Chapter 7 - The Woman Behind the Wheel
No one spoke for several seconds. The rain beat against the station roof with such force that it sounded like thousands of fingers tapping for admission.
“Someone I trust,” Mara repeated.
Julian took the ledger from her.
“This could be another manipulation.”
“It is your father’s handwriting.”
“My father also wrote that my mother signed an order against him.”
Elena flinched.
“He was right.”
Mara turned to her.
“Who knew about the drive that night?”
Julian rubbed his temple.
“Charles knew I was leaving. Mother knew. Peter knew I had the ledger.”
“Anyone else?”
He looked toward the recorder.
“Beatrice knew.”
Mara remembered Julian’s younger sister as a bright, restless woman who had once shared champagne with them on the Hartwell terrace. Beatrice had disliked Mara from the beginning, though she had hidden it beneath brittle politeness.
“Where is she?” Mara asked.
Elena answered,
“In Chicago.”
Peter shook his head.
“She returned yesterday.”
Julian looked at him.
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
“Because she came with Charles.”
The ranger station phone rang. Everyone froze. The station had no listed number. Peter lifted the receiver, listened, and handed it to Julian.
“It’s your sister.”
Julian put the phone to his ear.
“Beatrice?”
Her voice was faint beneath static.
“Jules, if Mara is with you, don’t let her trust anything from the archive.”
Mara moved closer.
“Why?” Julian asked.
“Because Charles knew we would find the ledger. He planted pages in it.”
“Which pages?”
“The ones naming Mother. The ones implicating Simon Hart.” Elena whispered,
“Beatrice.”
Beatrice heard her.
“Mother, you need to leave before he comes for you.”
“Where are you?”
The line went dead. Julian slammed the receiver down.
“She was at the house.”
Peter checked the windows.
“Charles may have taken her.”
Mara stared at the ledger. The possibility that the evidence had been planted did not erase the other evidence. It made the truth more treacherous. Charles had mixed real records with false ones, knowing that uncertainty could destroy them as efficiently as fire.
“We need an independent copy,” she said.
Julian looked at her.
“Of what?”
“Everything. We photograph every page, record every statement, and send it to someone Charles cannot reach.”
Peter gave a humorless smile.
“Who do you know with that kind of protection?”
“A former colleague. Nora Bell works for the state attorney general’s office now.”
“Will she believe you?”
“She will believe documents.”
Mara took out her phone. It had no signal, but the camera still worked. She began photographing the ledger, page by page, while Julian read the handwritten notes aloud. Elena sat opposite them, answering questions she had avoided for twelve years.
She admitted that Charles had pressured Simon Hart into approving the first property acquisitions. When Simon refused, Charles threatened to expose old tax errors from Simon’s accounting firm. Simon signed two harmless transfers, then began keeping private copies of everything.
“Why didn’t he go to the police?” Mara asked.
“Because Charles threatened you,” Elena said.
“He knew you were Simon’s weakness.”
“And my father believed him?”
“He believed Charles would hurt you.”
Mara photographed a page bearing a list of payments to a private security contractor. One name appeared repeatedly: Calder Pike.
“Who is Calder Pike?”
Peter’s expression changed.
“Charles’s driver.”
Julian stared at the name.
“He was at the crash scene.”
Mara looked up.
“You remember him?”
“I remember a hand on the steering wheel. A silver ring with a black stone. Pike wore one.”
His memory came in fragments, but the fragment mattered. They spent the next hour creating copies. Peter used the station’s old radio to contact a ranger post farther north, where he arranged for a message to be sent to Nora Bell. Elena recorded a statement on Mara’s phone, naming Charles and describing the forged guardianship papers.
When they finished, dawn had begun to lighten the clouds. The baby’s movements became sharper. Mara shifted on the bench. Julian noticed.
“Are you having contractions?”
“Not real ones.”
“How do you know?”
“Because I’m the one feeling them.”
He nodded, chastened.
“Right.”
The small gesture almost made her smile. Then the station windows shattered. A canister rolled across the floor, spilling a white cloud. Peter shouted,
“Down!”
Mara dropped behind the bench. Julian pulled Elena to the wall. The gas burned Mara’s eyes and throat. Through the haze, she saw a figure in the doorway wearing a dark raincoat.
Calder Pike. He raised a handgun. Julian sprang toward him. The shot struck the lantern, plunging the room into darkness.
They collided, crashing through the doorway onto the wet steps. Mara crawled toward the table where her phone lay. The recording light was still blinking. She seized it and ran.
Outside, Julian wrestled with Pike near the flooded creek. Pike struck his injured leg, and Julian collapsed with a cry. Mara found a fallen branch and swung it into Pike’s shoulder. He turned on her, surprise flashing across his face.
“You should have stayed away,”
he growled.
“You should have driven better.”
She struck him again. Pike stumbled. Peter emerged from the station and tackled him from behind. Together, Peter and Julian forced the gun away.
Pike rolled toward the creek and vanished down the muddy embankment. They found no body. Julian sat on the ground, clutching his leg.
“He knew where we were.”
Mara looked at the phone in her hand.
“Someone told him.”
Elena stood in the broken doorway, her face bloodless.
“Beatrice,” she said.
May you like
Before anyone could answer, a message appeared on Mara’s screen from an unknown number. STOP LOOKING FOR THE TRUTH, MARA. A second message followed. YOUR FATHER DID NOT DIE IN THAT MOTEL.
HE IS STILL ALIVE.
