Chapter 4
Teresa Collins agreed to meet us in a small diner outside Atlanta.
Samuel insisted we bring the old letter and copies of the reports.
I didn't want Alicia involved.
But she refused to stay home.
"Mom was my mother too," she said.
I looked at her.
She stood beside the kitchen table with her arms folded.
The stubborn expression on her face reminded me so much of Grace that my chest hurt.
I sighed.
"All right. But you stay beside me."
She nodded.
"I will."
We reached the diner just before noon.
Teresa sat in a booth near the back.
She was in her early fifties.
Her hair was pulled into a loose ponytail.
Her hands shook as she lifted her coffee.
When she saw us, she stood.
"Arthur?"
I nodded.
She began crying.
"I'm so sorry."
I didn't know what to say.
We sat down.
Samuel introduced himself.
Alicia moved closer to me.
Teresa stared at her.
"She looks just like Grace."
My throat tightened.
"Yes."
Teresa wiped her cheeks.
"I remember your wife."
I leaned forward.
"Tell me what happened."
She took a long breath.
"That night, I was working the late shift at the gas station near Highway 41."
I nodded.
"I remember the station."
"Your wife stopped there around nine."
My heart pounded.
"Why?"
"She asked to use the phone."
I frowned.
"She had a cell phone."
Teresa nodded.
"She said someone had been calling her, and she didn't want them tracking her number."
I stared at her.
"Did she say who?"
"No."
Teresa looked down.
"But she seemed frightened."
I swallowed.
"What happened next?"
"She bought water, made a call, and left."
"Then?"
"A black SUV pulled out of the parking lot a few seconds later."
My chest tightened.
"Was it following her?"
Teresa nodded.
"Yes."
Alicia grabbed my hand.
I squeezed it gently.
"Did you see the driver?"
Teresa looked toward the diner windows.
Then she whispered, "I did."
My heart slammed against my ribs.
"Who?"
She swallowed.
"Richard Whitmore."
I froze.
Diane's husband.
The wealthy businessman whose company had been accused of suspicious school contracts.
The man who had attended district events with politicians and school officials.
The man who smiled in photographs beside the superintendent.
I stared at Teresa.
"Are you certain?"
She nodded.
"I recognized him because he came into the station several times."
Samuel leaned forward.
"Did you tell police?"
"Yes."
"What happened?"
Teresa began crying.
"Two days later, a man came to my house."
My stomach twisted.
"He said I'd made a mistake."
"Who was he?"
"I never learned his name."
She wiped her face.
"He knew where my children went to school."
Alicia gasped.
Teresa nodded.
"He told me accidents happen to people who don't mind their business."
I felt sick.
"So you changed your statement."
"Yes."
She looked at me.
"I was scared."
I wanted to be angry.
But when I looked at her trembling hands, I saw a mother who had been threatened.
I thought of Alicia.
I understood fear.
Samuel asked several more questions.
Teresa answered carefully.
She described the SUV.
Its dark windows.
The damaged rear bumper.
The license plate she partially remembered.
Samuel wrote everything down.
Then Teresa reached into her handbag.
"I kept something."
She removed a small envelope.
Inside was a faded photograph.
It showed the gas station parking lot.
The picture was blurry.
But a black SUV was visible near the exit.
Samuel examined it.
"Where did you get this?"
"My manager printed it from the security system before the recording was overwritten."
My heart pounded.
"Why did you keep it?"
Teresa began crying again.
"Because I knew what I saw."
She looked directly at me.
"And I couldn't live with myself if I destroyed the only proof."
I took a breath.
"Thank you."
She shook her head.
"I should have told the truth years ago."
I looked at Alicia.
Then back at Teresa.
"You were protecting your children."
She cried harder.
Samuel carefully placed the photograph back inside its envelope.
"We need to preserve this and have it examined."
Teresa nodded.
"I'll cooperate."
For the first time, I felt something other than grief.
Hope.
Not because the photograph proved everything.
It didn't.
But because someone had finally spoken.
Someone had finally admitted that Grace's last night was not as simple as we had been told.
After leaving the diner, we returned home.
Alicia was quiet during the drive.
When we reached the house, she went straight to her room.
I followed.
She sat on her bed holding a photograph of Grace.
"Daddy?"
I sat beside her.
"Yes, sweetheart?"
"Do you think Mom was scared?"
My chest tightened.
"I think she may have been."
Alicia looked down.
"Was she trying to come home to us?"
Tears filled my eyes.
"Yes."
She began crying.
I pulled her close.
"Your mother loved us more than anything."
She nodded against my shoulder.
"I wish I remembered her voice better."
My heart broke.
I reached for my phone.
"I have something."
She looked up.
I opened an old folder containing videos from when Alicia was little.
One showed Grace singing while baking cupcakes.
Another showed her reading Alicia a bedtime story.
I played the second video.
Grace's voice filled the room.
"Once upon a time, there was a little girl who was braver than she knew."
Alicia covered her mouth.
Tears streamed down her face.
"That's Mom."
I nodded.
We watched the video together.
At the end, Grace kissed Alicia's forehead.
"Goodnight, my little star."
Alicia began crying harder.
I held her.
For several minutes, we watched the clip again.
Then my phone rang.
Samuel.
I answered.
"Arthur, Patricia Green called."
My chest tightened.
"What did she say?"
"She found copies of the invoices Grace was investigating."
I sat up.
"And?"
"Some payments were routed through a company Diane Whitmore controlled."
I closed my eyes.
Diane.
Not just Richard.
Samuel continued.
"Patricia also found correspondence suggesting Grace had arranged a meeting with a state auditor."
"When?"
"The morning after she died."
My heart pounded.
Then he said something that made me feel physically cold.
"Arthur, Grace wasn't the only employee who raised concerns."
I stared at the wall.
"What do you mean?"
"Another accountant filed a complaint two months earlier."
"What happened to them?"
Samuel hesitated.
"They disappeared from the district's records."
I swallowed.
"Who?"
He gave me a name.
Monica Fields.
I had heard it before.
Not at the school.
Not at the district office.
At Grace's funeral.
A woman named Monica had approached me after the service.
She tried to speak.
But Diane Whitmore had appeared beside us.
And Monica walked away without saying another word.
I closed my eyes.
I remembered the look on her face.
Fear.
Then Samuel said, "Arthur, Monica Fields is still alive."
My heart pounded.
"And she wants to talk."
I stared at Grace's photograph.
For twelve years, I had believed I knew everything about the worst night of my life.
May you like
Now I was beginning to understand how much had been hidden.
And how many people had been afraid to tell the truth.
