Chapter 2 - THE ENVELOPE IN THE ATTIC
Claire reached Samuel Reed’s office shortly before midnight.
She did not drive directly there.
Following my instructions, she parked outside a grocery store, entered through the front doors, exited through a side entrance, and called a rideshare from a nearby pharmacy.
It might have seemed paranoid.
But two weeks earlier, I had found a tracking device beneath Claire’s car.
At the time, Kyle claimed Derek had attached it as another prank.
Derek laughed when I confronted him.
He said he wanted to see how long it would take me to notice.
I pretended to believe him.
Then I began copying files from Kyle’s computer.
Samuel’s office occupied the second floor of a narrow brick building above a closed insurance agency.
He was seventy-one years old, partially retired, and still wore three-piece suits even when summoned in the middle of the night.
Claire later told me that he opened the door before she knocked.
His white hair was uncombed.
His tie was crooked.
But his eyes were alert.
“Where is Emma?” he asked.
“She wouldn’t tell me.”
“Was she alone?”
“She left with a woman named Evelyn.”
Samuel’s expression changed.
“Evelyn what?”
“Price.”
The color drained from his face.
He stepped aside and locked the door after Claire entered.
“Give me the envelope.”
Claire pulled it from beneath her jacket.
Samuel did not open it immediately.
He placed it on his desk and stared at my handwriting on the front.
FOR SAMUEL REED ONLY.
IF SOMETHING HAPPENS TO ME, CONTACT DETECTIVE LEONARD VALE.
“What’s going on?” Claire demanded.
Samuel moved toward the window and closed the blinds.
“Did anyone follow you?”
“I don’t think so.”
“That isn’t an answer.”
“I changed cars.”
He turned.
“Emma told you to do that?”
“Yes.”
Samuel exhaled slowly.
“Then she knows more than I realized.”
He opened the envelope.
Inside were photocopied bank statements, property records, insurance policies, screenshots of emails, and a flash drive.
There was also a photograph.
Claire picked it up before Samuel could stop her.
It showed our mother standing outside a roadside motel.
The picture had been taken years before Claire was born.
Mom looked young.
Maybe twenty-two.
Beside her stood a man whose face had been scratched away with something sharp.
On the back, someone had written a date.
October 14, 1998.
The date our mother disappeared.
Officially, she had died in a car accident.
Her vehicle had been found at the bottom of a ravine during a thunderstorm.
The body was burned beyond recognition.
Dental records confirmed her identity.
At least that was what our father told us.
Claire stared at the photograph.
“Why did Emma have this?”
Samuel did not answer.
Instead, he inserted the flash drive into an offline laptop.
Folders appeared on the screen.
Most had ordinary names.
Taxes.
Equipment.
Property.
Family Videos.
The final folder was labeled TRAVEL ARCHIVE.
Samuel clicked it.
A password box appeared.
Claire remembered something I had told her when we were children.
Our mother’s favorite flower was the evening primrose.
She typed PRIMROSE.
The folder opened.
Inside were dozens of subfolders organized by year.
The records continued until the current year.
Each folder contained photographs of isolated gas stations, motels, highways, and women who appeared unaware they were being photographed.
Some images had been taken from inside vehicles.
Others from across parking lots.
A spreadsheet listed names, dates, locations, and initials.
K.B.
D.B.
M.B.
R.B.
The initials belonged to Kyle Barrett, Derek Barrett, Mason Barrett, and their late father, Richard Barrett.
Claire stopped breathing for several seconds.
Samuel opened the 1998 folder.
There was only one name inside.
Laura Hale.
Our mother.
The folder contained the motel photograph, copies of her driver’s license, an insurance document, and a grainy image of her standing beside Richard Barrett’s truck.
The final file was an audio recording.
Samuel clicked it.
Static filled the office.
Then a frightened female voice spoke.
“I know what Richard is doing.”
Claire grabbed the edge of the desk.
It was our mother.
Older than in the home videos we remembered.
Breathing hard.
“He says the accidents are random, but they aren’t. He chooses women who have no one nearby. He takes their identification. He moves their cars. Kyle saw him last night. Kyle was only twelve, but he saw everything.”
A man’s voice interrupted.
Our father.
“Laura, lower your voice.”
“We have to go to the police.”
“We need proof.”
“I have proof.”
A loud bang followed.
