Chapter 5: The Text from the Unknown Number
I stared at the screen.
My husband leaned over.
He read it once.
Then he straightened up.
"Don't reply yet," he said.
"I wasn't going to."
We stood there looking at the phone like it was something that might move on its own.
The number had no name attached.
The area code was local.
"Who has this number?" my husband said.
"I don't know."
"Someone who was at dinner tonight, or someone James talked to after."
I picked up the phone and typed back one word: *Who is this?*
The reply came in under a minute.
*Someone who heard things I shouldn't have.
Can we talk tomorrow?
Not by text.*
My husband read it over my shoulder.
"It could be nothing.
It could be someone trying to stir things up."
"Or it could be someone who actually heard something."
"Who was at dinner tonight that we don't fully know?"
I thought through the table.
My parents.
James and his wife, Carla.
Carla's mother had dropped Mason off earlier and stayed for a cup of tea before leaving.
She'd been in the kitchen while James and my father were talking in the hallway.
Carla's mother.
Sandra.
I'd always liked Sandra.
She was quiet, careful, the kind of woman who noticed everything and said very little.
She and I had spoken maybe a dozen times over the years, always briefly, always warmly.
I typed: *Is this Sandra?*
Three dots appeared.
Then: *Yes.
I'm sorry to contact you like this.
But I've been sitting with this all evening and I can't sleep.*
My husband pulled out the chair and sat down heavily.
"Call her," he said.
"Right now."
Sandra picked up before the second ring.
"I wasn't going to say anything," she said immediately.
"It's not my family.
It's not my place.
But what I heard tonight — I can't just leave it."
"Tell me," I said.
"Before dinner.
When everyone was still arriving.
James took your father into the hallway.
I was in the kitchen getting water and the door was open.
I wasn't trying to listen."
"I believe you.
What did you hear?"
"James told your father that you and your husband had been talking about contesting the will.
That you'd already spoken to a solicitor.
That you were planning to make trouble." Sandra's voice was careful, steady.
"He said your husband had been asking questions about the estate for months.
That he'd been doing it behind everyone's backs."
I looked at my husband.
His face had gone very still.
"That is not true," I said.
"Not one word of it."
"I didn't think it sounded right," Sandra said.
"Your father looked shaken.
He kept saying, are you sure, are you sure.
And James said, Dad, I've got proof.
I've got messages."
"What messages?"
"He didn't show them.
He just said he had them." A pause.
"And then your mother called everyone in for dinner, and it was over.
But your father — he looked at your husband differently all through the meal.
I noticed it.
I don't think you did."
I thought back through dinner.
My father, who had barely spoken.
Who had looked at the carpet when the TV broke.
Who had not met my eyes once.
"He believed James," I said.
"I think so.
Yes."
"Sandra." I steadied my voice.
"Would you be willing to tell my parents what you heard?
Not to cause trouble.
Just to tell them the truth of what was said in that hallway?"
The silence lasted a long time.
"Yes," she said finally.
"I would.
Because what I saw tonight wasn't a family disagreeing.
It was one person setting another person up.
And I've seen enough of that in my life to know exactly what it looks like."
After I hung up, my husband didn't speak for a moment.
Then he said, "He told your father I had proof.
That I'd been going behind everyone's backs."
"Yes."
"He's not just poisoning them against you.
He's making sure your father doesn't trust me either.
So that when this goes to the solicitor, there's no one left in your corner."
I nodded slowly.
"He's been planning this for a long time," I said.
"So have we," my husband said.
"We just didn't know it yet."
He opened his laptop.
May you like
"I'm going to find out who that solicitor is.
Tonight."
