Chapter 4
By sunrise, Marcus had stopped trying to explain anything.
There were no explanations left that did not sound ridiculous.
The police took the blue notebook, the metal box, the note from Noah’s backpack, and the surviving contents of the storage unit.
The fire investigator said the blaze appeared deliberate.
Accelerant had been poured across three cardboard boxes.
Whoever started it had been interrupted or rushed.
Andre and Marcus gave statements until nearly four in the morning.
Lorraine had not been found.
At 6:15, Andre sat in Rachel’s sister’s kitchen, watching Noah sleep on a couch beneath a dinosaur blanket.
Marcus stood in the doorway.
He had not gone near his son.
Andre noticed.
“You can sit with him.”
Marcus shook his head.
“He might not want me.”
“He’s six.”
“That doesn’t mean he owes me comfort.”
Andre looked at him.
It was the first intelligent thing Marcus had said all night.
Rachel entered carrying two mugs.
She handed one to Andre.
None to Marcus.
He noticed.
He deserved to.
“We have to tell child services everything,” Rachel said.
Marcus nodded.
“I know.”
“That includes what you saw and ignored.”
“I know.”
“And the nights your mother stayed with him alone.”
Marcus’s face twisted.
“I know.”
Rachel’s anger rose.
“Stop saying that.”
Marcus looked at her.
“You keep saying ‘I know’ like knowing now changes what happened then.”
“I don’t know what you want me to say.”
“I want you to stop looking for the sentence that makes you feel less guilty.”
He had no answer.
Andre looked away.
This marriage had its own cracks.
Maybe Lorraine had helped create those too.
Maybe not.
Not every failure could belong to her.
Noah stirred.
All three adults fell silent.
The boy opened his eyes.
“Uncle Andre?”
“I’m here.”
Noah sat up.
His hair stuck in every direction.
“Where’s my picture?”
Andre’s chest tightened.
“I have it.”
“Is it broken?”
“The frame is.”
“Mama isn’t?”
Andre swallowed.
“No.”
Noah thought about that.
Then looked at Marcus.
“Daddy?”
Marcus stepped forward slowly.
“Hi, buddy.”
Noah stared at him.
“Grandma mad?”
“I don’t know.”
“She gets mad when people leave.”
Marcus knelt.
“Noah, Grandma is not coming here.”
The boy’s face changed.
“She knows where Aunt Kim lives.”
Rachel went still.
Andre felt cold.
“How?”
Noah pointed toward Rachel.
“Grandma followed us before.”
Rachel stared.
“What?”
“When?”
Noah shrugged.
“The day we got ice cream.”
Rachel looked at Marcus.
“That was last month.”
Marcus whispered, “Why would she follow you?”
Noah said, “Because she said you might take me.”
Rachel closed her eyes.
Andre crouched by the couch.
“Did Grandma tell you that?”
Noah nodded.
“What else did she tell you?”
Noah looked nervous.
“Am I in trouble?”
“No.”
“Daddy gets sad.”
Marcus’s face broke.
Andre kept his voice calm.
“You are not responsible for Daddy’s feelings.”
Noah looked at Marcus as if checking whether that was true.
Marcus nodded.
“You’re not.”
Noah picked at the blanket.
“Grandma says if I talk about Mama, Daddy gets sick.”
Marcus looked stunned.
“What?”
“She said you couldn’t sleep when Mama died.”
Marcus covered his mouth.
“And she said Uncle Andre makes you remember bad things.”
Andre’s throat tightened.
“That’s why you stopped asking for me?”
Noah nodded.
“I didn’t want Daddy to die.”
Marcus began crying.
Not dramatic tears.
Silent ones.
Noah immediately looked alarmed.
“Sorry.”
Marcus shook his head.
“No. No, buddy.”
He wiped his face.
“This is not because of you.”
Noah stared.
“You’re not sick?”
“I’m sad.”
“Because I talked?”
“No.”
Marcus took a breath.
“I’m sad because I should have told you the truth sooner.”
Noah waited.
Marcus looked at Andre.
