Chapter 8: The Last One
He stared at the message for a long time.
*You should ask her what happened to the last one.*
He typed back: *Who is this?*
No reply came.
He tried calling the number.
It rang four times and went to a generic voicemail — no name, no recording, just the automated prompt to leave a message.
He didn't leave one.
He sat with the phone in his hand and thought about what *the last one* could mean.
Renata had been married once before Robert — Daniel knew that much.
A man named Gerald, who had died.
Robert had mentioned it once, early on, in the way people mention things they consider settled: *She was widowed, poor woman.
Terrible thing.*
Daniel had never asked for details.
He'd had no reason to.
He had a reason now.
He called Pete.
"I got a message," Daniel said.
"Anonymous.
It said: *Ask her what happened to the last one.*"
A pause on Pete's end.
"Gerald," Pete said.
"You know something."
"I know what I heard at the wedding.
One of Renata's friends — older woman, didn't know I was listening — said something to another guest.
She said Renata had done very well for herself.
Again." Pete paused.
"I thought it was just cattiness.
Women at weddings say things."
"What else?"
"That's all I heard.
But Daniel — I looked Gerald up once.
After the first time Renata and I had a disagreement and I started paying closer attention." A pause.
"He died fourteen months into the marriage.
Heart failure.
He was sixty-eight.
No prior cardiac history."
The number on the anonymous message was still on Daniel's screen.
"Pete," Daniel said.
"Who at last night's dinner would have had this number?
Someone who wanted to tell me something but didn't want to say it out loud."
Pete was quiet for a moment.
"Aunt Carol," he said.
"She was sitting at the far end of the table.
She's known Renata longer than any of us — they were neighbors before Dad met her."
"She never liked Renata," Daniel said slowly, remembering.
"No.
But she never said why.
Dad asked her once and she changed the subject."
Daniel ended the call and found Carol's number in his contacts.
She was his father's sister — seventy-four, lived alone, came to family dinners because she felt she should and left early because she always had.
She picked up on the second ring.
"Daniel," she said.
"I wondered when you'd call."
"Was that you?" he said.
"The message."
A pause.
"I've been trying to decide what to do for two years," Carol said.
"Last night made it easier."
"Tell me."
"Gerald Marsh," she said.
"Renata's first husband.
I knew him before she did.
We were in the same church group for years." A pause.
"He was a healthy man, Daniel.
Walked three miles every morning.
No heart problems, no family history.
And then he married Renata, and fourteen months later he was gone."
"People have unexpected cardiac events—"
"He changed his will four months before he died," Carol said.
"I know because he told me.
He said Renata had suggested it.
He said she'd been very helpful in organizing his paperwork." A pause.
"He left her everything.
His children from his first marriage got nothing.
They contested it.
They lost."
Daniel's hand tightened on the phone.
"Carol.
Did anyone ever look into how he died?"
"His daughter tried.
She hired someone.
But there was nothing to find — or nothing that could be proven." A long pause.
"Daniel.
Your father has been signing things.
I've seen Renata bring him papers.
I've seen the way she does it — after dinner, when he's relaxed, when he's had a glass of wine.
She makes it feel like nothing."
"I know," Daniel said.
"I found the documents this morning."
"Then you know what she's doing." Carol's voice was steady but thin, the voice of someone who had been carrying something heavy for a long time and was finally setting it down.
"I should have spoken sooner.
I was afraid of being wrong.
I was afraid of what it would do to your father if I was right."
"You're speaking now," Daniel said.
"Yes," she said.
"I am."
After he hung up, Daniel sat very still.
Then he called Graham Adler back.
"I need you to do something else," Daniel said.
"I need you to find out everything you can about a man named Gerald Marsh.
First husband.
Died approximately four years ago.
Estate dispute involving his children from a prior marriage."
A pause.
"You think this is a pattern," Graham said.
"I think I need to know if it is," Daniel said.
"I'll make some calls," Graham said.
"Daniel — don't confront her yet.
Not until we know more.
If this is what it looks like, we need to be careful."
"I know."
"Where is she now?"
"Still at my father's house," Daniel said.
"With my father."
"Get him out," Graham said.
"Today if you can.
Find a reason.
Get him somewhere else."
Daniel looked at the clock.
It was nine forty-seven in the morning.
He called his father.
"Dad," he said.
"I need you to come to my place.
Bring the documents.
Tell Renata you're coming to see Lily."
"She'll want to come with me."
"Tell her Lily's upset and it's better if it's just family for now."
A pause.
"All right," Robert said.
"Dad." Daniel kept his voice even.
"Don't tell her where you're going.
Just go."
The line was quiet for a moment.
"Daniel," his father said.
"How serious is this?"
Daniel looked through the kitchen doorway.
Lily had woken up.
She was standing in the hall in her pajamas, her hair still flat from sleep, the scrape on her jaw dark against her pale skin.
She looked at her father and held up her stuffed rabbit by one ear, the way she always did in the morning — a small, ordinary gesture, the gesture of a child who still expected mornings to be safe.
May you like
"Very serious, Dad," Daniel said.
"Please hurry."
