Chapter 5
Detective Reed asked me to come to the station again.
I went with Dad and Noah. She had laid out copies of the signatures across a table. I could see the differences now that someone had pointed them out.
Mom’s handwriting slanted slightly to the right. The false signatures were straighter. Whoever made them had copied the shape of her name but not the way her hand moved.
Reed said the formal report would take more time. She was also tracing who had prepared the records.
“What happens if you find them?” I asked.
“We follow the evidence,” she said. “I won’t promise where it leads.”
I appreciated that more than another reassuring speech.
Outside, Dad told Noah and me something he had remembered overnight. Mom had kept a small metal file box in the hall closet. After her death, he thought he had given it to her attorney.
“I called the office,” he said. “The attorney retired, but his old partner is checking their storage.”
“You never told us she saw an attorney,” Noah said.
“She had an appointment. She never made it.”
Dad looked at both of us. “I should have talked to you years ago.”
“We know now,” I said. “Help us find the box.”
Two days later, the attorney’s office called. They still had it. Mom had delivered it the morning before her accident.
I felt sick as Dad drove us there.
A woman named Ms. Ellis brought the box into a conference room. Dad signed a form acknowledging that it belonged to Mom’s estate. We opened it together.
Inside were copies of the Laurel House invoices, a list of people who had approved them, and a letter Mom had written for an attorney to read.
I could hardly hold the pages.
She said she had found a pattern of payments for work that never happened. She believed Celeste and Adrian Vale had moved money through property repairs to pay for the land transfer.
Then she wrote about the accusation against her.
I did not take that money. I think they used my access to make me look responsible.
Noah read over my shoulder. His eyes filled.
Mom had included photographs of the site. In them, Laurel House was an old brick building on a neglected piece of land. The next photograph showed it cleared.
“Why did Celeste want the land?” Noah asked.
Mr. Whitmore might know. Reed had asked us not to question people involved, so I sent her photographs of the letter and called her from the conference room. She said she would collect the box.
On the drive home, Dad gripped the steering wheel.
“She was going to make them listen,” he said.
“She made us listen,” I answered.
That evening, Mr. Whitmore called. He had learned from Reed that the Laurel House records were relevant to the foundation audit.
“My family planned to build a children’s center on that land,” he said. “Celeste told me the old owner had agreed to sell. The project never went forward.”
“Did you see the transfer?”
“I signed papers she brought me. I never met the prior owner.”
His voice sounded strained.
“Did the foundation pay for a center that wasn’t built?” I asked.
“Some planning costs. The accountant is checking all of them.”
I thought of Mom’s list of payments.
“What about the building that was demolished?”
“I was told it was empty.”
I had seen people in Mom’s photograph standing outside Laurel House. I told Reed about them. She said her team was working to identify who had owned and used the property.
The next morning, I went back to work for a half day. I needed something ordinary. I pruned the roses near the east wall while another gardener, Luis, worked beside me.
“You could have stayed home,” he said.
“I wanted to be here.”
He nodded. “You still shouldn’t be alone.”
Mr. Whitmore had added security after the threatening email. I didn’t enjoy being watched, but I was glad someone knew where I was.
At lunch, the housekeeper, Mrs. Green, sat across from me. She had worked there longer than anyone.
“I remember Laurel House,” she said.
I set down my sandwich.
“What was it?”
“A place where women stayed when they needed help. Celeste said it was closing. Your mother came here once asking about it.”
“Did you speak to her?”
“No. Celeste sent her away before I could reach the door.”
Mrs. Green looked troubled.
“Celeste told me Eleanor had stolen from the company. I believed her.”
“Mom hadn’t.”
“I know that now.”
She told Reed what she remembered. It wasn’t enough to explain every payment, but it gave the old photographs a place in the story. Laurel House had held real people. Its loss had not been a line on an account.
That evening, Reed called me.
The owner listed before the transfer had been a nonprofit. Its former director was still alive. She had been trying for years to find out how the property changed hands.
May you like
Her name was Ruth Daniels.
She wanted to meet me.
