Chapter 2 - The Man My Husband Hired to Investigate Me
For several seconds, I forgot about the pain in my leg.
I forgot about the rainwater dripping through my hair, the shattered windshield inches from my face, and the cold metal crushing my knee.
All I could hear was Martin Vale’s voice.
“Your husband hired me to find out whether you were planning to kill him.”
I stared at him.
“That’s impossible.”
Martin’s face remained grim.
“I wish it were.”
“Daniel trusted me.”
“He did.”
“Then why would he hire you?”
Martin glanced toward the ridge above us.
“We need to get you out before we talk about this.”
“No.”
My voice came out sharper than I expected.
“My stepson just tried to kill me. My husband apparently thought I wanted him dead. I’m not going anywhere until you tell me what’s happening.”
Martin studied me for a moment.
Then he crouched lower beside the broken window.
“Three years ago, Daniel started receiving anonymous information about you.”
My stomach tightened.
“What information?”
“Bank records. Insurance documents. Printed emails. Photographs. Someone wanted him to believe you were preparing for his death.”
I almost laughed.
Instead, a broken sound escaped my throat.
“What kind of photographs?”
“One showed you meeting a man outside a pharmacy in Knoxville.”
“My pharmacist?”
“I know that now.”
Another wave of pain moved through my ribs.
Martin continued.
“Daniel was told you’d increased his life insurance coverage without telling him.”
“I never did that.”
“I know.”
“He handled our insurance himself.”
“I know that too.”
The way Martin kept saying those words made my skin cold.
“You investigated me.”
“Yes.”
“And?”
“And everything Daniel had been given was manufactured.”
Rainwater ran down the side of Martin’s face.
“The emails were altered. The insurance paperwork carried a copied signature. The bank account supposedly belonging to you had been opened using documents you never submitted.”
I could barely process what I was hearing.
“So Daniel knew?”
“He was supposed to.”
“Supposed to?”
Martin’s jaw tightened.
“I finished my report two days before Daniel died.”
My husband had been dead for three years.
Officially, Daniel Mercer had fallen from the dock at Lake Calder after returning alone from a late business dinner.
A storm had been moving across the lake.
The wood had been wet.
His body was recovered the following morning.
Accidental drowning.
That was what the report said.
That was what I had forced myself to believe.
I looked at Martin.
“You think Daniel was murdered.”
“I think Daniel died before I could show him who had been lying to him.”
A branch snapped above us.
Martin immediately raised one finger to his lips.
We both froze.
A second later, a rock bounced down the hillside.
Martin reached inside his rain jacket and removed a small radio.
He spoke quietly.
“Unit seven, send fire and EMS to Miller’s Ridge, mile marker fourteen. Vehicle over the east guardrail. One survivor trapped.”
A voice crackled back.
Martin gave our location twice.
Then he looked at me.
“There’s something else.”
“Of course there is.”
He hesitated.
“The person who framed you three years ago has started moving again.”
I felt sick.
“How do you know?”
“Because last week someone broke into a storage unit Daniel rented under another name.”
“What was inside?”
“Files. Copies of my preliminary investigation. Documents from Mercer Construction.”
Daniel’s family company.
My late husband had spent sixteen years helping build it.
His older brother, Warren, had been the public face.
Daniel had handled operations and financial oversight.
After Daniel’s death, I had cut almost all contact with Warren because every conversation with him eventually became an argument about the cabin.
The same cabin Caleb had mentioned before leaving me to die.
“What does any of that have to do with Caleb?”
Martin looked toward the ridge again.
“I’ve been watching him for three weeks.”
Anger exploded through my fear.
“You’ve been following my seventeen-year-old stepson?”
“Because somebody else has been meeting him.”
“Who?”
Before Martin answered, distant sirens became audible through the rain.
His expression changed.
“Listen carefully. When they get here, don’t tell everyone what Caleb did.”
I stared at him.
“Are you insane?”
“I’m telling you there is at least one person in local law enforcement I don’t trust.”
My pulse accelerated.
“Who?”
“Deputy Harlan.”
I knew the name.
Rick Harlan had worked for the county sheriff’s department for nearly twenty years.
He had been one of the deputies who came to my house the morning Daniel’s body was found.
Martin leaned closer.
“If Harlan asks what happened, tell him you don’t remember.”
“I’m not protecting Caleb.”
“This isn’t about protecting Caleb.”
“Then what is it about?”
“Finding out who convinced him to do this.”
Men were already descending the hillside above us.
Orange rescue jackets appeared between the trees.
Martin moved away from the wreck.
“Pretend we’ve never met.”
Before I could respond, firefighters surrounded the vehicle.
The next thirty minutes disappeared into pain, voices, straps, hydraulic cutters, and rain.
They finally freed my leg.
I was carried uphill on a rescue basket and loaded into an ambulance.
That was when I saw Deputy Harlan.
He stood beside the ambulance wearing a sheriff’s raincoat.
Watching me.
Not helping.
Watching.
“Mrs. Mercer,” he said, stepping closer. “Can you tell me what happened?”
Martin’s warning echoed inside my skull.
I closed my eyes.
“I don’t remember.”
Harlan was silent for a little too long.
“Your stepson says you became emotional while driving.”
My eyes opened.
“He does?”
“He said you were talking about your late husband.”
I said nothing.
Harlan continued.
“Caleb claims you apologized for what happened to Daniel.”
My blood turned cold.
“What?”
“He says you told him you couldn’t live with the guilt anymore.”
“That’s a lie.”
Harlan tilted his head.
“Thought you couldn’t remember.”
The ambulance doors closed before I could answer.
At the hospital, doctors found two cracked ribs, a badly bruised hip, a fractured ankle, and a deep cut along my shoulder.
I was lucky.
Everyone kept telling me that.
I did not feel lucky.
Around midnight, a nurse entered my room carrying a clear plastic evidence bag.
“This was found in the vehicle.”
Inside was a folded piece of paper.
My name was written across the front.
CLAIRE.
The handwriting looked almost exactly like mine.
My hands shook as I opened it.
I’m sorry.
I should have told everyone the truth about Daniel.
What happened at Lake Calder was my fault.
I can’t keep living with this.
Tell Caleb I’m sorry.
I read it twice.
Then a third time.
Someone had created a suicide note in my handwriting.
My phone buzzed.
Unknown number.
I opened the message.
MARTIN: Do not let Harlan take that letter.
Another message followed.
MARTIN: Daniel left me something you need to hear.
Then another.
MARTIN: But we have a problem. Caleb isn’t home.
My door suddenly opened.
I expected Martin.
Instead, a tall man in a charcoal overcoat stepped inside carrying white lilies.
I had not seen Warren Mercer in almost eighteen months.
Daniel’s older brother smiled as if we were grieving relatives meeting after a minor inconvenience.
“Claire.”
My entire body stiffened.
“Warren.”
He placed the flowers on the table.
“I heard what happened.”
“How?”
“Caleb called me.”
My heart began pounding.
Warren pulled a chair closer to my bed.
“You’ve put that boy through enough.”
I stared at him.
“What did you say?”
“He lost his father. Then you kept Daniel’s property from him. Now this.”
“What exactly did Caleb tell you?”
Warren’s smile disappeared.
“That you finally admitted what you did to my brother.”
My phone vibrated beneath the blanket.
I slowly glanced down.
One new message from Martin.
May you like
Only six words.
MARTIN: THAT’S HIM. DANIEL WAS AFRAID OF WARREN.
