Chapter 2: The Money Her Daughter Controlled
Mabel lived in a small white house at the end of a quiet street.
There was a wooden porch, two rocking chairs, and a flower garden that looked as though someone had once loved it very much.
Now the flower beds were overgrown.
The curtains were drawn.
A faded welcome mat sat crooked beside the front door.
Dean parked his truck and got out.
"Nice place," he said.
"It used to be nicer.""
Mabel fumbled with her keys.
Dean noticed that she had three different keys attached to a small metal ring.
One was labeled FRONT.
Another said MAILBOX.
The third had no label.
She tried the front door twice before finding the right one.
Inside, the house smelled faintly of lavender and stale coffee.
There were photographs on the walls.
A younger Mabel stood beside a handsome man in a military uniform.
Another photograph showed the couple holding a little girl in a yellow dress.
Dean pointed toward it.
"Your husband?""
Mabel nodded.
"Arthur. He passed away six years ago.""
"And the little girl?""
"My Laura.""
Mabel smiled sadly.
"She was a sweet child.""
Dean followed her into the kitchen.
The refrigerator hummed loudly.
A calendar hung on the wall, but most of its pages had been torn away.
On the counter sat a plastic pill organizer.
Every compartment was empty except for Monday and Tuesday.
Dean glanced at it.
"Are you out of medication?""
Mabel opened a cabinet.
"I have some.""
She removed a nearly empty bottle.
Dean read the label.
"There's one pill left.""
"I've been stretching them.""
"Why?""
Mabel turned away.
"I have to be careful with money.""
Dean looked around the kitchen.
There was half a loaf of bread, a jar of mustard, two cans of soup, and a carton of milk that had expired four days earlier.
"Where's your grocery money?""
Mabel set the medicine bottle down.
"My daughter handles that.""
"Your daughter buys your groceries?""
"She manages everything. It's easier that way.""
"Everything?""
Mabel nodded.
"My pension goes into an account she set up. She has the bank card. She gives me cash every week.""
Dean leaned against the counter.
"How much?""
"Twenty dollars.""
He blinked.
"Twenty dollars a week?""
"Sometimes twenty-five, if I need something special.""
Dean stared at her.
"How much is your pension?""
"I think it's around sixteen hundred dollars a month.""
The kitchen suddenly seemed very quiet.
Dean straightened.
"Sixteen hundred?""
"Yes.""
"And she gives you twenty dollars a week?""
Mabel looked uncomfortable.
"She says old people don't need much.""
Dean took a slow breath.
"Where's the rest going?""
"Laura says she uses it for the house and my expenses.""
"Does she live here?""
"No.""
"Then what expenses?""
Mabel pressed her lips together.
"I don't know.""
Dean pulled out a chair.
"Would you mind telling me how this arrangement started?""
Mabel sat across from him.
For a moment, she studied her wedding ring.
"After Arthur died, I wasn't very good at handling things. The paperwork confused me. I forgot a few appointments. Once, I paid the electric bill twice.""
Dean nodded.
"That happens.""
"Laura said I needed help. She offered to take over the bills.""
"When?""
"About two years ago.""
"And when did she take your bank card?""
"Shortly afterward.""
"Did you agree?""
"At first.""
Mabel reached into her handbag and removed a folded piece of paper.
It was a bank statement.
The paper was creased from being opened and closed many times.
Dean looked at the numbers.
Several withdrawals appeared each month.
Hundreds of dollars at a time.
He noticed a payment to a company called Whitmore Property Holdings.
"What's this?""
Mabel leaned over.
"I don't know.""
"Do you own another property?""
"No.""
Dean looked at her.
"Does your daughter?""
Mabel hesitated.
"She bought a house last year.""
"With what money?""
"She said her husband got a raise.""
Dean placed the statement on the table.
"Does she ever show you these?""
"No. She says paperwork upsets me.""
A sudden knock came from the front door.
Mabel flinched.
Dean looked toward the hallway.
"Are you expecting someone?""
"No.""
The knock came again.
A woman's voice followed.
"Mom? Open the door.""
Mabel's face changed.
It was not relief.
It was fear.
Dean stood.
"That's Laura?""
Mabel nodded.
"She wasn't supposed to come until Sunday.""
Dean walked toward the front door.
Mabel caught his sleeve.
"Please don't make her angry.""
He looked down at her hand.
"Why would she be angry?""
"Because I wasn't supposed to talk to anyone about the money.""
The knock became louder.
"Mom! I know you're in there!""
Dean opened the door.
A woman in her early forties stood on the porch wearing an expensive cream-colored coat.
Her blond hair was perfectly styled.
A diamond bracelet glittered on her wrist.
She looked past Dean into the house.
Then her eyes narrowed.
"Who are you?""
"Dean.""
"Why are you here?""
"I gave your mother a ride.""
Laura stepped inside without being invited.
