Chapter 3 - THE FRIDAY MY FATHER STOPPED TRUSTING HER
“Rebecca wasn't in Austin that Friday,” Nolan said.
I looked up from my father's photograph.
“What?”
“She told investigators she was visiting her sister in Dallas. That's in her statement.”
Andrew reached for the picture.
But I held it close.
My father had written those words himself.
Ask Rebecca what happened that Friday.
He had known something.
Something serious enough to leave a warning inside the piano.
And five years later, the woman he had stopped trusting had helped a stranger marry his daughter.
“Then she lied,” I whispered.
“Possibly,” Andrew said. “But we need to establish what your father meant before we draw conclusions.”
I wanted to scream.
My parents had been dead for five years.
I had spent three of those years trapped in a marriage built on lies.
And now the only people offering me answers were asking me to be patient.
I understood why.
But understanding didn't make it hurt less.
Nolan sat beside me.
“Audrey, I need to tell you something.”
His expression made my stomach tighten.
“I didn't start looking into Blake because of the house.”
I frowned.
“Then why?”
“Because six months ago, I ran into an old friend who worked with Dad.”
He paused.
“Her name is Patricia Wells. She handled vehicle safety reviews for Westbridge before retiring.”
I remembered Patricia.
She used to bring homemade cookies to our Christmas parties.
“She told me Dad had asked for an independent inspection of a transportation contractor's fleet shortly before he died.”
“Why would that matter?”
“Because the contractor's inspection reports were altered after his death.”
Andrew opened the brown notebook.
“Several dates here match maintenance discrepancies Patricia remembers reviewing.”
I looked at the pages.
There were vehicle numbers.
Brake measurements.
Inspection dates.
And beside three entries, my father had drawn little red circles.
I remembered those circles.
Dad used to mark mistakes in my math homework the same way.
“Who changed the reports?” I asked.
“We don't know yet,” Nolan replied.
“But Rebecca had access?”
“Yes.”
I closed my eyes.
Rebecca had known my mother since college.
She had attended my high school graduation.
She had helped Mom choose the curtains in our living room.
She wasn't just a family friend.
She was practically an aunt.
And I couldn't reconcile that woman with the one I'd heard on the recording.
You were supposed to get the house.
Andrew turned another page.
“There's something else.”
He showed me a photograph of an inspection tag attached to a truck.
A yellow metal tag with a punched number.
The number matched one of the entries in Dad's notebook.
“This truck was recorded as being taken out of service,” Andrew explained.
“Was it the truck that hit my parents?”
“Yes.”
I felt the room tilt.
Nolan caught my arm.
“Easy.”
“Don't tell me to take it easy.”
He withdrew his hand.
I looked at both men.
“My parents died because a truck that wasn't supposed to be on the road hit them?”
“That is one possibility,” Andrew said. “The available records conflict.”
“Then find out why!”
“We're trying.”
I stood and walked into the kitchen.
I couldn't sit at that table anymore.
My mother's dinner plates were still there.
And I suddenly hated everything about that room.
The candles.
The folded napkins.
The expensive flowers Blake had ordered for our anniversary.
He had bought flowers using money borrowed against my parents' house.
I grabbed the vase.
For one moment, I wanted to throw it against the wall.
Instead, I placed it in the sink.
I wouldn't let Blake turn me into somebody I didn't recognize.
Behind me, Nolan entered quietly.
“You okay?”
I laughed once.
“No.”
He nodded.
“Fair enough.”
I leaned against the counter.
“Why didn't you tell me you were investigating?”
“Because every time I tried to ask about Blake, you stopped answering.”
“That was years ago.”
“I know.”
“Then why didn't you come?”
Nolan looked down.
For a moment, I saw the brother who used to sneak me extra birthday cake.
“I thought staying away was what you wanted.”
My throat tightened.
“I wanted you to stop judging me. I didn't want to lose you.”
He swallowed.
“I should've understood the difference.”
We stood there in silence.
Then he reached into his coat pocket.
“I brought something else.”
It was my father's old silver wristwatch.
The one with the scratched leather strap.
I hadn't seen it since the funeral.
“Where did you get that?”
“Nolan's personal effects box,” he said, then caught himself with a tired smile. “Dad's box. I kept it when I left.”
