Chapter 4 - The Person Behind the Camera
I immediately showed the photograph to Ramirez.
He asked me not to respond to the sender.
Then he traced what he could.
The number came from a prepaid phone.
No subscriber information.
No useful location history.
Someone wanted me to know the truth.
But they didn’t want me knowing who they were.
I studied the photograph again.
The angle bothered me.
It had been taken from the far end of Teresa’s dining room.
I could see part of a floral curtain reflected in the glass cabinet.
I could also see a woman’s hand.
Red nails.
A silver bracelet.
Amy noticed it too.
“Gloria wears something like that.”
My mother’s best friend, Gloria Webb, had worn the same thick silver bracelet for years.
But so did Aunt Betsy on special occasions.
We couldn’t be certain.
That evening, Ramirez called again.
The substance in Teresa’s bottle had been identified.
It contained a prescription sedative.
Not enough to kill someone.
But enough, depending on dosage and alcohol consumption, to impair judgment and memory.
I sat down slowly.
Amy covered her mouth.
Ramirez’s voice remained calm.
“Do you recognize the medication?”
“No.”
“Has your mother ever been prescribed it?”
“I don’t know.”
“We’ll determine that.”
I looked toward Frederick’s nursery.
“What happens now?”
“We expand the investigation.”
Within hours, things became uglier.
Police obtained surveillance footage from a pharmacy near Teresa’s neighborhood.
Mason had picked up a prescription three weeks earlier.
The medication belonged to his father, Raymond.
My uncle.
Ramirez interviewed Raymond.
Raymond claimed several pills had disappeared.
Then he blamed Mason.
Mason blamed Teresa.
Teresa blamed Amy.
That was almost impressive.
Even in handcuffs, my mother found a way to attack my wife.
She claimed Amy had planted everything because she wanted to isolate me.
She said Amy manipulated me.
She called her unstable.
Then Teresa made a mistake.
She told Ramirez something nobody had mentioned publicly.
“She probably forged that deed herself.”
Ramirez looked at her.
“What deed?”
Teresa froze.
The police had never told her which specific document Mason had been caught carrying.
Until that moment, only the officers, Mason, Amy, and I knew.
My mother had just confirmed she knew about it.
That night, I changed every lock in the house.
I also froze several financial accounts.
Then I discovered another problem.
One of my savings accounts showed eleven withdrawals over six months.
Each one was small enough that I had overlooked it.
The total was $18,700.
Every withdrawal had been transferred to the same company.
Bradley Family Management LLC.
I had never heard of it.
I searched the business registration.
The company had been created nine months earlier.
Its registered manager was not Teresa.
It was Mason.
But the mailing address belonged to someone else.
Gloria Webb.
May you like
My mother’s best friend.
And suddenly, the woman with the silver bracelet became much more important.
