Chapter 13 - Anna Mercer
Anna Mercer was seventy-one.
Retired librarian.
Widowed.
No criminal history.
No obvious connection to Black Pine.
She lived in a small house outside Pine Ridge.
Detective Mendes found her in six hours.
Margaret recognized the surname immediately.
“Mercer.”
Mendes nodded.
“Daniel Mercer, the attorney who withdrew the forged property filing, is her son.”
Margaret stared.
“So Daniel wasn’t helping Nicole.”
“Apparently not.”
“Why withdraw the deed?”
“He says his mother asked him to monitor filings connected to your name.”
“For how long?”
“Eleven years.”
Margaret felt exhausted.
“Everyone has been watching me except me.”
Anna agreed to meet at the police station.
She entered carrying a canvas handbag.
White hair.
Blue eyes.
Calm face.
Margaret disliked her immediately.
Not because Anna seemed cruel.
Because Harold had trusted her.
That was enough.
Anna sat.
“You have every right to hate me.”
Margaret crossed her arms.
“That sentence usually comes before something irritating.”
Anna smiled faintly.
“Harold loved that about you.”
Margaret’s jaw tightened.
“Do not tell me what Harold loved.”
Anna nodded.
“Fair.”
“Who are you?”
“I worked in the Briar County records office in 1989.”
Margaret stared.
“You were there during the fire.”
“Yes.”
“What happened?”
Anna looked toward Mendes.
Then back.
“The fire was intentional.”
“Who set it?”
“A sheriff’s deputy named Frank Collier.”
“Why?”
“To destroy property and environmental records.”
“Did people die?”
“One clerk.”
“Did you know?”
“I suspected.”
“Did Harold?”
“Yes.”
Margaret closed her eyes.
Anna continued.
“Samuel Reed gave me a copy of his confession the morning he disappeared.”
Evelyn, seated beside Margaret, made a sound.
“What?”
Anna looked at her.
“Your father knew he might die.”
Evelyn’s face crumpled.
“He came to the records office at seven-thirty in the morning. He gave me an envelope and said if he did not return by Monday, deliver it to a federal investigator.”
“Did you?”
“No.”
Evelyn stood.
“You had his confession for thirty-seven years?”
Anna did not defend herself.
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“Because the clerk who died in the fire was my sister.”
Evelyn stopped.
Anna’s voice shook for the first time.
“Two days after Samuel vanished, my sister died. A week later a photograph of my son Daniel appeared in my mailbox.”
Margaret looked at her.
“He was a child.”
“Eight.”
Calder.
The pattern was the same.
Threaten family.
Buy silence.
Anna continued.
“I hid the confession.”
“Where?” Margaret asked.
“I moved it multiple times.”
“Where is it now?”
Anna looked at Margaret.
“I don’t know.”
Margaret laughed once.
Of course.
Anna reached into her bag.
“I know who does.”
She placed an old library card on the table.
Name: Thomas Calder.
Margaret frowned.
“Calder?”
“William’s younger brother.”
Evelyn stared.
“Thomas died.”
“No.”
Anna shook her head.
“He disappeared.”
“When?”
“1994.”
“Why?”
“Because he found out what William and their father had done.”
Margaret leaned closer.
“You’re telling me another man vanished because of Black Pine?”
“Yes.”
“Is he alive?”
“I believe so.”
“Where?”
Anna removed a postcard.
Maine coastline.
No writing except three numbers.
11 4 9.
“He sends one every year.”
“Why?”
“I don’t know.”
“Why would he know where Samuel’s confession is?”
“Because I gave it to him in 1993.”
Margaret stared.
“You gave the only murder confession to the brother of a man involved?”
Anna nodded.
“Yes.”
“That was either courageous or idiotic.”
“Mostly desperate.”
“Where did he go?”
“No one knows.”
Evelyn picked up the postcard.
“What do the numbers mean?”
Anna shook her head.
“Every postcard has different numbers.”
Margaret began laying them out.
Anna had brought twenty-three.
Three numbers each.
Margaret stared.
Harold loved puzzles.
Records.
Addresses.
Dates.
Then she noticed.
The first number never exceeded twelve.
The second never exceeded thirty-one.
The third ranged from one to nine.
“Dates.”
Anna leaned closer.
“What?”
“Month. Day.”
“And the third?”
Margaret looked at the postcards.
“Page.”
They obtained a 1989 Briar County newspaper archive.
November 4.
Page 9.
An article about the courthouse fire.
Margaret circled the ninth word of the headline.
COUNTY RECORDS LOST IN SUSPICIOUS FIRE.
The ninth word did not exist.
Wrong.
Then Evelyn noticed a handwritten dot beside one article.
They checked the ninth line.
One word.
HARBOR.
Next postcard.
March 18.
Page 2.
Marked line.
LIGHT.
Next.
June 7.
Page 4.
Word.
HOUSE.
Harbor.
Light.
House.
Lighthouse.
Margaret looked at Anna.
“Maine.”
Anna nodded.
They decoded six cards.
PORT CLYDE.
Margaret stared at the map.
“Thomas Calder is in Port Clyde.”
Agent Bell entered suddenly.
His expression was tense.
“Maybe.”
Everyone turned.
“What?” Mendes asked.
Bell held up his phone.
“William Calder just announced a press conference.”
On the screen, Senator Calder stood before cameras.
His voice was calm.
Measured.
He denied wrongdoing.
Called the Black Pine investigation a politically motivated fabrication.
Then said something that made Margaret’s blood turn cold.
“An elderly widow currently at the center of these accusations has tragically experienced documented cognitive instability following her husband’s death.”
Margaret stared.
Evelyn whispered, “He’s talking about you.”
Calder continued.
“We must be careful not to exploit vulnerable citizens for partisan purposes.”
Margaret stood.
Anna looked at her.
“What are you doing?”
Margaret picked up her coat.
“The same thing people should stop assuming old women can’t do.”
May you like
“What?”
“Getting angry.”
