear.
I was tired of letting people disappear.
“Tell me.”
Thomas sat.
“Linda knew Robert before you and Ryan ever met.”
My entire body went cold.
“How?”
“They dated.”
I laughed because it was impossible.
“My father dated Linda?”
“For a few months.”
“When?”
“Before she married me.”
Michael stared at his father.
“You never told us.”
“No.”
I looked at Thomas.
“Why did they break up?”
He hesitated.
I already hated the answer.
“Your father accused her of stealing from him.”
The room went silent.
“What?”
“She denied it.”
“How much?”
“I don’t know.”
“Did he report her?”
“No.”
“Why?”
“He couldn’t prove it.”
Twenty-two years ago, Linda had allegedly stolen from my father.
Years later, her son somehow met me.
Married me.
And together they tried to steal my inheritance.
I felt sick.
“Ryan meeting me wasn’t an accident.”
Thomas looked away.
That was enough.
“Was it?”
“I don’t know.”
“Thomas.”
“I swear I don’t know.”
My phone buzzed.
A message from Ryan.
I looked at the screen.
ONE THING MOM NEVER TOLD YOU: I KNEW WHO YOU WERE THE FIRST DAY WE MET.
My breath stopped.
Another message arrived.
I DIDN’T FALL IN LOVE WITH YOU BY ACCIDENT.
Then a third.
BUT I DID FALL IN LOVE WITH YOU.
I stared at those words until they blurred.
Seven years of marriage.
Every first.
Every promise.
Every memory.
May you like
Had begun as a plan.
And somehow, that hurt even more than Claire.