I touched the watch.
It wasn't expensive.
Dad wore it every day.
He always set it five minutes fast because Mom was late for everything.
“Why bring it now?”
“Look at the back.”
The initials T.B. were engraved beneath the scratched metal.
But there was a second inscription.
Tiny letters I had never noticed.
Friday. 4:40. Service road.
I stared at them.
“Dad put that there?”
“I think he had someone engrave it after the maintenance dispute began.”
“Why?”
Nolan shook his head.
“That's what we need to learn.”
We returned to the dining room.
Andrew examined the watch.
He compared the inscription with a page in the notebook.
Then he stopped.
“The Friday before the collision,” he said, “your father had a meeting scheduled with Rebecca at four thirty.”
My heart pounded.
“Where?”
“At a Westbridge storage facility near the interstate.”
I looked at Nolan.
“The service road.”
He nodded slowly.
The pieces were beginning to connect.
But none of them explained why Rebecca would want the house.
Or why she'd chosen Blake.
Or why she'd waited until after our wedding to have him steal it.
Then I remembered something I'd tried very hard to forget.
Six weeks after our wedding, on the morning Blake took me to sign the documents, Rebecca had called.
She'd asked whether I'd found a buyer for Dad's old piano.
I told her I was keeping it.
She'd gone quiet.
Then she said something strange.
Audrey, sometimes holding on to old things only keeps you trapped in the past.
I'd thought she was being kind.
Now the memory made my skin crawl.
“Rebecca knew about the piano,” I whispered.
Nolan looked at me.
“What?”
“She wanted me to get rid of it.”
Andrew leaned forward.
“Did she ever ask to inspect it?”
“No.”
I hesitated.
“Actually, yes.”
They both looked at me.
“After Mom died, Rebecca offered to have the piano professionally cleaned. She said she knew a restoration specialist.”
“Did it happen?”
“No. I refused.”
Nolan glanced at the notebook.
“Then she might have suspected something was hidden inside.”
Andrew remained thoughtful.
“Or she knew your father used the piano for storage.”
Before I could answer, a loud scraping sound came from the hallway.
We turned.
Blake was standing near the front entrance with a suitcase.
Diane and Kendra were behind him.
“Where do you think you're going?” I asked.
Blake didn't look at me.
“I've had enough of this circus.”
His mother held her purse against her chest.
“We're going somewhere civilized.”
I looked at the suitcase.
Then at Blake's hand.
He was carrying my mother's jewelry box.
“Put that down.”
He stopped.
“It's just a box.”
“It belonged to my mother.”
“There's nothing valuable in it.”
“Then you won't mind leaving it.”
For several seconds, he didn't move.
Nolan took one step forward.
Blake placed the jewelry box on the entryway table.
But he couldn't resist one final insult.
“Good luck keeping the house when the bank takes it, Audrey.”
I looked straight at him.
“Good luck explaining why you borrowed money against property you tricked me into giving you.”
His smile disappeared.
Andrew spoke calmly.
“Blake, you should preserve all financial records and communications relating to that property.”
Blake didn't answer.
He dragged his suitcase out into the night.
Diane followed.
Kendra hesitated, looking toward me.
For an instant, I thought she might apologize.
Instead, she said, “You're going to regret this.”
Then she left.
The front door closed.
And for the first time in three years, my parents' house was quiet.
I stood motionless.
Nolan came beside me.
“You don't have to sleep here tonight.”
“Yes,” I said.
My voice was trembling, but I meant it.
“I do.”
Andrew began gathering the documents.
Then he looked at the jewelry box.
“Audrey, may I ask something?”
I nodded.
“Was your mother wearing her wedding ring when she died?”
“Yes.”
“And did you receive that ring with her personal belongings?”
I frowned.
“No. They said it must have been lost in the accident.”
Andrew exchanged a troubled glance with Nolan.
He opened his folder and removed a photograph from the accident evidence inventory.
It showed a woman's wedding ring attached to a numbered property tag.
My mother's ring.
But the photograph carried an annotation.
Released to Rebecca Sloan, authorized family representative.
I stared at the signature.
May you like
And finally understood why the empty jewelry box had frightened Blake.
Rebecca had taken my mother's wedding ring from the accident evidence—and nobody had ever told me.
