Chapter 5: Someone Had Already Been Inside
We left for the lake house at seven the next morning.
I had barely slept.
Every time I closed my eyes, I saw the photograph of the open front door and imagined my mother searching through my grandmother's belongings.
My father drove.
I sat in the passenger seat, holding the silver key inside my closed fist.
Lily sat in the back, wrapped in a small blanket. She had fallen asleep halfway through the drive, her pink backpack resting against her knees.
The road toward the lake wound through a stretch of tall trees. November rain had left the pavement dark and slippery.
For nearly twenty minutes, Robert said nothing.
Then he spoke.
“There's something I haven't told you.””
I turned toward him.
“I'm beginning to think that's a family tradition.””
He gave a tired smile.
“I deserve that.””
“What is it?””
“When your grandmother died, I went to the house the following morning. Denise was already there.””
“Why?””
“She said she needed to collect Margaret's personal belongings before the funeral.””
“That sounds normal.””
“It would have been. Except the bedroom had already been searched.””
I frowned.
“By whom?””
“I thought it was Denise. But she told me she had arrived only minutes before me.””
“Did you believe her?””
“At the time, yes.””
“And now?””
He tightened his grip on the steering wheel.
“Now I think she had been there the night before.””
I looked down at the key.
“What was she looking for?””
“The drawer.””
We reached the property shortly after eight.
The lake house stood behind a row of old oak trees. Its white paint had begun to peel, and the wooden porch sagged slightly near the steps.
I hadn't visited in almost six years.
The sight of it brought back memories I hadn't expected.
Grandma Margaret baking apple pies in the kitchen.
Her old radio playing country music.
The smell of cedarwood and cinnamon.
And the enormous armchair where she used to sit and tell me stories about growing up.
For a moment, I forgot why we were there.
Then I noticed the front door.
There was a fresh scratch beside the lock.
“Dad.””
He followed my gaze.
“Someone's been here.””
He parked the car but didn't immediately get out.
“Stay with Lily.””
I frowned.
“You're not going in alone.””
“Claire, I don't know who might be inside.””
“Neither do I. That's why we're calling the police.””
He nodded.
We contacted the local department and explained the situation. An officer agreed to meet us at the property.
While we waited, Lily woke up.
“Are we at Grandma's house?””
“Yes,” I said.
She looked through the window.
“Mommy liked this place.””
“Did she?””
Lily nodded.
“She said Grandma used to let her sleep in the big bedroom when she was little.””
Robert looked at her through the rearview mirror.
“She did.””
Lily smiled faintly.
“She said the house smelled like cookies.””
My father turned away.
I reached back and gently touched Lily's hand.
A few minutes later, the officer arrived.
His name was Officer Harris. He inspected the damaged lock and asked us to remain outside while he checked the property.
He returned after several minutes.
“The house appears empty,” he said.
“But someone has definitely been inside.””
We followed him through the front entrance.
The living room looked almost untouched.
A dusty vase remained on the mantelpiece. The old clock above the fireplace had stopped at 2:17.
But the hallway told a different story.
Several drawers had been left open.
A framed photograph lay face down on the floor.
And the bedroom door stood wide open.
Robert moved toward it.
“That's where the cedar chest is.””
We entered together.
The room was smaller than I remembered.
My grandmother's floral curtains were still hanging beside the window. Her bedside table remained against the wall.
But the cedar chest had been moved.
It stood in the middle of the room.
Its lid was open.
The blankets were scattered across the floor.
Someone had already searched it.
Robert crouched and ran his hand along the bottom.
“They found it.””
I felt my stomach tighten.
“Found what?””
He pressed a wooden panel near the back.
It moved.
The false bottom lifted, revealing a narrow compartment.
Inside was a small metal box.
The lid had been forced open.
I looked at Robert.
“Is everything gone?””
He examined the compartment.
“Not everything.””
He reached inside and removed a folded piece of paper.
Then another.
And finally, a small black notebook.
He opened the notebook carefully.
The first page contained my grandmother's handwriting.
Margaret Bennett — Private Estate Ledger.
My father let out a breath.
“This is it.””
I took the notebook.
Inside were handwritten entries, dates, account numbers, and references to transfers.
Some entries had red marks beside them.
Others had short notes.
I turned several pages.
Then I stopped.
A name appeared repeatedly.
Michael Reeves.
The nurse from the photograph.
Beside his name were several payments.
Five hundred dollars.
Two thousand dollars.
Then another transfer of fifteen thousand dollars.
I looked at Robert.
“Why was Grandma paying her nurse?””
“I don't know.””
I turned another page.
There was an entry dated three days before her fall.
Michael confirms Denise entered room at 9:40 p.m. No visitor authorization.
My mouth went dry.
“Dad.””
He read the line.
His jaw tightened.
Then he noticed something written beneath it.
Audio copy stored separately. Do not leave in house.
I looked around.
“Where?””
Robert examined the compartment.
“There should be something else.””
He moved the remaining papers aside.
At the very back was a small empty space.
It looked as though something rectangular had been removed.
“A recording?”” I asked.
“Probably.””
“Someone took it.””
Robert nodded.
We continued searching.
I found a letter addressed to Emily.
It was sealed inside a yellow envelope.
The date was four years old.
My grandmother had written:
Emily, if you ever need proof that you were telling the truth, this is where you will find it. Don't trust anyone who asks you to sign away your daughter's rights.
I turned the envelope over.
There was a second note inside.
It contained an address and a phone number.
Underneath, my grandmother had written:
Michael Reeves. He has the original recording.
I looked at my father.
“Michael is alive?””
Robert nodded.
“I believe so.””
“Then we need to find him.””
Before he could answer, Officer Harris returned to the room.
“Excuse me. I found something outside.””
He held up a small object inside a transparent evidence bag.
It was a gold earring.
My mother's earring.
I recognized it immediately.
She had worn a matching pair when she came to my apartment.
I stared at it.
“She was here.””
Officer Harris nodded.
“It's possible. We'll document it.””
Robert looked toward the window.
“She knew we'd come.””
I placed the ledger back into its envelope.
But as I did, a folded photograph slipped from between the pages.
It showed my grandmother standing outside the hospital.
Beside her was Michael Reeves.
And behind them, partially hidden by a doorway, stood Denise.
On the back was a date.
The night before Grandma fell.
I turned the photograph over again.
Someone had written a sentence beneath the date.
Denise wasn't the only person who entered Margaret's room that night.
My father read it.
He looked as if the air had been knocked out of him.
“Who else was there?”” I asked.
He didn't answer.
Instead, he walked to the window and stared at the driveway.
I followed his gaze.
A dark blue SUV was parked across the road.
The driver's window was open.
A woman sat behind the wheel.
Even from that distance, I recognized her.
My aunt Patricia's sister.
My mother's younger sister.
Aunt Susan.
But Susan had died six years ago.
I blinked.
The woman turned her face toward the house.
It wasn't Susan.
It was Denise.
She was watching us.
Then she lifted her phone, took a photograph, and drove away.
Officer Harris immediately moved toward the front door.
“Sir, stay here.””
Robert caught his arm.
“Officer, there's something you need to know.””
“What?””
My father looked at the photograph.
Then he said the words I had been dreading.
“The person who entered Margaret's room that night wasn't just Denise.””
May you like
He paused.
“Someone else helped her.””
