Chapter 3: What the Rest of the Note Said
My nephew's name was Daniel.
He was thirty-four, my late brother's son, and the only family I had left.
He stood in the doorway of my daughter's room holding the photograph, turning it over in his hands like he was waiting for it to change.
"How long has she been back in town?" I asked.
"Two years, maybe a little more." He set the photo on the dresser.
"She keeps to herself.
I've seen her car at the grocery store a few times.
I didn't think anything of it."
"Did she ever ask about me?"
He looked at me.
"No."
I turned back to the note.
There were three more pages folded beneath the first one.
I hadn't seen them when my hands were shaking so badly.
I smoothed them out on my knee and began to read.
Clara's handwriting was small and careful, the way it always was when she was trying not to let her emotions show in the letters.
*Before I married you, Gwen and I had a falling-out.
I never told you what it was about because I was ashamed of my part in it.
But it was about money.
Our father's money.
When he passed, he left everything to me.
Not to Gwen.
She never forgave me for that, even though I had nothing to do with his decision.
I tried to share it with her.
She refused.
She said she didn't want my charity.
She wanted what was hers.*
I stopped reading.
"Daniel," I said.
"Sit down."
He pulled the small chair from the corner and sat across from me.
I read the next section out loud.
*Two weeks before the trip, Gwen called me.
She said she needed to see me.
She said she had found something in our father's estate papers — something that proved the will had been changed without her knowledge.
She said she had a lawyer.
She said she was going to take me to court and that she would win.
I went to meet her.
That was the photograph.
I went alone because I didn't want to worry you.*
"She was being threatened," Daniel said.
"She was being warned," I said.
"There's a difference."
I kept reading.
*At the meeting, Gwen told me that if I didn't sign over half of what remained of my inheritance, she would make sure I regretted it.
I asked her what that meant.
She didn't answer.
She just looked at me with that flat expression she used to get when we were children, when she had already decided something and there was no point arguing.
I left frightened.
I came home and I didn't sleep.
And two days later, I packed the children and told them we were going to visit Aunt Gwen — because I thought if I went to her, if I brought the children, she would soften.
I thought she couldn't do anything terrible if the children were there.*
My throat closed.
"She brought the children as protection," Daniel said quietly.
I couldn't speak.
"Uncle." He leaned forward.
"Keep reading."
The last paragraph on the second page was short.
Just four sentences.
*I am writing this because I am afraid.
I don't know what Gwen is capable of anymore.
If something happens to us on this trip, please know that it was not an accident.
And please know that I loved you every single day.*
The room was completely silent.
Daniel stood up and walked to the window.
He stood there with his back to me for a long moment.
When he turned around, his jaw was set.
"We need to call someone," he said.
"The police already closed the case forty years ago."
"Then we find someone who can reopen it." He picked up the photograph from the dresser again.
"This photo has a date.
The note has her handwriting.
That's evidence, Uncle.
That's not nothing."
I looked down at the pages in my lap.
"She cried at the memorial," I said.
"She stood right next to me and she cried."
Daniel didn't answer that.
May you like
He didn't need to.
He was already reaching for his phone.
