Chapter 6 - The House She Hated
We drove to Margaret’s lake house in western Pennsylvania, a narrow cedar property David had bought in her name and never visited. The road climbed through bare trees and rain. Neither of us spoke until the city disappeared behind us.
“You can still turn around,” Margaret said.
“So can you.”
“I stopped turning around months ago.”
The house stood above a dark lake, its windows reflecting the storm. Margaret had not been there since David’s funeral. Inside, everything smelled of cedar and dust.
She went to the kitchen and found a bottle of bourbon. I took it from her before she could open it.
“We need clear heads.”
“You sound like David.”
“That is not a compliment.”
“No.”
The recorder played the confession again. David’s voice filled the empty room. He admitted enough to destroy the company but not enough to identify the final account or explain the night he died.
Lena examined the ledger through a video link. “The torn pages were removed recently. The binding is still flexible.”
“By whom?” Margaret asked.
“Someone who wanted the information without taking the whole book.”
I looked at Margaret.
She did not protest. “I took two pages from David’s study.”
“When?”
“Before the funeral.”
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
“Because one page had your name on it.”
She led me upstairs to a bedroom with a locked trunk. From beneath a stack of blankets, she removed two folded sheets.
The first listed transfers from Henderson Meridian to Morrow Field Holdings. The second contained handwritten notes in David’s cramped script.
J.M. knows where the clock stops. M.H. carries the legal door. Neither understands the cost.
“He made us sound like pieces on a board,” I said.
“That is how he treated people.”
The initials beside M.H. appeared beside the number of a family trust. Margaret’s full name was the trustee.
“Did you sign this?” I asked.
“I signed a trust for environmental charities. David said it would fund river cleanup.”
“Did you receive money?”
She hesitated.
“Margaret.”
“No. I received statements. I didn’t examine every transaction.”
“You were the legal owner of Morrow Field.”
“Apparently.”
Anger rose in me, tangled with pity. “You came to me because you needed the records cleared of your name.”
“I came because David told me to find you.”
“And because you suspected I helped him.”
“Yes.”
The honesty hurt more than another lie would have.
She sat on the edge of the bed. “I thought you knew. You were always in his office. He trusted your memory. He never trusted mine.”
“He trusted no one.”
“He trusted you enough to use you.”
We stood in the narrow room with the rain moving over the roof. I was aware of the distance between us, and of how easily it could disappear.
“This cannot become something else,” I said.
Her eyes lifted. “I know.”
“You’re grieving.”
“I know.”
“You were my boss’s wife.”
“I know that too.”
The restraint between us felt more intimate than a kiss. Margaret looked away first.
Below us, the front door opened.
We both heard footsteps enter the house.
I reached for the flashlight. Margaret took a fireplace poker.
“Who knows we’re here?” I whispered.
“You, me, Lena, and whoever followed us from North Quay.”
The footsteps stopped beneath the bedroom.
May you like
Then someone called from the hall.
“Mrs. Henderson,” Alma said. “It’s me.”
