Chapter 3 - Someone Inside the HouseJulian locked down the house in under four minutes.
There is no preparation for something like that.
Your mind rejects it first.
Then your body.
My hands went numb. My teeth began chattering even though the room was warm.
I stared at Evelyn Hart—the woman I had called Mom until I was sixteen—and searched desperately for reasons not to believe her.
A birthmark could be coincidence.
A photograph could be studied.
My name could be researched.
But then she whispered, “Bluebird.”
My heart stopped.
Nobody knew that word.
Nobody.
When I was seven, I had been terrified of thunderstorms.
Mom would crawl into bed beside me and tap the center of my forehead three times.
“Bluebird, bluebird, fly above the rain.”
It had been our private ritual.
I had never told Julian.
Not even him.
I sat down because my legs could no longer hold me.
“Say it again.”
Tears filled Evelyn’s eyes.
“Bluebird, bluebird, fly above the rain.”
A sob broke out of me.
I hated it.
I wanted to stop it.
Instead I crossed the room and grabbed her face between my hands.
I examined every wrinkle.
Every scar.
There was a thin white line beneath her chin.
I remembered that scar.
She had gotten it falling from a bicycle before I was born.
“Oh my God.”
She reached for me.
I recoiled.
Pain flashed across her face.
“I’m sorry.”
“No.”
My voice was sharper than I intended.
“You don’t get to say that yet.”
Julian closed the bedroom door.
I turned on him.
“And you.”
“I wanted proof.”
“You brought her into our home and manipulated me into discovering it myself.”
“If I had simply told you your mother was alive, would you have believed me?”
“That wasn’t your decision to make!”
“No,” he said quietly. “It wasn’t.”
At least he had the sense not to defend himself further.
I faced Evelyn.
“Start talking.”
She pulled the robe tighter around herself.
For the next hour, the dead woman told me how she had survived.
The accident happened on October 12, twenty years earlier.
I remembered that day better than my own wedding.
Mom had supposedly been driving north along the Pacific Coast Highway when her car went over a cliff.
Police recovered a burned vehicle.
Human remains were found inside.
My grandmother identified Mom using jewelry recovered from the scene.
There had been no viewing.
No open coffin.
Grandmother said the damage had been too severe.
I believed her.
Everyone did.
But according to Evelyn, she had never been inside that car when it went over the cliff.
Someone had forced her off the road several miles earlier.
“Who?”
She looked at me.
“Your uncle Richard.”
My breath caught.
Richard Hart.
My mother’s older brother.
The man who had walked me down the aisle.
The man who had paid part of my college tuition.
The man I had called every Father’s Day after my own father vanished from my life.
“No.”
“I’m sorry.”
“No.”
“He wasn’t alone.”
I felt sick.
“Who else?”
Evelyn looked away.
“Your grandmother.”
I stood so fast the chair scraped against the floor.
“My grandmother raised me.”
“I know.”
“She loved me.”
“I know.”
“She died holding my hand.”
Evelyn’s face twisted.
“She loved you, Claire.”
“That makes no sense.”
“People can love someone and still do terrible things.”
I walked to the window.
Los Angeles glittered below us.
Everything looked normal.
Cars.
Palm trees.
Sunlight.
Somewhere in that city, my entire childhood had apparently been built on a crime.
“What did they want?”
Evelyn inhaled slowly.
“Your grandfather left Hartwell Holdings to me.”
I knew the name.
Hartwell Holdings had once owned land all over Southern California.
By the time I was an adult, most of it belonged to Uncle Richard.
“My grandfather left everything to both of you.”
“No.”
Evelyn shook her head.
“He originally planned to. Then he discovered Richard was stealing from the company.”
I looked at Julian.
His expression told me he had already heard this.
“Granddad changed the will?”
“Yes.”
“To you.”
“And eventually to you.”
I laughed once.
It sounded ugly.
“So Richard tried to kill you over money?”
“Not just money.”
Evelyn stared at her hands.
“There were documents. Financial records. Bribes. Fraud. Your grandfather had discovered Richard was using Hartwell properties to launder money for people he should never have been doing business with.”
Julian shifted.
“What happened on the road?”
Evelyn closed her eyes.