Then back at his son.
“Your mom loved Uncle Andre.”
Noah’s eyes widened.
“Really?”
“Yes.”
“She wasn’t mad at him?”
“No.”
Noah looked at Andre.
Andre smiled despite the ache in his chest.
“She used to call me when your dad snored.”
Marcus gave a startled laugh.
Noah smiled.
“Daddy snores.”
“He absolutely does.”
For thirty seconds, the room felt almost normal.
Then someone knocked.
Rachel stiffened.
Her sister, Kim, checked the camera.
“Police.”
Two detectives entered.
Detective Lena Brooks introduced herself and her partner, Detective Shaw.
They had questions about the storage-unit materials.
Brooks looked at Marcus.
“Your mother was located about twenty minutes ago.”
Marcus straightened.
“Where?”
“At her home.”
Andre frowned.
“She went home?”
“Yes.”
“Did she admit setting the fire?”
“We’re not discussing her statement yet.”
Andre hated police language instantly.
Brooks continued.
“She has counsel.”
Of course she did.
Marcus asked, “Is she arrested?”
“Not at this time.”
Rachel stared.
“She hit Andre. Noah said she hits him.”
“We are coordinating with child protective services.”
“That’s not an answer.”
Brooks’s expression softened slightly.
“I understand.”
Rachel shook her head.
“No, you understand procedure. I understand there’s a six-year-old who thinks talking about his dead mother can kill his father.”
The room went quiet.
Brooks looked at Noah.
“We won’t question him here.”
“Good.”
She turned to Andre.
“The notebook is extensive.”
Andre’s stomach tightened.
“What’s in it?”
“Records going back more than twenty years.”
Marcus stared.
“About us?”
“Among other people.”
“What people?”
“Your father. Elena. Andre. You. Noah.”
Rachel whispered, “Me?”
Brooks nodded.
“You too.”
Rachel went pale.
Andre asked, “Why?”
“We don’t know yet.”
Detective Shaw opened a folder.
“There are also references to payments.”
Marcus frowned.
“What payments?”
“Several names repeat.”
He read one.
“Dr. Harold Vance.”
Marcus looked confused.
Andre recognized it.
“Dad’s doctor.”
Marcus turned.
“What?”
“After the accident.”
“No. Dad died at the scene.”
“Dr. Vance signed something for Mom afterward. Insurance, maybe.”
Brooks watched them.
“Vance was also Elena’s primary physician during the last six months of her life.”
Marcus stared.
“That’s not possible.”
“Why?”
“She had an oncologist.”
“She did. Vance remained listed as family physician.”
Andre remembered him now.
Silver hair.
Soft voice.
A man who always called Lorraine “Mrs. Bell” with extraordinary respect.
Brooks continued.
“Your mother made payments to him.”
Marcus shook his head.
“For medical bills?”
“Some were labeled consultation.”
“How much?”
“Over the years? At least forty thousand dollars.”
Andre looked at Marcus.
“From what account?”
“A church reimbursement account.”
The room went still.
Reverend Harris’s missing documentation.
Family support.
Marcus whispered, “She used church money to pay Dad’s doctor?”
“Possibly.”
Andre asked, “For what?”
“We’re trying to determine that.”
Noah had grown restless.
Rachel’s sister took him into the living room.
Brooks waited until he was gone.
“There’s something else.”
Andre hated those words already.
“Your father’s accident report was in the box.”
Marcus frowned.
“Why is that strange?”
“It’s not.”
Brooks placed a photocopy on the table.
“What is strange is this.”
A handwritten note was attached.
Andre recognized Lorraine’s writing.
RAYMOND INTENDS TO CHANGE BENEFICIARY. MUST BE RESOLVED BEFORE FRIDAY.
Marcus read it twice.
“Beneficiary of what?”
Brooks slid another page forward.
“Life insurance.”
Andre felt a chill.
“How much?”
“One point eight million dollars.”
Marcus stared.
“Mom received that?”
“Yes.”
Marcus sat down.
Andre thought of the photograph from the box.
