Chapter 5 - THE CHILD IN THE PINK JACKET
“That isn't possible.”
My voice sounded strange in the empty locker room.
Thomas looked at me with the expression people wear when they're afraid the truth will hurt more than the lie.
“I know what I saw.”
“Sophie was home with me that night.”
He nodded.
“Then someone else was wearing her jacket.”
I leaned against the lockers.
Sophie's pink jacket.
It had been a gift from my father for her second birthday.
There was a little embroidered rabbit on the pocket.
Daniel used to tease that it made her look like a marshmallow.
She wore it constantly that winter.
And after his funeral, I couldn't find it.
I assumed we'd lost it somewhere during those terrible weeks.
“Are you sure it was the same one?”
Thomas hesitated.
“Pink wool. White buttons. Little rabbit on the front.”
I closed my eyes.
It was the same jacket.
But why would another child have it?
“Did you see the girl's face?”
“No. Caroline carried her on her shoulder. The child was asleep.”
“And what happened?”
“Peter met Caroline near the side entrance.”
My eyes opened.
“Peter?”
Thomas nodded.
“They argued.”
“About what?”
“I couldn't hear. I was inside the loading office.”
“Then?”
“Peter took the child. Caroline went into the records wing.”
I stared at him.
“Where was Daniel?”
“He arrived about ten minutes later.”
Thomas looked down.
“And twenty minutes after that, the fire alarm went off.”
My legs felt weak.
“Why didn't you tell the investigators?”
“I told them about Caroline.”
“And?”
“They said there was no evidence she'd been there.”
“Did you tell them about the child?”
Thomas shook his head.
“Peter asked me not to.”
Anger rose through my fear.
“Why would you listen to him?”
He looked ashamed.
“My wife was undergoing cancer treatment. I needed the job. Peter said the child belonged to a family involved in a confidential custody matter.”
I stared at him.
“You let me bury my husband without telling me he was meeting a woman that night?”
Thomas's eyes filled.
“Yes.”
The admission hurt because he didn't defend himself.
He simply stood there and accepted what he'd done.
“I was a coward,” he said.
I looked at the red coat.
The lining had been torn near the hem.
There was a little section of rough stitching, done by someone who hadn't known how to sew properly.
Daniel had been terrible at sewing.
He could repair a truck engine but couldn't fix a loose button.
I ran my fingers over the blue thread.
Something crackled beneath the fabric.
I found a narrow slit and carefully pulled out a folded sheet of paper.
It was a drawing.
A child's drawing.
Three stick figures stood beneath a yellow sun.
One was tall.
One was smaller.
One held a pink rabbit.
Across the top were the words:
ME AND MOMMY AND UNCLE DAN.
The letters were uneven.
I stared at them.
“Thomas, how old was Caroline's daughter?”
“Four, maybe five. The child I saw that night was younger.”
I looked up.
“What do you mean?”
“Caroline had a daughter named Lily. She used to bring her to the office sometimes. But the girl in the pink jacket was much smaller.”
The drawing slipped from my fingers.
Two children.
Caroline had a daughter.
And she'd brought a younger child to the warehouse on the night Daniel died.
I thought of Sophie.
The child I'd protected from every painful detail of that night.
The child who had never stopped asking why her father couldn't come home.
Suddenly, I understood that Daniel's death might have involved another family.
Another mother.
Another little girl who had been waiting for someone who never returned.
I folded the drawing and slipped it into my coat.
“Thomas, don't tell Peter I was here.”
He nodded.
But his eyes had shifted toward the locker room entrance.
I turned.
Evan stood in the doorway.
He wore yesterday's wedding suit without the tie.
His face was exhausted.
“Emily.”
I stepped in front of the open locker.
“How did you know I was here?”
“Rachel said you might come.”
I stared.
“Rachel told you?”
“She called to ask whether I knew anything about Caroline.”
A fresh wave of disappointment hit me.
