Chapter 3 - Black Pine
Margaret waited until Nathan and Nicole were asleep.
At 1:17 a.m., she entered the garage.
Harold’s workbench still stood beneath the pegboard.
Nicole had wanted to throw it away.
Margaret refused.
Harold built half the cabinets in the house on that bench.
Margaret ran her fingers beneath the wooden edge.
Nothing.
She opened drawers.
Screws.
Tape.
Old receipts.
A wrench.
A rusted pocketknife.
Then she remembered Harold’s habit.
Whenever he hid birthday presents, he put them somewhere boring.
“People search interesting places,” he once told Nicole when she was little. “Nobody searches a box labeled furnace filters.”
Margaret looked toward the shelves.
FURNACE.
PAINT.
PLUMBING.
GARDEN.
The labels were Harold’s handwriting.
Then one caught her attention.
BLACK PINE STAIN.
Margaret pulled the box down.
Inside were three empty cans.
A paintbrush.
And a photograph.
Margaret stared.
Harold stood beside two men.
The picture was old.
Late eighties.
Harold looked thirty-eight.
Beside him stood a younger version of the man Susan had recorded at the front door.
The silver-haired stranger.
The third man was unfamiliar.
Behind them was a wooden sign.
BLACK PINE DEVELOPMENT CORPORATION.
Margaret turned over the photo.
Three names.
Harold Hayes.
Victor Danner.
Samuel Reed.
Below them Harold had written:
July 1988. Before everything went wrong.
Margaret took the photograph to Susan.
Susan stared at Victor.
“That’s the man from the driveway.”
“Yes.”
“Who is he?”
“Someone Harold never mentioned.”
Margaret searched the garage again.
Inside the Black Pine box she found a tiny brass key taped beneath the cardboard flap.
The key opened nothing in the house.
At least nothing Margaret knew about.
The next morning Nicole announced a doctor appointment.
“I didn’t schedule one.”
“I did.”
“Cancel it.”
“Mom.”
“No.”
Nathan entered.
“Maybe you should go.”
Margaret looked between them.
“What doctor?”
Nicole gave a name.
Dr. Leonard Crane.
Margaret knew it.
She had never met him.
But the name appeared on paperwork left accidentally beside Nathan’s printer two weeks earlier.
Crane Elder Care Evaluation Services.
Margaret had photographed the page.
“Why him?”
Nicole hesitated.
“He specializes in seniors.”
“So does my doctor.”
Nathan stepped closer.
“Your doctor is too familiar with you.”
Margaret almost laughed.
“That is usually considered useful in medicine.”
Nicole slammed her hand against the counter.
“Why do you make everything difficult?”
There it was.
The real Nicole.
Margaret stood slowly.
“Because you are trying to have me declared incompetent.”
Silence.
Nathan’s jaw tightened.
Nicole whispered, “That’s insane.”
“Is it?”
“You sound paranoid.”
“I also sound like the owner of this house.”
Nathan moved closer.
“You need to lower your voice.”
Margaret looked up at him.
“In my kitchen?”
His face changed.
Just slightly.
But Margaret saw the threat.
So did Nicole.
Nicole touched his arm.
“Not now.”
Not now.
Margaret stored the words.
That afternoon she drove to Briar County Records.
She requested the complete filing for Hayes Residential Trust.
The clerk looked confused.
“This was withdrawn yesterday.”
“By whom?”
The clerk turned the screen.
“Attorney Daniel Mercer.”
Margaret knew no Daniel Mercer.
“Was he the attorney who filed it?”
“No. That was another firm.”
“Which?”
“Wellington and Price.”
Margaret wrote it down.
Then she asked for every property record connected to Harold Hayes.
The clerk searched.
One result appeared that Margaret had never seen.
Parcel 17-B.
Black Pine Township.
Transferred to Harold Hayes in September 1989.
Current status: restricted title.
Margaret’s throat tightened.
“Where is Black Pine Township?”
The clerk frowned.
“It doesn’t exist anymore.”
“What does that mean?”
“County lines changed in the nineties. Some parcels were absorbed.”
“Into what?”
The clerk typed.
Then stopped.
“That’s odd.”
“What?”
“There’s no modern parcel conversion.”
Margaret leaned forward.
“Who owns it?”
“According to this?”
The clerk looked at her.
“You do.”
Margaret returned home before sunset.
Nathan’s truck was gone.
Nicole sat in the living room.
“You went to county records.”
It was not a question.
Margaret stopped.
“How do you know?”
Nicole smiled.
That smile frightened her more than anger.
“You really should stop driving.”
Margaret turned toward the hallway.
Nathan stepped out of Harold’s study.
In his hand was the photograph from Black Pine.
Margaret’s stomach dropped.
“You searched my room.”
Nathan held up the brass key.
“And you searched ours.”
Margaret said nothing.
Nicole stood.
“I gave you so many chances.”
“To do what?”
“Sign.”
“No.”
Nicole approached her.
“Then tomorrow we do it differently.”
Margaret stepped back.
“What happens tomorrow?”
Nicole looked at Nathan.
Nathan locked the front door.
Click.
Margaret heard the deadbolt.
May you like
Nicole smiled.
“Tomorrow, Mom, you finally become as confused as everybody already thinks you are.”
