Chapter 2 - The Attorney With Dad’s Phone
I did not open the door immediately.
“Mara?”
Mr. Hale knocked again.
“I know you’re inside.”
That sentence bothered me.
Not because he knew I had arrived.
Because he sounded certain I was alone.
I stepped behind the door.
“Why do you have my father’s phone?”
Silence.
Then he exhaled.
“So you saw it.”
“Answer me.”
“I will.”
“From outside.”
“Mara, please.”
“No.”
Another pause.
Then he said, “Your father told me you’d react like this.”
That almost made me laugh.
“Did he also tell you to show up after dark?”
“No. He told me to wait twenty-four hours.”
“For what?”
“To see if anyone else came first.”
I looked toward the recorder on the table.
My father’s warning echoed in my head.
Do not trust anyone who tells you to sell the cabin.
Mr. Hale had not told me to sell.
Not yet.
“Put the phone on the porch,” I said.
“Mara—”
“Then step back.”
He did.
I heard him move away.
I cracked the door just enough to see the phone lying on the boards.
Dad’s old black case.
One corner chipped.
I recognized it instantly.
I picked it up and locked the door again.
“Why do you have this?”
“Because your father gave it to me.”
“When?”
“Two days before he died.”
That stopped me.
“He came to my office,” Hale continued. “He changed one clause in the will and left the phone with instructions.”
“What clause?”
“The cabin.”
I opened the door three inches.
Hale stood beneath the porch light with both hands visible.
He looked exhausted.
His expensive suit was wrinkled.
Tie loosened.
He was sixty, silver-haired, and usually impossible to rattle.
Tonight, he looked afraid.
“What changed?”
“Originally, the cabin was supposed to be sold. The proceeds would be divided between you and Skylar.”
“Then why wasn’t it?”
“Because your father changed his mind.”
“Why?”
“He said you needed to own the property outright.”
“Did he tell you why?”
“No.”
I studied him.
“You’re lying.”
His jaw tightened.
“I’m withholding something.”
“That’s a lawyer’s word for lying.”
“I made your father a promise.”
“He’s dead.”
“And the promise still matters.”
“So does my mother.”
That hit him.
I saw it.
A tiny change in his eyes.
“You know,” I said.
“I know pieces.”
“Her crash wasn’t an accident.”
Hale looked past me into the cabin.
“You found the recorder.”
“Yes.”
“Then we need to leave.”
“No.”
“Mara, listen to me.”
“I’ve been listening to people protect me with silence since I was seventeen.”
“This isn’t about protecting your feelings.”
“Then what is it about?”
“Keeping you alive.”
The words landed coldly.
I opened the door wider.
“Come in.”
Hale stepped inside quickly.
I locked the door.
He stared at the photograph on the table.
The scratched-out woman.
His face lost color.
“Where did you find that?”
“Here.”
“You need to put it away.”
“Who is she?”
“I don’t know.”
“You recognized it.”
“I recognized the photograph.”
“Same thing.”
“No.”
He walked toward the fireplace, then stopped himself.
“I saw that picture once. Years ago. Your father had it in a safe-deposit box.”
“When?”
“After your mother died.”
“Who scratched out her face?”
“I don’t know.”
I placed Dad’s phone on the table.
“Unlock it.”
“I can’t.”
“You’ve had it for almost a week.”
“Your father changed the passcode before he gave it to me.”
“Then why bring it?”
“Because he left instructions that it must be delivered to you at the cabin.”
“Tonight?”
“Only after you entered the property.”
That was oddly specific.
I turned the phone over.
Tape had been placed beneath the case.
I removed it.
A tiny piece of paper fell out.
Four digits.
Mom’s birthday.
I typed them in.
The phone unlocked.
There were no recent calls.
No messages.
No photographs.
Almost everything had been deleted.
One application remained open.
Notes.
A single note.
MARA — START WITH SKYlar’s apartment deed.
I stared at it.
Hale leaned closer.
“What does it say?”
I turned the screen toward him.
He swore quietly.
“You knew about this?”
“No.”
“What’s wrong with the deed?”
“I handled the probate transfer, not the original purchase.”
“Who bought the apartment?”
“Your father.”
“When?”
“Seven years ago.”
“That’s impossible. Skylar said she leased it until Dad bought it for her last year.”
Hale’s eyes narrowed.
“He owned it seven years.”
“Then why did she lie?”
“I don’t know.”
I looked back at the note.
Start with Skylar’s apartment deed.
Maybe Dad had known she lied.
Maybe the Nashville property was connected somehow.
Hale sat at the table.
“I need to tell you something.”
“Finally.”
“Your father came to me three weeks ago. He wanted to amend his estate.”
“You said two days.”
“That was the second visit.”
“What happened during the first?”
“He asked me to locate records connected to your mother’s accident.”
“Why?”
“He said he had received an anonymous package.”
“What was in it?”
“A copy of the accident report.”
“We already had one.”
“This one was different.”
“How?”
“One page had been omitted from the official copy.”
My throat tightened.
“What page?”
“The vehicle inspection.”
I said nothing.
Hale looked directly at me.
“Your mother’s brake line had been cut.”
For a few seconds I heard nothing except the refrigerator.
“Who knew?”
“According to your father, the sheriff at the time. The mechanic who inspected the car. One state investigator.”
“And Dad?”
“He claimed he didn’t know until three weeks ago.”
“Why would they hide it?”
“That’s what he was trying to find out.”
“Who was sheriff?”
Hale hesitated.
That was enough.
“Say it.”
“Robert Vance.”
I knew the name.
Everyone in Briar County did.
Retired sheriff.
Businessman.
County commissioner.
And one of Dad’s oldest friends.
Vance spoke at my father’s funeral.
He hugged me.
He told me Dad had been proud of my service.
He had called my mother’s death “the tragedy that changed us all.”
My skin crawled.
“Where is he now?”
“About six miles from here.”
I looked toward the windows.
“He owns property nearby?”
“Half the north shoreline.”
I thought about the fresh scrape on the door.
“Did you tell him I inherited this cabin?”
“The will became part of probate records.”
“That wasn’t my question.”
“No.”
“Did anyone in your office?”
“I don’t know.”
That answer was worse.
I picked up the recorder.
“Dad said somebody followed me here.”
Hale’s expression changed.
“What?”
I played the final section.
When it ended, he stood.
“We’re leaving.”
“I’m going to storage unit 217.”
“Not tonight.”
“Tonight.”
“Your father specifically warned you not to take anything until—”
“Until I knew who followed me.”
I looked at him.
“You arrived first.”
Hale stared at me.
Then his face hardened.
“You think I followed you?”
“I think everyone is a question until I have answers.”
A sound came from the porch.
Both of us turned.
Not a knock.
A soft vibration.
My phone.
I looked down.
No.
The sound came from Dad’s phone.
A new message had appeared.
Unknown number.
DO NOT GO TO UNIT 217.
Hale went pale.
Another message arrived.
YOU ARE NOT ALONE IN THE CABIN.
My body went still.
Hale whispered, “Mara…”
A third message appeared.
CHECK UNDER THE BED.
I drew the flashlight from my duffel.
We moved toward the bedroom.
I crouched.
Something small blinked beneath the bed frame.
Red.
A camera.
Still recording.
May you like
And taped beside it was a note written in fresh black ink.
WELCOME HOME, MARA.