“You should have stayed away.”
“I know.”
He looked toward the red coat.
Then he stopped breathing for a moment.
“Where did you find that?”
“Daniel's locker.”
Evan stepped closer.
“That coat belongs to Caroline.”
“I know.”
He reached toward the sleeve, then stopped himself.
“She wore it the last time I saw her.”
“When was that?”
“The afternoon before the fire.”
I looked at him.
“Tell me what really happened.”
He leaned against the wall.
“Caroline discovered that money was being moved out of the company through a series of false transportation invoices.”
“Peter?”
“She suspected him.”
“Did Daniel know?”
“Yes.”
“Then why did he trust you?”
Evan rubbed his face.
“Because I was helping them.”
I stared.
“You were helping Daniel investigate Peter?”
He nodded.
“I was an outside financial analyst. Your father hired me to review the accounts.”
My chest tightened.
“Dad knew?”
“Not everything.”
“Did Peter know you were investigating him?”
“Not at first.”
I thought of the photograph.
Daniel.
Peter.
Evan.
Three men standing outside the warehouse just days before one of them died.
“What happened after Peter found out?”
Evan looked at the floor.
“He offered me money to stop.”
“How much?”
“Two hundred thousand dollars.”
“And did you take it?”
His silence made my answer clear.
I stepped back.
“Evan.”
“I took the money,” he whispered.
The words struck harder than I expected.
He continued quickly.
“But I didn't destroy the evidence. I returned most of it later.”
“Most?”
“I spent some.”
I looked at him.
“And then you married me.”
He closed his eyes.
“I fell in love with you.”
“Was that before or after Peter told you I owned forty percent of the company?”
Evan opened his mouth.
Nothing came out.
I wanted to hit him.
Not because I believed it would change anything.
Because I had allowed this man to sit beside Sophie at breakfast.
I'd allowed him to read bedtime stories.
I'd allowed him to promise that he would never leave us.
And all the while, he had known things about Daniel that I had begged everyone to explain.
“What was in Daniel's watch?” I asked.
Evan looked at the little blue box in my hand.
“A photograph.”
“Of Caroline?”
“Yes.”
“And?”
He swallowed.
“A receipt.”
“What receipt?”
“A receipt proving someone accessed the warehouse records after the fire began.”
My heart pounded.
“Who?”
Evan looked toward Thomas.
Then he said, “Peter.”
Thomas leaned against the lockers.
“I knew it.”
I gripped Evan's arm.
“Does that mean Peter started the fire?”
“No,” Evan said quickly. “Not necessarily.”
“Then why would he go inside?”
“That's what Daniel wanted to know.”
I stared at him.
“Daniel couldn't have wanted to know afterward. He died in the fire.”
Evan's face changed.
And I realized I'd misunderstood.
“Emily,” he whispered, “Daniel knew someone had been going into the records wing before the fire. He'd been collecting proof for weeks.”
I took a shaky breath.
“Where is the receipt now?”
“Peter has it.”
My stomach sank.
“Of course he does.”
Evan reached inside his jacket.
Then stopped.
“I brought something else.”
I stiffened.
“What?”
He removed a small photograph.
A little girl stood outside a brick house, wearing a red cardigan.
She had dark hair and a solemn face.
On the back was a name.
LILY MERCER — AGE FIVE.
I frowned.
“Why are you showing me this?”
Evan's voice broke.
“Because Caroline didn't disappear alone.”
He looked straight into my eyes.
“And because your brother has been paying for Lily's care for three years.”
I stared.
“Care where?”
Evan hesitated.
Then he answered.
“At a children's residential treatment center outside Milwaukee.”
My heart sank.
“Why would a healthy five-year-old end up there?”
Evan's expression was full of regret.
“Emily, Lily isn't five anymore.”
May you like
He took a breath.
“She's eight. And according to the records Peter showed me, she hasn't spoken a word since the night Daniel died.”
