Chapter 7: The Brother My Father Buried Twice
My father read the message on the back of the photograph until Patricia gently took the laptop away from him.
If Richard comes back, don't let him near Wren.
For several seconds, Dad didn't move.
Then he stood so quickly that his chair toppled backward.
“That's impossible.””
Patricia kept her voice measured.
“The photograph appears to show your wife with your mother-in-law and another man. We still need to verify when it was taken and establish his identity.””
“That's my brother.””
“Then you should know whether he's alive.””
Dad stared at the photograph again.
“Richard died five years ago. I attended his funeral.””
Thomas's warning about the altered death certificate suddenly seemed almost ordinary compared with this.
I sat beside Rose, clutching the stuffed fox Hannah had given me. I had never met Uncle Richard. Dad had told me he died in a boating accident overseas, and there had been a memorial service at a church near our old house.
I'd placed a white flower on his photograph.
Now I was looking at a picture of him standing beside my mother after the date she'd supposedly died.
“Daddy?”” I whispered.
He turned immediately.
“I'm here, sweetheart.””
“Did you see his body?””
The question silenced the room.
Dad's mouth opened, but no answer came.
Finally, he sat down.
“No,” he admitted.
“The authorities told us the accident had made identification difficult. His remains were never returned.””
Patricia folded her hands.
“Who arranged the funeral?””
“My father had already passed away. Richard's solicitor handled the paperwork. I received a death certificate and a letter explaining the circumstances.””
“Do you still have those documents?””
“In my study.””
Patricia exchanged a glance with Rose.
“Then we need copies, and we need to verify them independently.””
Dad ran a hand through his hair.
“Richard and I hadn't spoken in nearly a year before his supposed death. We argued about a property deal. He accused me of trusting the wrong people.””
“Which people?”” Patricia asked.
Dad looked at the photograph.
“Celia. He said she'd been asking questions about my wife's inheritance.””
I leaned forward.
“What inheritance?””
Dad hesitated.
“Your mother inherited a small trust from her grandmother. It wasn't an enormous fortune, but it included shares in a family company and a property in the countryside.””
“Did Celia want it?””
“I thought she wanted the money that came with marrying me.””
His voice became bitter.
“Perhaps I was wrong.””
Patricia made a note.
“We need to establish what assets were involved, who had access to them, and whether any transfers occurred after your wife's death.””
Dad nodded, then looked toward me.
“Wren, Hannah's going to take you upstairs for a while.””
“No.””
“Sweetheart—”
“Every time you find something, you tell me to go away.””
His face crumpled slightly.
I hated making him feel bad, but I couldn't bear another secret.
Rose put an arm around my shoulders.
“Perhaps Wren can stay here with us while we discuss what concerns her directly,” she suggested.
“We don't need to share every adult detail, but she deserves to understand why she's being kept safe.””
Patricia agreed.
Dad drew a shaky breath.
“All right.””
He turned the laptop toward me again.
“Your mother wrote this because she believed Richard might be dangerous. I don't know why, and I won't pretend I do. But until we know more, we're going to be careful.””
I studied the photograph.
“Could Uncle Richard have hurt Mom?””
“I don't know.””
“Could he have hurt me?””
Dad's eyes shone.
“I won't let anyone hurt you.””
This time, I didn't ask him to promise.
Instead, I pointed to the hospital bed.
“Mom looks scared.””
Patricia enlarged the photograph.
She was right. My mother wasn't smiling. Her shoulders were tense, and one hand was curled around the edge of the blanket.
Elaine stood beside her with a handbag over one arm.
Richard stood behind them, holding a folder.
And my mother was looking directly at the camera.
Not at Elaine.
Not at Richard.
At whoever had taken the picture.
“Maybe she knew someone was watching,” Rose whispered.
Patricia saved the image.
“We'll need to find the original visitor log and the staff who may still be available to speak with investigators.””
Dad picked up his phone and called the number Thomas had used.
This time, Thomas answered.
“Did you see the photograph?”” he asked.
“Yes,” Dad said.
“You knew Richard was alive.””
“I suspected it.””
“You suspected it? My brother's funeral was five years ago!””
“I understand how that sounds.””
“Then explain it.””
Thomas exhaled.
“Richard contacted me shortly before your wife's accident. He said he'd discovered something about Celia's identity. He believed she was using your family's accounts to conceal transactions involving the company.””
“Why didn't you tell me?””
“Because Richard told me you were being watched. He said he had proof that someone was reading your correspondence.””
Dad's expression darkened.
“Who?””
“I don't know. He refused to name the person over the phone.””
“Was Richard involved in my wife's death?””
“I don't know that either.””
Dad gripped the phone.
“Stop telling me what you don't know. Tell me what you do.””
Thomas went quiet for a moment.
“Richard asked me to meet him at St. Mary's on October 14. When I arrived, your wife had already been discharged. Elaine told me she'd taken her home.””
“Where was home?””
“I don't know. She wouldn't tell me.””
“And Richard?””
“He disappeared that afternoon.””
Dad glanced at Patricia.
“Did you ever see him again?””
“No.””
“Then how do you know he's alive?””
Thomas hesitated.
“Because three months ago, I received a letter in his handwriting.””
“What did it say?””
“Only one sentence.””
Thomas's voice dropped.
The child has the original, and Celia knows.
Dad looked at me.
My fingers tightened around the stuffed fox.
“What original?”” he asked.
“I believe it's the document your wife hid. But I don't know where she put it.””
“Why would Richard think Wren had it?””
“Because your wife trusted her.””
Dad shook his head.
“She was six years old.””
“Children remember things adults overlook,” Thomas replied.
“And your wife knew that.””
Before Dad could respond, someone knocked on Hannah's front door.
Three firm knocks.
Hannah went to the hallway and checked the security camera.
Then she came back, pale.
“Mark, there's a woman outside asking for you.””
“Who?””
“Elaine.””
Dad rose.
“Don't open the door.””
Hannah nodded and stepped away from the entrance.
Elaine knocked again.
“Mark! I know you're in there!””
Dad called the police officer who had been handling the threats. Then he approached the door without opening it.
“What do you want, Elaine?””
Her voice changed instantly, becoming soft and wounded.
“I need to see Wren.””
“No.””
“She's my granddaughter.””
“You watched my daughter get burned and did nothing.””
“I was shocked.””
“You watched Celia throw soup at her.””
“Mark, please. You don't understand what you've walked into.””
Dad's hand tightened around his phone.
“Then explain it.””
Silence.
Then Elaine said, “Celia isn't the person you should be afraid of.””
Dad stared through the closed door.
“Who should I be afraid of?””
Elaine leaned closer to the camera.
“Your brother.””
Dad's breath caught.
Elaine looked directly into the lens.
“Richard is coming home, Mark. And when he does, he'll take Wren from you.””
A vehicle pulled up outside.
Elaine stepped away from the door, glanced toward the street, and hurried down the front path.
By the time the police officer arrived, she was gone.
Dad stood motionless in the hallway.
Then his phone vibrated.
A message from an unknown number appeared.
It contained a photograph of our old family cemetery.
Someone had circled my mother's grave.
May you like
Beneath it were six words.
*Ask why the grave is empty.*