Then our mother whispered, “Someone’s outside.”
The recording ended.
Claire looked at Samuel.
“You knew?”
“I suspected.”
“For twenty-seven years?”
“Your father came to me three days before the accident. He wanted to establish a trust for you and Emma. He was terrified. He said Richard Barrett had discovered that Laura was investigating him.”
“Why didn’t you tell the police?”
“I did.”
“What happened?”
“The detective assigned to the case was Richard’s cousin.”
Samuel leaned back, his face heavy with guilt.
“The evidence disappeared. Your father changed his statement. Then your mother’s car went over the ravine.”
Claire looked again at the folders.
“Why would Kyle marry Emma?”
“That,” Samuel said, “may be the most important question.”
At the exact moment he spoke, the office lights went out.
Claire froze.
A vehicle door closed in the alley.
Samuel removed an old revolver from a locked drawer.
“Get behind the desk.”
Footsteps sounded on the stairs.
Slow.
Heavy.
Deliberate.
Someone tried the office door.
Then a voice called through the wood.
“Mr. Reed?”
It was Derek.
“I know Claire is in there.”
Samuel motioned for her to remain silent.
Derek knocked again.
“We’re all worried about Emma.”
No one answered.
“Look, this prank got out of control. Kyle wants his wife home. We just need to know where she went.”
The doorknob turned.
Once.
Twice.
Then Derek’s tone changed.
“Claire, you don’t understand what your sister has done.”
Samuel quietly lifted his phone to call the police.
A crash came from downstairs.
Glass shattering.
Derek was no longer alone.
Someone else entered the building.
Then another.
Claire whispered, “Mason?”
Samuel shook his head.
The footsteps below were too light.
A woman appeared at the top of the stairs.
Through the frosted panel beside the office door, Claire saw the silhouette of shoulder-length hair.
Derek stepped back.
“What are you doing here?” he asked.
The woman answered in a voice Claire did not recognize.
“Making sure you don’t repeat your father’s mistakes.”
A struggle followed.
Derek shouted.
Something struck the wall.
Then a gunshot shook the building.
Claire covered her mouth.
Samuel aimed his revolver toward the door.
Silence returned.
A shadow moved beneath the gap.
Then someone slid a small object into the office.
It was a silver locket.
Claire recognized it immediately.
Our mother wore it in every photograph taken before her death.
Inside were two tiny pictures.
One of me.
One of Claire.
On the back was a fresh smear of blood.
Beside it lay a note written in blue ink.
EMMA IS NOT THE FIRST WIFE THEY LEFT BEHIND.
Samuel stared at the message.
Claire picked up the locket with trembling fingers.
Then a vehicle accelerated away from the alley.
When police arrived eleven minutes later, Derek was gone.
There was blood on the staircase but no body.
The broken window downstairs had been unlocked from inside.
Security footage from nearby businesses had been erased.
And Samuel’s call to Detective Leonard Vale revealed another disturbing fact.
Vale had retired nine years earlier.
Three months after retirement, he disappeared.
His abandoned car was found beside the same highway where Kyle had left me.
Meanwhile, Evelyn and I were traveling west beneath a moonless sky.
She had said little since we left the station.
Around two in the morning, she turned onto a narrow road leading through an empty stretch of farmland.
I watched the dark fields pass.
“This isn’t the highway,” I said.
“No.”
“Where are we going?”
“Somewhere Kyle won’t find you.”
The road ended at an old farmhouse surrounded by cottonwood trees.
A porch light came on before we reached the driveway.
A tall man stepped outside.
He carried a shotgun.
I reached for the door handle.
Evelyn locked the doors.
“Who is he?”
“My brother.”
“You said you were visiting your sister.”
“I lied.”
My pulse accelerated.
Evelyn turned off the engine.
“I needed to know whether you were being followed.”
“Why?”
She faced me.
In the dim light, her expression held no warmth now.
Only grief.
“Because twenty-seven years ago, your mother asked me to help her expose Richard Barrett.”
I could not speak.
Evelyn reached into her coat and withdrew a photograph.
It showed three women standing outside the same roadside motel.
Evelyn.
My mother.
And Marlene Barrett.
Kyle’s mother.
May you like
Across the bottom, written in my mother’s handwriting, were five words.
IF I DISAPPEAR, TRUST NO ONE.