ANDRE — CONTACT WITH FAMILY MUST BE LIMITED IF R. DIES.
Written two weeks before the accident.
“Was Dad planning to leave?” Andre asked.
Marcus looked at him.
“What?”
Andre remembered fragments.
Their parents arguing behind doors.
Their father sleeping in the guest room.
Lorraine crying one morning and then acting cheerful at breakfast.
“I think Dad wanted a divorce.”
Marcus shook his head.
“No.”
“You were in college.”
“So were you.”
“I came home more.”
Marcus stared.
Andre continued.
“Dad told me once that Mom was keeping money from him.”
“When?”
“Maybe a month before he died.”
“Why didn’t you ever tell me?”
“I was seventeen.”
“You said you were seventeen in the photo.”
“I was. I started college early that fall.”
Marcus rubbed his forehead.
Brooks asked, “Do you remember exactly what he said?”
Andre closed his eyes.
His father washing dishes.
Water running.
Lorraine upstairs.
Raymond leaning toward him.
If your mother tells you I left this family, don’t believe her.
Andre opened his eyes.
His chest hurt.
“He told me not to believe Mom if she said he left us.”
Brooks wrote it down.
Marcus stared.
“And you never connected that to the accident?”
“No. Because he didn’t leave. He died.”
The sentence sounded different now.
Brooks said, “We are not saying his death was anything other than an accident.”
“But you’re looking.”
“We’re reviewing records.”
Rachel returned.
“What about Elena?”
Everyone looked at her.
She folded her arms.
“If Lorraine kept records before Raymond died, and then before Elena died, what does the notebook say about Elena?”
Brooks hesitated.
“There are entries concerning medication.”
Marcus went rigid.
“What medication?”
“Pain medication.”
Andre’s stomach turned.
Elena had needed opioids near the end.
“What entries?”
Brooks checked her notes.
“One says, ‘Dosage changes make E unreliable.’ Another says, ‘M. must control medications.’”
Marcus stood.
“I never controlled her medication.”
Brooks looked at him.
“Who did?”
Marcus already knew.
His face went white.
“My mother.”
Rachel whispered, “Oh my God.”
Marcus sat again.
“She organized the pill containers. She said I was too exhausted.”
Andre felt sick.
Brooks added, “There’s a later entry.”
Marcus did not want to hear it.
Andre did.
“What?”
The detective looked at both brothers.
“Three days before Elena died, Lorraine wrote: ‘E. told A. about drawer. Cannot allow meeting.’”
Andre stopped breathing.
A.
Andre.
Elena had told Andre about the drawer.
Except Andre could not remember that conversation.
Then he did.
A phone call.
Three days before Elena died.
Elena had sounded weak.
She told him she had found something in Lorraine’s study.
Andre had assumed she meant documents concerning Marcus’s finances.
They were supposed to talk at the hospital.
He never got there.
Because Lorraine told him not to come.
Marcus whispered, “What drawer?”
Andre stood.
“The locked one.”
Brooks looked at him.
“What was in it?”
“I don’t know.”
Marcus stared.
“Elena called you?”
“Yes.”
“And you never told me?”
“She died three days later. Your mother said you hated me. I thought whatever Elena found was part of why.”
Marcus looked physically ill.
Brooks closed her folder.
“We need the location of Lorraine’s study.”
Marcus answered immediately.
Then Andre’s phone buzzed.
Unknown number.
A photograph arrived.
It showed Noah sleeping on Rachel’s sister’s couch.
Taken through the window.
Andre’s blood went cold.
Under the photo was one sentence.
STOP DIGGING UP THE DEAD OR YOU’LL LOSE THE LIVING.
He turned the screen toward Detective Brooks.
Her chair scraped backward.
“Lock the doors.”
Rachel ran toward the living room.
Marcus followed.
Andre looked through the kitchen window.
Across the street, a dark sedan pulled away from the curb.
And for one second beneath the streetlight, Andre saw the driver’s face.
May you like
It was not Lorraine.
It was Dr. Harold Vance.
