Chapter 4 - THE KEY IN THE BLUE COAT
“No.”
Grace said it before Harrison finished speaking.
He looked at her.
“That access key was logged into Bay Six at 11:42 that night.”
“Our parents were home.”
“You were seventeen.”
“I know where they were.”
“Do you?”
Grace moved so fast Arthur stepped between them.
“My sister and brother are standing right here.”
Harrison's voice lowered.
“I am aware of that.”
“Then stop talking about our parents like suspects.”
“I am not accusing them.”
“You said Dad stole records. Now you're saying Mom broke into a maintenance yard.”
“I said the key was used.”
Arthur turned to Harrison.
“And why am I hearing this for the first time?”
Harrison laughed without humor.
“Because when Eleanor died, you stopped asking questions you didn't want answers to.”
Arthur flinched.
Grace saw it.
So did I.
Harrison continued.
“I sent you reports.”
“You sent me summaries.”
“You wouldn't come into the office.”
“My wife had just died.”
“And the company still had eighteen hundred employees.”
Arthur's jaw tightened.
For the first time, I saw Harrison as something besides a rich man who might have helped cover up my parents' deaths.
He looked angry.
But he also looked tired.
Like he'd been angry for years.
Grace didn't care.
“What was in Bay Six?”
Harrison hesitated.
“Unit 417.”
The silence that followed was terrible.
Grace whispered, “The truck that killed them.”
“Yes.”
“What happened to it?”
“The following morning it left the yard on its regular route.”
“After somebody entered the bay?”
“Yes.”
“Was it inspected again?”
Harrison looked away.
“That is where the records become unclear.”
Grace almost laughed.
“Unclear.”
Arthur's hand struck the table.
“Enough corporate language.”
Harrison faced him.
“You want plain language?”
“Yes.”
“Fine. The mechanic who signed the release denied signing it after the accident.”
Arthur went still.
Grace leaned forward.
“Meaning?”
“Meaning somebody put a signature on that truck's release form that may not have belonged there.”
I felt Annie press against my arm.
“Who?”
Harrison looked at us.
“I don't know.”
Grace didn't believe him.
Neither did I.
Arthur picked up Eleanor's photograph.
“Claire had a key.”
Harrison nodded.
“Nathan had the notebook.”
Grace's eyes narrowed.
“You think my parents went into Bay Six to prove the truck wasn't fixed.”
“I think that's possible.”
“Then why didn't you tell police?”
Harrison's mouth tightened.
“Because if Nathan entered company property after being terminated, the story would have become about trespassing and theft instead of the condition of the truck.”
Grace stared at him.
“So you protected their reputation?”
“No.”
At least he answered honestly.
“I protected the company.”
Arthur turned away.
Harrison continued, his voice rougher.
“Whitmore Transportation was weeks from refinancing a debt package. A public admission that our maintenance certification system might be unreliable could have shut regional operations down.”
“People could have died.”
“Yes.”
“They did.”
Harrison looked at her.
“Yes.”
He didn't defend himself after that.
Somehow that made it worse.
We left headquarters with Arthur.
Nobody spoke until we reached our apartment.
Grace went straight to the hall closet.
“What are you doing?” I asked.
She pulled out two plastic storage bins.
“Mom's things.”
“You already went through those.”
“No.”
Grace looked ashamed.
“I went through what I could handle.”
She opened the first container.
Sweaters.
Old birthday cards.
Dad's baseball cap.
A recipe book stained with tomato sauce.
The second bin held winter clothes.
Grace reached underneath several sweaters and pulled out Mom's blue coat.
I remembered it immediately.
She wore it every winter.
The sleeves were too long, and she always kept peppermint candy in the pockets.
Annie touched the fabric.
“It smells like the closet.”
Grace almost smiled.
Then she searched the pockets.
Empty.
Harrison's words had clearly lodged inside her head.
Fleet key.
Bay Six.
I lifted the coat.
Something clinked softly.
Grace froze.
“Do that again.”
I shook it.
Clink.
We checked every pocket again.
Nothing.
Then Annie ran her fingers along the bottom hem.
“It's fat here.”
Grace knelt.
Someone had stitched part of the lining closed by hand.
Mom hated sewing.
Every button she repaired looked crooked.
These stitches were crooked too.
Grace found scissors.
“Wait,” I said.
She looked at me.
“What if she wanted it hidden?”
“She did.”
“What if there's a reason?”
“There is.”
Grace cut one thread.
Then another.
A brass object dropped into her palm.
The fleet-yard key.
Heavy.
Rectangular.
Stamped:
B-6.
Nobody moved.
Arthur, who had followed us upstairs, sank slowly into one of our kitchen chairs.
Harrison had been telling the truth.
At least about the key.
Grace searched the hem again.
Something else was inside.
A narrow strip of paper.
Not a note.
A ticket.
Greater Cleveland Transit.
The ink had faded.
The date was the night before our parents died.
Grace's hand trembled.
Destination:
West Fleet Industrial Loop.
Arthur looked at the ticket.
“That's two blocks from the old Whitmore maintenance yard.”
Grace sat down.
“They were there.”
“Yes.”
“Why didn't they tell us?”
Arthur looked at the key.
“Because Nathan probably knew he was doing something dangerous.”
Annie whispered, “Did bad people hurt them?”
Grace grabbed her hand.
“No.”
She looked at Arthur.
“No guessing.”
He nodded.
“You're right.”
I picked up Mom's coat.
Something about the weight still felt wrong.
I ran my hand along the other side of the hem.
Another hard spot.
Grace cut the thread.
A small disposable camera slid onto the table.
Bright yellow plastic.
Scratched.
Old.
Grace stared at it.
I remembered that camera.
Mom bought it for Annie's sixth birthday because our real camera had broken.
There should have been pictures of cake on it.
Balloons.
Dad asleep in a chair with frosting on his nose.
Grace turned the little wheel.
The counter showed twelve exposures used.
Harrison, who had driven over separately and was standing near the doorway, made a strange sound.
Grace looked at him.
“What?”
He stared at the camera.
“I saw Claire with that.”
“When?”
His answer came slowly.
“The morning after Nathan was fired.”
Grace stood.
“Where?”
Harrison looked at the brass key.
“Inside Bay Six.”
Arthur's face hardened.
“You told me you didn't know who used the key.”
“I didn't know for certain.”
“You saw Claire there.”
“I saw her leaving.”
Grace stepped toward him.
“With a camera?”
“Yes.”
“Did you stop her?”
“No.”
“Why?”
Harrison's expression changed.
For the first time since we'd met him, he looked ashamed.
“Because Nathan was standing inside the bay.”
Grace's lips parted.
“You said he was fired.”
“He was.”
“Then what were they doing?”
Harrison looked at the camera.
“Taking pictures of Unit 417.”
Grace clutched it.
Arthur asked the question none of us wanted to ask.
“What did the photographs show?”
Harrison's eyes met his father's.
“I don't know.”
Then he looked at Grace.
“But I know what Nathan said when he saw me.”
“What?”
May you like
Harrison swallowed.
“He said, ‘If this truck leaves this building, somebody is going to die.’”
