Thomas ended the call and placed the phone on the counter.
“What was in the box?”
Eleanor looked at him.
“Documents.”
“What documents?”
“Family records.”
Harold's expression changed.
“Ellie.”
“I know.”
Thomas stepped closer.
“Why didn't you tell me?”
“Because I thought the box was safe.”
“What's in it?”
Eleanor sat down again.
“Your father's old property papers. Tax records. Some letters. A few photographs.”
“Anything else?”
She hesitated.
“Yes.”
“What?”
“A copy of the contractor's original report.”
Thomas stared at her.
“So the missing letter may have been in the box.”
“Yes.”
I looked between them.
“Why would anyone want that?”
“We don't know,” Harold said.
Thomas pulled out his phone.
“I'm calling the police.”
Eleanor nodded.
This time she didn't object.
While he made the call, I began cleaning the kitchen mechanically.
My hands needed something to do.
I wiped the counter.
Moved the banana bread.
Put the flour away.
Normal tasks felt strange against the conversation happening behind me.
When Thomas finished, he told us an officer would meet us at the house.
“We're not going inside,” he said.
Eleanor nodded.
Harold looked relieved.
I asked, “How far is the house from here?”
“Twenty minutes.”
We drove there in separate cars.
The neighborhood looked ordinary.
That somehow made it worse.
Children were riding bicycles.
A sprinkler clicked over a lawn.
A dog barked behind a fence.
Then we turned onto Thomas's parents' street.
Their house looked smaller than I remembered.
The roof was covered with a temporary protective sheet.
One side of the exterior wall had been stripped down to the framing.
Yellow warning tape crossed the front path.
I stayed beside Thomas.
Eleanor remained in the car.
She couldn't bring herself to look directly at the house.
Harold stood with her.
The contractor arrived ten minutes later.
He was a broad-shouldered man named Martin.
He greeted Thomas and then looked at the house.
“I wish I'd had better news for your parents.”
Thomas asked, “What exactly happened?”
Martin pointed toward the side wall.
“Water damage exposed a problem beneath the foundation.”
“Was the foundation failing?”
“Not collapsing. But moving.”
Thomas looked at the ground.
“And the drainage?”
Martin nodded.
“That concerned me.”
He explained that the slope around the property appeared to have been altered over time.
Rainwater had begun collecting near the foundation instead of moving away.
“Could that happen naturally?”
“Not that quickly.”
Thomas looked toward the side gate.
“What about the broken lock?”
Martin walked with us toward the entrance.
“This is where I found it.”
The lock had been replaced.
Beside the door was a small scratch on the frame.
“Someone forced it?”
“Looks that way.”
“Did you report it?”
“I told your parents.”
Thomas looked back toward the car.
His mother was watching us.
“What did they say?”
Martin shrugged.
“They said nothing was missing.”
Thomas turned.
“Except the recipe box.”
Martin frowned.
“I don't know about that.”
We waited for the officer.
When she arrived, she took photographs of the exterior and asked questions.
Eleanor eventually came out of the car.
She looked at the damaged house for several seconds.
Then she whispered, “I thought we'd fixed it.”
Harold put an arm around her.
“We'll fix it.”
The officer asked what was missing.
“The recipe box,” Eleanor said.
“What does it look like?”
“Wooden. About this size.”
She held her hands apart.
“Dark brown?”
“Yes.”
“Any identifying marks?”
Eleanor nodded.
“There's a little burn mark on the lid.”
“Anything valuable inside?”
“Not financially.”
The officer wrote that down.
“What about documents?”
“Yes.”
Eleanor's voice became quieter.
“Some documents concerning the house.”
The officer looked at Thomas.
“We'll make a report.”
I watched Eleanor.
She seemed exhausted.
I put a hand on her arm.
“Let's go home.”
She nodded.
On the drive back, Thomas didn't speak.
Neither did I.
When we reached our house, Eleanor went directly upstairs.
I followed her.
She stood in the doorway of the guest room.
The shelves were almost empty.
The new baking table stood beneath the window.
Her jars sat in a neat row.
She looked at them.
“I don't know why this happened.”
I said nothing.
She touched the edge of one jar.
“I only wanted a quiet life.”
“I know.”
“I didn't expect any of this.”
“I know.”
She looked at me.
“Do you think someone is trying to hurt us?”
“I don't know.”
That was the only honest answer.
She nodded.
Later that evening, Thomas came upstairs holding an envelope.
“What's that?” I asked.
He looked troubled.
“It came in the mail.”
The envelope had no return address.
He opened it carefully.
Inside was a photocopy.
Eleanor's handwriting appeared across the top.
A list of dates.
Repairs.
Payments.
Names.
Thomas stared at it.
“What is it?”
“I don't know.”
He handed it to me.
I read the first few lines.
Then I noticed one name.
Martin.
Beside it was a date.
Three years earlier.
Then another name.
A company I didn't recognize.
Thomas took the paper back.
“This doesn't make sense.”
I pointed to the bottom.
“Look.”
There was one sentence handwritten beneath the list.
Thomas read it.
His face went still.
“What?”
He looked at me.
“It says, ‘We were told not to ask questions.’”
I felt a chill run down my arms.
“Who wrote that?”
“I don't know.”
We went upstairs to show Eleanor.
She took one look at the paper.
Her hands began shaking.
“I've never seen this.”
Thomas stared at her.
“Are you sure?”
“Yes.”
“Then who has your handwriting?”
Eleanor looked at the list again.
She touched the ink.
“That isn't my handwriting.”
She turned the page over.
Nothing.
Then she looked at the dates.
Her face changed.
“These aren't repair dates.”
“What are they?”
She whispered the answer.
“Bread deliveries.”
I looked at Thomas.
He looked at me.
The mysterious list wasn't about the house.
It was about Eleanor's customers.
And someone had been tracking them.
Click here to continue reading: PART 8: The Names on Eleanor’s Baking List Led Somewhere We Never Expected, and Thomas Began to Suspect the Six Months in Our House Were Not an Accident
The Morning Their Room Was Finally Empty, I Expected Relief—Instead, Something Shifted Beneath the Mattress and Changed Everything
Part 7 of 10