“Richard called me and said your grandmother had collapsed. He told me to come immediately. On the highway, another car forced me onto a side road.”
She paused.
“There were two men waiting.”
My stomach knotted.
“They dragged me from my car. Richard was there.”
I could barely speak.
“What did he say?”
“He said I should sign everything over.”
“And you refused.”
“Yes.”
Evelyn’s eyes hardened.
“He told me you would be next.”
That silenced the room.
“You were sixteen. You were home alone.”
I gripped the windowsill.
“So you signed.”
“I signed.”
“Then why fake your death?”
“They needed me gone.”
She touched the side of her head.
“One of the men hit me. I woke up days later in a private clinic in Mexico.”
I turned.
“What?”
“They had someone watching me. They told me you believed I was dead. They said if I ever tried to contact you, they would kill you.”
I shook my head.
“For twenty years?”
“I tried twice.”
“When?”
“The first time, when you graduated college.”
I froze.
“I traveled north. Richard found me before I reached you.”
“How?”
“I didn’t know then.”
Her voice broke.
“The second time was your wedding.”
Every hair on my arms rose.
“You were there?”
“Outside.”
My mouth went dry.
“Our wedding was in Santa Barbara.”
“I watched you from across the road.”
I stared at her.
Julian looked equally stunned.
“You saw me?”
“You were wearing your grandmother’s veil.”
I touched my chest.
That detail had never been published.
“I wanted to run to you.”
“Why didn’t you?”
“Because Richard’s car was parked behind mine.”
Silence.
Then rage arrived.
Not tears.
Not grief.
Rage.
I picked up my phone.
Julian caught my wrist.
“What are you doing?”
“Calling Richard.”
“No.”
“Get your hand off me.”
“If he believes Evelyn is dead, that is the only advantage we have.”
“He stole twenty years.”
“And if Evelyn is telling the truth, he may have committed murder to keep that secret.”
“I don’t care.”
“I do.”
I stared at him.
Julian lowered his voice.
“Because I almost got you killed three weeks ago.”
The room went still.
“What are you talking about?”
He released my wrist.
“The night I first found Evelyn, someone followed me home.”
I remembered.
Julian’s Range Rover had been struck at an intersection.
He told me it was a hit-and-run.
“You said it was an accident.”
“I lied.”
My face went cold.
“They weren’t trying to hit me.”
Julian looked directly at me.
“They were trying to make sure she never reached you.”
I looked at Evelyn.
“And you still brought her here?”
“I moved her twice first.”
Julian reached into his pocket and placed a small plastic evidence bag on the table.
Inside was a brass key.
Evelyn stared at it.
“What is that?”
“It was sewn into the lining of your coat.”
Her face changed.
She grabbed the bag.
“No.”
“You recognize it?”
Evelyn’s hands trembled.
“I thought they took everything.”
“What does it open?”
She looked at me.
“A safe-deposit box.”
“Where?”
She swallowed.
“Downtown.”
“What’s inside?”
Her answer was barely audible.
“The original copy of your grandfather’s will.”
My pulse quickened.
“And the financial records?”
“Yes.”
Julian exhaled.
“That can destroy Richard.”
Evelyn shook her head.
“No.”
Her fear returned instantly.
“You don’t understand.”
“What?”
“Richard isn’t the person you should be most afraid of.”
I frowned.
“You just said he arranged your disappearance.”
“He did.”
“Then who?”
Evelyn reached for my hand.
This time, I let her.
Her fingers were cold.
“When Richard came to threaten me at your wedding, he told me something.”
“What?”
“He said he no longer needed to watch you himself.”
My chest tightened.
“He said someone close to you had been doing it for years.”
I slowly looked at Julian.
Evelyn did too.
My husband’s expression darkened.
Then a sound came from outside the bedroom.
A floorboard creaked.
Julian crossed the room and ripped open the door.
The hallway was empty.
But lying on the carpet was a white envelope.
My name was written across the front.
CLAIRE.
Julian opened it carefully.
Inside was a single photograph.
It had been taken that afternoon.
Through the guest-room window.
It showed me kneeling beside the bathtub.
My mother sitting in front of me.
May you like
On the back, someone had written five words.
YOU SHOULD HAVE LEFT HER DEAD.
Related Stories
