Chapter 2 - The Photograph Facedown
Sheriff Hale did not allow Calvin to touch the phone.
He placed it inside an evidence bag and handed it to Deputy Maria Torres, who locked it inside the patrol car.
Calvin protested immediately.
“That device may contain privileged family information.”
“A dead woman placed it inside another person’s mailbox,” Hale replied. “You can discuss privilege with the district attorney.”
Calvin’s attention shifted to Emma.
For a moment, his expression resembled concern.
“I’m sorry about this. Evelyn had become confused during the past year. She accused people of following her. She hid objects and forgot where she put them.”
“She didn’t seem confused yesterday,” Emma said.
“She was skilled at hiding it.”
Sheriff Hale picked up the envelope and key, placing each inside separate evidence bags.
The photograph remained facedown in the mailbox.
Emma looked at it.
“Aren’t you taking that?”
Hale glanced toward Calvin.
“Deputy Torres, escort Mr. Whitaker back to his vehicle.”
Calvin did not move.
“I have a right to see what my stepmother left.”
“You have a right to leave voluntarily.”
The deputy stepped closer.
Calvin smiled without warmth.
“This county is about to learn how expensive your suspicion can become, Nathan.”
Hale watched him return to the patrol car.
Only after the door closed did he turn the photograph over.
Three people stood beneath a white hospital awning.
Mrs. Whitaker appeared younger, perhaps in her early forties. Beside her was a dark-haired man wearing a denim jacket. His face had been partially damaged by water.
The third person was a young woman holding a newborn wrapped in a yellow blanket.
Emma’s breath caught.
The woman looked exactly like her.
Not similar.
Not familiar.
Exactly like her.
The same dark eyes. The same narrow chin. The same small scar crossing the left eyebrow.
Emma reached toward the photograph.
Sheriff Hale stopped her.
“Do you recognize anyone besides Mrs. Whitaker?”
“The woman.”
“Who is she?”
“My mother.”
Hale turned toward her.
Emma shook her head slowly.
“That’s impossible.”
“Why?”
“My mother never met Mrs. Whitaker. She grew up in Missouri.”
“What was her name?”
“Laura Bennett.”
The sheriff looked at the handwritten note on the back of the photograph.
It contained a date and three words.
AUGUST 19, 1992.
BLACKWOOD CLINIC.
MARA’S DAUGHTER.
Emma read the final words twice.
“My mother’s name wasn’t Mara.”
Hale placed the photograph in another evidence bag.
“Are you certain?”
“She raised me until I was twelve.”
“What happened when you were twelve?”
“She died.”
“How?”
Emma felt Calvin watching from the patrol car.
“House fire.”
“Where?”
“Missouri.”
“Was her body identified?”
Emma’s throat tightened.
She remembered flames rising beyond the trees. A police officer wrapping a blanket around her shoulders. A social worker telling her that her mother had not escaped.
She also remembered that no one had allowed her to see the body.
“They said it was too badly burned.”
Sheriff Hale’s face became unreadable again.
“When did you come to Bellweather County?”
“When I was sixteen. My foster family moved here.”
“And when did you meet Noah?”
“Senior year.”
“Did Noah ever know Mrs. Whitaker?”
“Not that I know of.”
Hale looked toward the key.
Stamped into its tarnished surface were four characters.
214B.
“This is not a house key,” he said.
“What does it open?”
“I have an idea.”
Calvin tapped on the patrol car window.
Deputy Torres ignored him.
Emma pressed a hand against her lower back.
“I want to hear that phone message.”
“We’ll listen at the station.”
“It said to play it alone.”
“Mrs. Carter, this is now evidence in a possible homicide.”
“Then why did Mrs. Whitaker leave it in my mailbox instead of calling you?”
Hale did not respond.
Emma stepped closer.
“She knew someone would be watching her house. She knew someone might search her belongings. She chose my mailbox because she trusted me or because she thought no one would look here.”
“Or because she wanted the evidence connected to you.”
Emma understood the implication.
“You think she was trying to frame me?”
“No.”
The answer came too quickly.
“Then what do you think?”
Hale lowered his voice.
“I think Evelyn Whitaker expected to die.”
The wind moved through the oak trees.
From inside the patrol car, Calvin struck the window again.
Sheriff Hale gathered the evidence bags.
“You need to come to the station.”
“Am I under arrest?”
“No.”
“Am I a suspect?”
“You were the last confirmed person to see her alive. Your fingerprints were found beside the body. An unexplained inheritance document names your unborn child. Evidence connected to her death appeared in your mailbox.”
Emma stared at him.
“That sounds like a yes.”
“It means I need the truth.”
“I already gave it to you.”
“Not all of it.”
The sheriff looked toward the farmhouse.
“Mrs. Whitaker called you six times during the past month.”
Emma’s pulse quickened.
“How do you know?”
“Her phone records.”
“She wanted help around the property.”
“She also called Noah’s number eleven times after his accident.”
Emma could not answer.
Noah’s mobile phone had disappeared with the truck.
No one had ever recovered it.
Sheriff Hale continued.
“The final call lasted seventeen minutes.”
“When?”
“Three days ago.”
Emma felt the world narrow around her.
“That’s impossible.”
“I thought so too.”
Hale led her toward the patrol car. Calvin had been moved to the second vehicle, leaving the first one available.
Before Emma got inside, she looked back toward the rusty mailbox.
Something white had fallen into the grass beneath it.
She waited until Hale turned away.
Then she bent carefully and picked it up.
It was a tiny strip of photographic paper that had torn from the damaged man’s face.
On it, barely visible, was the edge of a familiar smile.
Noah’s smile.
Emma closed her hand around the fragment.
At the sheriff’s station, Calvin was placed in an interview room while Emma sat in Hale’s office with a bottle of water.
Deputy Torres connected the old phone to a charging cable.
“It shouldn’t be functioning,” she said. “The battery model was discontinued fifteen years ago.”
“Can you recover the call?” Hale asked.
“I can try.”
Emma remained silent.
The photograph fragment pressed against her palm.
Deputy Torres left the office.
Sheriff Hale placed the key, envelope, and photograph on his desk.
“We’re opening the envelope with you present.”
Emma nodded.
Hale cut along the top.
Inside was a single sheet of paper.
It was not a will.
It was a handwritten letter.
Emma,
If Nathan Hale is standing beside you, trust him until he gives you a reason not to.
If Calvin is there, do not let him see the photograph.
The man beside me is Samuel Whitaker.
He was your father.
The woman holding you was not Laura Bennett.
Her real name was Mara Vale.
She did not die in Missouri.
And Noah knew.
Emma read the final sentence again.
“No.”
Hale looked up.
Before either of them could speak, the office lights went out.
A crash sounded from the evidence room.
Deputy Torres shouted.
May you like
When the emergency lights came on, the old phone was gone.
So was Calvin Whitaker.