She looked at Mabel.
"Mom, what have you been doing?""
Mabel lowered her eyes.
"I had breakfast.""
"Where?""
"At the diner.""
Laura's expression hardened.
"I specifically told them not to serve you without contacting me.""
Dean stared at her.
"You told the restaurant not to feed your mother?""
"I told them not to encourage her confusion.""
"She seemed pretty clear to me.""
Laura put her handbag on the kitchen counter.
"Look, I don't know who you are, but my mother has a medical condition.""
"What condition?""
"Dementia.""
Mabel's head lifted.
"I don't have dementia, Laura.""
Laura sighed dramatically.
"See? This is exactly what I'm talking about.""
She opened her handbag and removed a small plastic folder.
Inside were several documents.
"I have power of attorney. I handle her finances, medical appointments, and daily needs.""
Dean glanced at the papers.
"Does she know what you're doing with her pension?""
Laura snapped the folder shut.
"That's none of your business.""
"It became my business when I found her trying to pay for breakfast with a wedding ring.""
Laura's eyes flickered toward Mabel's hand.
"She did what?""
Mabel began to tremble.
"I was only trying to pay what I owed.""
Laura stepped closer.
"Mom, how many times have I told you not to embarrass yourself in public?""
Dean moved between them.
"That's enough.""
Laura stared at him.
"You need to leave.""
Dean didn't move.
"Your mother hasn't got food in her refrigerator, and her medication is nearly gone.""
"I manage her medication.""
"There's one pill left.""
Laura's jaw tightened.
"Because she refuses to take it correctly.""
Mabel looked up.
"That's not true. I take what you give me.""
For a second, Laura's carefully maintained expression cracked.
Then she smiled.
A cold, practiced smile.
"Dean, I appreciate your concern. But my mother gets confused. She invents stories.
She thinks people are stealing from her. She even claims I don't give her enough money.""
"How much do you give her?""
"Enough.""
"Twenty dollars a week?""
Laura said nothing.
Dean looked at the expensive bracelet on her wrist.
Then at the empty refrigerator.
"Interesting arrangement.""
Laura picked up her handbag.
"Mom, I'm taking you to my house this weekend.""
Mabel shook her head.
"I don't want to go.""
"You don't have a choice.""
"I'd rather stay here.""
Laura stepped toward the refrigerator and pulled a small magnetic notepad from its side.
She wrote something on it.
Then she tore off the paper and placed it on the counter.
"That's the new grocery schedule. Don't buy anything without asking me.""
Dean picked it up.
The list contained only five items.
Bread.
Milk.
Eggs.
Soup.
Apples.
At the bottom, in large letters, Laura had written:
*WEEKLY LIMIT: $18.00.*
Dean looked at her.
"You're kidding.""
Laura grabbed the paper from his hand.
"She wastes money on things she doesn't need.""
Then she turned to Mabel.
"Remember what we discussed. You don't talk about family finances with strangers.""
She walked toward the door.
Before leaving, she glanced back.
"And Mom? Don't forget. The bank card stays with me.""
The door slammed.
Mabel sat motionless.
Dean returned to the kitchen.
"How long has she been treating you like this?""
Mabel wiped her eyes.
"She's my daughter.""
"That doesn't answer my question.""
She looked at him.
"Since the day I asked where my husband's life insurance money went.""
Dean felt something tighten in his chest.
"What life insurance money?""
Mabel opened the drawer beside the refrigerator.
Inside was a yellow envelope.
She removed a document with Arthur's photograph clipped to it.
"Arthur left me a policy," she whispered.
"Two hundred and eighty thousand dollars.""
Dean read the document.
The beneficiary section contained a name.
Not Mabel Whitmore.
Laura Whitmore.
Dean slowly looked up.
"Did you sign this?""
Mabel shook her head.
"I never saw this paperwork before my husband died.""
Then she reached deeper into the drawer and removed another envelope.
This one was addressed to her.
It had never been opened.
Across the front, in familiar handwriting, were the words:
*For Mabel. Please read this before trusting Laura.*
Dean stared at the envelope.
Mabel's hands began to shake.
"Arthur left me that letter," she whispered.
"Why haven't you opened it?""
Her eyes filled.
"Because Laura told me Daddy had written something terrible about me.""
Dean looked at the handwriting again.
Then at the locked expression on Mabel's face.
"What if she lied about that, too?""
Mabel slowly handed him the envelope.
And just as Dean reached for it, his phone began ringing.
The caller ID displayed an unfamiliar number.
He answered.
A man's voice spoke urgently.
"Dean? This is Frank from the club. I think you need to come outside. There's a woman here asking questions about Mabel Whitmore.""
Dean looked through the kitchen window.
A black SUV was parked across the street.
Someone was sitting behind the steering wheel.
May you like
Watching the house.
And the woman inside the SUV had just raised her phone to take a photograph.
