Chapter 2 - THE FILE WITH MY NAME ON ITI relit the lantern with shaking hands.
My mind refused to accept what I had just read.
Thaddeus had died suddenly.
The doctors had said his heart had stopped.
His wife had told everyone it was a tragic medical event.
I had believed her because I had needed to believe something.
But now my son had written:
Don't believe he died naturally.
I returned to the desk.
There were dozens of folders.
I searched through them until I found one labeled:
MEDICAL.
Inside were copies of medical records.
Prescriptions.
Blood tests.
Hospital visits.
Then I found something strange.
Three weeks before his death, Thaddeus had undergone a medical examination.
The report showed abnormal results.
Someone had highlighted one sentence.
Possible exposure to an unidentified substance.
My stomach turned.
I kept searching.
There were emails.
Messages.
Photographs.
Bank statements.
And finally, a small black notebook.
I opened it.
My son's handwriting filled every page.
The first pages described arguments with his wife.
Then financial problems.
Then threats.
I read one entry.
“Claire knows about the account.”
Another:
“She wants the property transferred.”
Another:
“She keeps asking what happens if I die.”
My hands went numb.
I turned another page.
“She told me Mom needs to be removed from the house before anything happens.”
I closed my eyes.
Claire.
That was my daughter-in-law's name.
The woman who had stood beside me at my son's funeral.
The woman who had cried into a black handkerchief.
The woman who had told everyone she was devastated.
The woman who had thrown me into the mountains the same day we buried her husband.
I turned the page.
There was another name.
Gideon Vale.
I didn't know who he was.
Underneath it, Thaddeus had written:
“Private investigator. Trust him.”
I found a telephone number.
The phone in the cabin was dead.
So I climbed back upstairs and searched my suitcase.
My old mobile phone had survived.
There was enough battery for one call.
I dialed the number.
A man answered after three rings.
“Vale.”
My voice shook.
“Are you Gideon?”
“Yes.”
“My name is Honora.”
There was silence.
Then his voice changed.
“Honora?”
“Yes.”
“Where are you?”
“In a cabin.”
“Which cabin?”
I gave him the location.
He went silent again.
Then said:
“Your son told me to find you if anything happened to him.”
I nearly dropped the phone.
“What did he tell you?”
“That his wife was dangerous.”
I sat down.
“Was he afraid of her?”
“He was terrified.”
The words cut deeper than anything else.
“Why didn't he tell me?”
“Because he believed she was watching him.”
I looked toward the windows.
“Is she?”
“I don't know.”
Then Gideon said something that made my blood run cold.
“Mrs. Honora, you need to leave that cabin.”
“Why?”
“Because if Thaddeus was right, the cabin isn't abandoned.”
I froze.
“What do you mean?”
“I found signs someone had been using it.”
I looked around.
The broken chair.
The dusty walls.
The old cradle.
The supposedly abandoned cabin.
Suddenly, everything looked different.
Gideon continued.
“Lock the doors.”
“I don't have locks.”
“Then don't stay there.”
“I have nowhere else to go.”
“You do now.”
His voice became firm.
“Your son left you instructions.”
“Where?”
“At the end of the letter.”
I looked down.
There was another page.
I had missed it.
I unfolded it.
At the bottom was an address.
Not the mountain cabin.
Not the four-million-dollar house.
Another property.
A small farmhouse.
And beneath the address were four words.
Go there before sunset.
I told Gideon.
He said:
“Don't tell anyone.”
“Not even my daughter-in-law?”
“Especially not her.”
I hung up.
Then I heard something.
A branch snapped outside.
I turned toward the window.
Nothing.
I grabbed the lantern.
Another sound.
Footsteps.
Slow.
Heavy.
Coming toward the cabin.
I backed away.
The doorknob moved.
Once.
Twice.
Then stopped.
Someone stood outside.
I held my breath.
A man's voice came through the door.
“Mrs. Honora?”
I recognized it.
It belonged to someone I had seen at my son's funeral.
His wife's brother.
Martin.
I didn't answer.
He knocked again.
“I'm here to check on you.”
My heart pounded.
I remembered Gideon's warning.
Don't tell anyone.
I quietly moved toward the hidden staircase.
Then Martin shouted:
“Claire knows you're here.”
I froze.
He continued.
“She wants you to come home.”
I stared at the dark opening beneath the altar.
Home.
The word almost made me laugh.
That house had never been mine.
But my son had left me something there.
Something Claire desperately wanted.
And now I knew one thing for certain.
May you like
She wasn't finished with me.
Neither was I finished with her.
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