Chapter 9: The Witness Comes Forward
Her name was Patricia.
She sent me a longer message two days later, and this time she included her full name and a phone number.
She had worked as a scheduling coordinator at the care facility for nine years.
She had known Mom for the last two of them.
We met at her kitchen table on a Wednesday afternoon.
She made tea without asking and set a plate of biscuits between us like it was the most natural thing in the world.
"Your mother used to bring me shortbread," she said.
"Every third appointment, regular as clockwork.
She said the staff never got thanked properly and she wanted to do her small part." She smiled briefly.
"She was right about that."
"She was right about most things," I said.
Patricia wrapped her hands around her mug.
"About eight months before she passed, she came in for a routine appointment and she was quieter than usual.
I asked if she was all right.
She said she was managing.
I didn't push." She paused.
"The next visit she came in with a small recorder in her handbag.
She asked me — very quietly, while we were alone in the waiting room — if I could tell her how to use it.
She said her granddaughter had given it to her but she couldn't work out the buttons."
I set my cup down.
"I showed her," Patricia said.
"I didn't ask why.
It wasn't my place.
But she thanked me and she said — " Patricia looked at the table for a moment.
"She said, 'I hope I never need to use it.
But I feel better knowing how.' "
"She used it," I said.
"I know.
I heard about what happened at the will reading through a colleague." She looked at me directly.
"I want you to know that I will say all of this to whoever needs to hear it.
In writing, in person, whatever is required.
Your mother was not confused.
She was not manipulated by you or by Daniel.
She was a sharp, careful woman who was being treated very badly by someone she had tried to welcome into her family."
My voice came out smaller than I intended.
"Thank you."
"I also want you to know," Patricia said, "that she talked about you.
Not every visit, but often enough.
She said you called every Sunday without fail.
She said you drove her to her appointments when she stopped feeling safe driving herself, and you never once made her feel like it was an inconvenience." She paused.
"She said she worried sometimes that she hadn't told you enough times how much that meant to her."
I pressed my lips together.
"She told me instead," Patricia said simply.
"I thought you should know."
I sat in Patricia's kitchen for another hour.
By the time I left, she had agreed to provide a written statement to Daniel's solicitor.
She had also, quietly, mentioned that two other staff members at the facility had noticed Mom seemed anxious during a particular period and had noted it informally in their own records — records that could be requested if needed.
Mom had not been alone in that waiting room.
She had been seen.
Daniel called while I was driving home.
"The solicitor spoke to the police this morning," he said.
"They want to review the recording and the financial records.
They're taking it seriously."
"Patricia will give a statement," I said.
A beat of silence.
"Good," he said.
"That's good."
"How are you?" I asked.
"I returned her calls last night," he said.
"I told her I'd spoken to a solicitor and that she should do the same.
She told me I was making the worst mistake of my life." He was quiet for a moment.
"She sounded very certain about that."
"She usually does."
"Yes," he said.
"She does."
The ring arrived by courier the following morning.
No note.
Just the ring, in a small padded envelope, the diamond catching the light when I opened it at my kitchen counter.
I held it for a long time.
It was exactly as I remembered — the weight of it, the way the setting curved, the particular way the stone sat in its mount.
Mom had worn it so long that the band had worn slightly smooth on the inside.
I set it gently on the counter and called Daniel.
"It came," I said.
"I know.
She texted me to say she'd sent it." A pause.
"Did she include anything else?"
"Nothing."
May you like
"All right," he said.
"Then we keep going."
