Chapter 5 - LAKE HOUSE 17I didn’t sleep.
At sunrise, I was sitting on the edge of the enormous guest bed, staring at the photograph on my phone.
Elizabeth.
Jonathan.
Lake House 17.
When Jonathan joined me for breakfast, I placed the phone in front of him.
He stopped moving.
For the first time since meeting him, I saw fear.
Not surprise.
Fear.
“What is Lake House 17?”
He slowly sat.
“Where did you get this?”
“Answer me.”
His eyes closed briefly.
“Sarah.”
“Did my mother run from you?”
“No.”
“Then why does someone think she did?”
Jonathan looked toward the windows.
“The lake house was one of several properties owned by Whitmore Holdings near Geneva Lake.”
“What happened there?”
He said nothing.
I stood.
“If you want me to trust you, stop protecting me from the truth.”
His shoulders lowered.
“Your mother met me there two days before she disappeared.”
The room seemed to shrink.
“What did she tell you?”
“That Daniel Mercer was dangerous.”
“You already told me that.”
“She told me something else.”
I waited.
Jonathan looked directly into my eyes.
“She believed Daniel had arranged for you to disappear if she refused to cooperate with him.”
My hands went cold.
“My own father?”
“We don’t know if Daniel was your biological father.”
“What?”
Jonathan explained that Elizabeth had separated from Daniel briefly around the time I was conceived.
My father’s identity had never been confirmed.
But Daniel had raised me for several years.
I remembered none of it.
“She came to the lake house because she wanted my help,” Jonathan continued.
“Did you help?”
He flinched.
“No.”
That one word hurt more than everything else.
“Why?”
“She wanted immediate police protection. I wanted evidence first.”
I stared at him.
“You didn’t believe her.”
“I believed parts of it.”
“She was your daughter.”
“I know.”
His voice broke.
“I know.”
For fifteen years, he had apparently lived with that sentence.
But regret didn’t change what happened.
“Did you argue?”
“Yes.”
“Did she leave?”
“Yes.”
“Alive?”
Jonathan stood sharply.
“Yes.”
His voice echoed.
Then he softened.
“Yes, Sarah. She left alive.”
James appeared at the doorway.
“Sir.”
Jonathan looked at him.
“What?”
“We identified the number sending Sarah the messages.”
My heart jumped.
“Who?”
James hesitated.
“It belongs to a prepaid device purchased near a nursing facility outside Milwaukee.”
“A nursing facility?”
He nodded.
“One resident there may be connected.”
“Who?”
James looked at Jonathan.
“Daniel Mercer.”
Jonathan went still.
My heart began pounding.
“You said you didn’t know where he was.”
“We didn’t,” Jonathan said.
James continued.
“Daniel Mercer has been living under the name David Miller. He suffered a major stroke four years ago.”
“Can he speak?”
“Limited speech.”
I grabbed my coat.
Jonathan stared at me.
“Where are you going?”
“To meet him.”
“Sarah, no.”
I turned.
“He may be the only person who knows what happened to my mother.”
“He may also be the person who caused it.”
“That’s exactly why I’m going.”
Three hours later, our SUV entered the parking lot of St. Anne’s Long-Term Care Center.
Daniel Mercer was sixty-one.
In my imagination, he had become a monster.
In reality, he was thin, weak, and partially paralyzed.
But when he saw me, terror exploded across his face.
He tried to stand.
He couldn’t.
A nurse rushed toward him.
“Mr. Miller?”
Daniel pointed at me.
His hand shook violently.
“Liz…”
I stepped closer.
“I’m Sarah.”
His eyes flooded with tears.
“Baby.”
My throat closed.
Jonathan stood behind me like stone.
Daniel saw him.
Instantly, his expression changed.
“Go!”
He pointed at Jonathan.
“Go!”
Jonathan didn’t move.
I sat beside Daniel’s wheelchair.
“What happened to my mother?”
Daniel struggled.
“Charles.”
Jonathan’s face tightened.
“What did Charles do?” I asked.
Daniel shook his head violently.
“Fire.”
“What fire?”
“Lake.”
Jonathan stepped forward.
“There was no fire at the lake house.”
Daniel began crying.
“Not house.”
He grabbed my wrist with surprising strength.
“Car.”
My breath stopped.
“Her car?”
He nodded.
“Bomb.”
Jonathan staggered.
I stared at him.
He looked genuinely shocked.
Daniel forced out more words.
“Charles… money… Liz knew.”
“Did Charles kill her?”
Daniel’s face crumpled.
“No.”
“Then who?”
His eyes shifted toward Jonathan.
I felt sick.
“No,” Jonathan whispered.
Daniel pointed.
“Your man.”
Jonathan’s voice turned dangerous.
“What man?”
“Security.”
James stepped forward.
Daniel looked at him.
Then screamed.
A raw, terrified sound.
He tried to push backward.
“NO!”
Everyone froze.
I looked at James.
James looked confused.
“Mr. Mercer, I’ve never met you.”
Daniel shook his head.
“Not you.”
He pointed weakly at the insignia pin on James’s jacket.
“Chief.”
Jonathan went pale.
“The security chief at the time was Robert Hale.”
Daniel nodded frantically.
“Hale.”
Jonathan pulled out his phone.
“Find him.”
James stepped aside and began making calls.
Daniel tugged my sleeve.
“Liz lived.”
My heart stopped.
“What?”
“Bomb… she lived.”
Jonathan gripped the back of a chair.
“Where did she go?”
Daniel’s eyes closed.
“Convent.”
“What convent?”
He struggled for breath.
The heart monitor beside him began beeping faster.
“Northern… Michigan…”
The nurse stepped forward.
“That’s enough.”
I leaned closer.
“Daniel, please. Where is my mother?”
His eyes opened.
He whispered one final word.
“Rosewood.”
Then alarms erupted.
The nurse shoved us aside.
Daniel had gone into cardiac arrest.
Doctors rushed in.
We were pushed into the hallway.
I stood there shaking.
Jonathan reached for me.
I pulled away.
“Find Rosewood.”
He nodded.
An hour later, Daniel Mercer was pronounced dead.
Natural cardiac arrest, according to the doctor.
But James didn’t look convinced.
Neither did I.
That evening, we found Rosewood.
It wasn’t a town.
It was a former Catholic retreat near Lake Superior called Rosewood House.
Closed thirteen years earlier.
Property records showed the building had been purchased after closure by a private foundation.
A foundation connected to—
Charles Whitmore.
Jonathan stared at the screen.
His younger brother.
The same man Elizabeth had accused all those years ago.
I felt suddenly certain.
“My mother was there.”
Jonathan nodded slowly.
“Maybe.”
James entered.
“We located Robert Hale.”
“Where?”
“Dead.”
My stomach dropped.
“When?”
James looked at us.
“Three days ago.”
Jonathan frowned.
“Cause?”
“Car accident.”
Nobody spoke.
Daniel had been discovered.
Now he was dead.
Robert Hale had been located.
He was dead too.
Someone was cleaning up the past.
Then James handed Jonathan another document.
“There’s something else.”
“What?”
“Rosewood House was supposedly abandoned.”
He paused.
“But the property has been using electricity continuously for fifteen years.”
I looked up.
May you like
Jonathan’s eyes met mine.
Someone was living there.
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