Chapter 9 - The House on Alder Ridge
Police arrived at the Bennett residence eleven minutes before Claire.
They told her to remain at the vineyard.
She ignored them.
Ethan drove.
Margaret followed with Charles.
By the time Claire reached Alder Ridge, six patrol cars blocked the circular driveway.
The front door stood open.
Linda sat inside an ambulance.
Claire ran to her.
Linda looked smaller than Claire remembered from that morning.
No makeup.
Hair disordered.
A bruise beginning to darken around her wrist.
Claire stopped.
“Did he do that?”
Linda followed her eyes.
“It’s nothing.”
“Mom.”
“He grabbed me.”
Claire’s anger sharpened.
“Where is he?”
“Gone.”
“How?”
“Back gate.”
Police had discovered Robert’s SUV abandoned two streets away.
Inside were two passports, a suitcase, and almost seventy thousand dollars in cash.
Robert himself had disappeared.
Linda stared at Claire’s wedding gown.
For the first time, something like shame crossed her face.
“You look beautiful.”
Claire almost broke.
Those were the words she had wanted all day.
Now they felt unbearable.
“You should have seen it.”
Linda lowered her eyes.
“I know.”
“You should have been there.”
“I know.”
“Why weren’t you?”
Linda’s mouth trembled.
“Because your father told me if we went, you would think you had won.”
Claire stared at her.
“A wedding isn’t a war.”
“In our house, everything became one.”
The paramedic stepped away.
Claire sat beside Linda.
“Did you believe him about Ethan?”
“At first.”
“Why?”
“He said Ethan wanted your inheritance.”
“I didn’t know I had an inheritance.”
“I know.”
“Did Ethan?”
“No.”
“So what was the threat?”
Linda looked toward the house.
“You stopped asking permission.”
Claire’s eyes filled.
“That was it?”
“To Robert, yes.”
“And to you?”
Linda took a long time.
“I was afraid that if you learned you could survive without him, I’d have to admit I could too.”
Claire said nothing.
It was not forgiveness.
But it was the first truthful thing Linda had said in years.
A detective approached.
“We found the safe.”
Linda closed her eyes.
“Did he empty it?”
“Mostly.”
“Mostly?”
The detective held up an evidence bag.
Inside was a small digital recorder.
Linda frowned.
“I’ve never seen that.”
Claire looked at it.
“Where was it?”
“Behind the false panel.”
Margaret approached.
Her face changed when she saw the recorder.
“Claire.”
“What?”
Margaret pointed.
“There’s a date written underneath.”
The detective turned the bag.
Faded marker.
JUNE 18.
May you like
Twelve years earlier.
The night Eleanor Bennett actually died.
