Chapter 7: The Name Daniel Never Said
"Garrett," I repeated.
"No.
Who is he?"
Paul took a breath.
"He was Daniel's business partner.
Before you and Daniel met.
They had a small property venture together — nothing major, a few houses they bought and sold.
It ended badly."
"How badly?"
"Daniel bought Garrett out.
Garrett felt he'd been underpaid.
He threatened legal action for about a year and then went quiet." Paul's voice was careful.
"Daniel never talked about it because it was resolved and he didn't want to dredge it up.
But he mentioned once — maybe two years ago — that Garrett had moved back to the area."
"And you think this is the same man."
"Grey coat, sixties, parks down the street.
I don't know, Claire.
It might not be.
But Daniel was uneasy when he mentioned Garrett had come back.
He didn't say why."
I sat very still.
"Paul.
If Garrett had something against Daniel — some old grievance — and Monica somehow knew about it—"
"Then she didn't invent her leverage," Paul said quietly.
"She borrowed it from someone who had a reason to want Daniel's name damaged."
The room felt different after that.
Smaller.
"I need to know if it's him," I said.
"How are you going to find that out?"
"I'll find out."
I didn't sleep again that night.
In the morning I called Frances and told her about Garrett.
She listened carefully.
"If this man has been in contact with Monica and is providing her with information — or misinformation — about your husband, that changes the character of her behavior significantly," Frances said.
"It moves from a neighbor dispute to something more coordinated."
"Can we find out if they know each other?"
"Not directly.
But if she names him in any correspondence, or if he appears in connection with any legal action she takes, we'll have grounds to investigate." She paused.
"In the meantime, I want you to write down everything Daniel ever told you about Garrett.
Names, dates, the nature of the dispute, how it ended.
Whatever you can remember."
I spent the afternoon doing exactly that.
It wasn't much — Daniel had kept it brief, the way he kept things brief when they had caused him pain.
But I found the name of the solicitor who had handled the buyout in an old folder in Daniel's filing cabinet, and I called that office and left a message.
On Saturday morning, I was in the garden with Lily when I heard Monica's gate.
I looked up.
She was walking toward me along the pavement, not dressed for confrontation — cardigan, flat shoes.
She stopped at my gate.
"I want to talk," she said.
"Without solicitors."
"I'm listening."
She glanced at Lily, who was crouching over something in the grass and paying us no attention.
"Garrett came to me six months ago," Monica said.
"He told me things about Daniel.
About the business.
He said Daniel had cheated him." She paused.
"I believed him.
I shouldn't have."
I kept my face still.
"Why are you telling me this now?"
"Because Frances Holt's letter arrived yesterday and I read it three times and I realized—" She stopped.
Pressed her lips together.
"I realized I'd been used.
He came to me with a story and I let myself believe it because I was angry at Daniel for the boundary dispute.
It felt convenient." She looked at the pavement.
"That's not an excuse."
"No," I said.
"It isn't."
"I want to withdraw the solicitor's letter."
"That's between you and your solicitor."
"Claire." She looked up.
Her face was tired in a way I hadn't seen before.
"I'm sorry about the trees.
I'm sorry about all of it.
I was angry and I was stupid and I let someone make me worse than I am."
Lily stood up from the grass and walked over to the gate.
She looked up at Monica with complete openness.
"Are you the lady who took the apples?" she asked.
Monica's face did something complicated.
"Yes," she said quietly.
"I am."
Lily considered this.
"Daddy grew those."
"I know," Monica said.
"I'm sorry."
Lily nodded once, as if that settled it, and went back to the grass.
I looked at Monica for a long moment.
"I need you to tell Frances everything you just told me," I said.
"About Garrett.
When he came to you, what he said, all of it."
"I will."
"And I need to know where to find him."
Monica reached into her cardigan pocket and held out a folded piece of paper.
"He gave me his number when he first came.
In case I wanted to talk further." She paused.
"I was going to use it.
I didn't."
I took the paper.
"Thank you," I said.
It cost me something to say it.
But I said it.
Monica walked back to her house.
I looked down at the number in my hand.
Garrett had used Monica to try to damage Daniel's memory.
He had walked into a grieving street and handed a bitter neighbor a story she was already half-willing to believe.
He hadn't counted on the letter in the kitchen drawer.
May you like
He hadn't counted on Roy, or Diane, or Ben's clear eyes, or a three-year-old girl who knew her father lived in the trees.
And he hadn't counted on me.
