Chapter 2 - The Second PhoneApprox. 1,500 words
The scream cut through the growl of my lawn mower so sharply that, for one terrible second, I thought the blade had hit something alive.
Then I recognized the voice.
My daughter.
“Dad!”
I let go of the mower handle and ran.
The engine sputtered behind me while I crossed the backyard in grass-stained boots, nearly slipping on the patio stones. I had been outside less than twenty minutes. Twenty minutes of cutting the lawn while my nine-year-old daughter, Lily, was supposed to be upstairs finishing a school project.
My mother-in-law, Diane, was in the house with her.
I hadn’t thought twice about it.
That mistake would keep me awake for months.
“Lily!”
I hit the back door so hard it slammed against the kitchen wall.
The house was strangely quiet.
No television.
No music from Lily’s room.
Then I heard a muffled sob upstairs.
I took the steps two at a time.
“Dad!”
Her bedroom door was half open.
I shoved it wide.
And froze.
Diane was on her knees beside Lily’s bed.
My daughter was on the carpet.
Pinned beneath her.
Diane had one hand around Lily’s wrist and the other pressed over her mouth.
Her face was inches from my daughter’s.
“You saw nothing,” Diane hissed.
Lily kicked beneath her.
“Say it. You saw nothing.”
“What the hell are you doing?”
Diane jerked around.
Her face changed instantly.
The cold expression disappeared.
Shock replaced it.
Then something almost like innocence.
“Mark—”
I crossed the room and pulled her away.
Lily scrambled backward until she hit the side of her bed.
She was crying so hard she couldn’t catch her breath.
I dropped to my knees.
“Lily. Look at me.”
She threw herself into my chest.
I wrapped both arms around her.
“What happened?”
Behind me, Diane stood up.
“She had a tantrum.”
I turned.
“A tantrum?”
“She attacked me.”
Lily’s fingers tightened around my shirt.
Diane pointed toward the overturned wastebasket.
“She’s becoming impossible. Rebecca has been too soft with her, and frankly, so have you.”
I stared at her.
“You had your hand over her mouth.”
“She was screaming.”
“That’s what people do when somebody pins them to the floor.”
Diane’s expression hardened.
“You didn’t see what happened before you came in.”
I felt Lily shaking.
“What happened, sweetheart?”
She didn’t answer.
Diane did.
“She went through my things.”
My eyes moved toward the desk.
A large black leather purse sat beside Lily’s homework.
Diane saw me looking.
For the first time, real fear crossed her face.
It vanished quickly.
But I saw it.
Lily lifted her head.
Tears streaked her cheeks.
“Dad.”
“What?”
Her eyes moved to the purse.
Then back to me.
“Check Grandma’s bag.”
Diane stepped forward.
“Absolutely not.”
I stood.
“Why?”
“It’s my private property.”
“You just had my daughter pinned to the floor.”
“Because she stole something from me.”
“What?”
Silence.
I looked at Lily.
“What did you take?”
“Nothing.”
“She’s lying,” Diane snapped.
Lily flinched.
I stepped between them.
“Stop.”
Diane folded her arms.
“She lies constantly. Ask Rebecca.”
“My daughter doesn’t constantly lie.”
“You don’t know everything about your daughter.”
“No,” I said quietly. “But apparently I don’t know everything about you, either.”
Her mouth tightened.
I reached for the purse.
Diane lunged.
“Mark, don’t.”
That frightened me more than anything I had seen yet.
Diane was sixty-three years old, always controlled, always immaculate, always capable of turning every disagreement into a lecture about manners.
I had never seen her panic.
Now she grabbed the purse handle with both hands.
“Give it to me.”
I held on.
“What’s inside?”
“None of your business.”
“Then why were you hurting Lily over it?”
“I wasn’t hurting her!”
Lily cried out behind me.
“She said Mommy would go to jail.”
Everything stopped.
I turned slowly.
“What?”
Lily hugged her knees.
“She said if I told you what I saw, Mommy would go to jail.”
Diane’s face went white.
I looked at the purse again.
Then I pulled it free.
“Mark,” Diane whispered.
I unzipped it.
Wallet.
Keys.
Makeup.
Medication.
A pair of reading glasses.
Nothing unusual.
Then I noticed something inside the inner pocket.
A thick white envelope.
I pulled it out.
Diane stopped breathing.
There was no name on the front.
Inside were bank statements.
Not hers.
My wife’s.
Rebecca’s name appeared across the top.
Below it were transactions I didn’t recognize.
Large ones.
$8,000.
$12,500.
$6,200.
And beside several withdrawals were signatures that looked exactly like Rebecca’s.
Except my wife had been in Denver for work on two of the dates.
I knew because I had driven her to the airport.
I looked up.
“What is this?”
Diane said nothing.
Lily whispered from behind me.
“There’s more.”
I turned.
She pointed at the purse.
“Under the bottom.”
I ran my fingers along the lining.
Something hard shifted beneath it.
A second phone.
Diane suddenly moved toward the door.
I caught her arm.
“Don’t.”
Her voice dropped.
“You have no idea what you’re doing.”
I held up the phone.
“No.”
Then I looked at my terrified daughter.
“But I’m starting to understand why you wanted her silent.”
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And downstairs, at that exact moment, the front door opened.
My wife had come home early.
