By sunrise, I had made coffee I didn't drink.
The house was quiet again, but it no longer felt peaceful.
I kept thinking about the message.
Why David was at my sister's lawyer's office before he ever met me.
The wording mattered.
The sender knew something.
Or wanted me to believe they did.
Either possibility was dangerous.
Harry came downstairs first.
He stopped when he saw me sitting at the table.
“You didn't sleep.”
“I slept a little.”
He gave me the look children reserve for obvious lies.
“Mom.”
I smiled.
“I'm fine.”
He opened the refrigerator.
“Are we still going to Aunt Nora's?”
“Yes.”
He nodded.
Then he hesitated.
“Are you going to marry David?”
I looked at him.
“No.”
His shoulders dropped.
“Good.”
I almost smiled.
“Why?”
“Because I never liked the way he asked about money.”
The spoon in my hand stopped.
“What do you mean?”
Harry shrugged.
“He asked me once how much the house cost.”
“When?”
“A few months ago.”
“Where?”
“In the garage.”
“Did he say why?”
“He said he was curious.”
I looked down.
Another small piece.
Another thing I had forgotten because it had seemed harmless.
“What else did he ask?”
Harry thought.
“He asked whether Grandma had put money aside for me.”
I stared at him.
“Did he?”
“I told him I didn't know.”
Harry opened a cereal box.
“He said I should know because someday I'd need it.”
I felt anger rise.
Not the loud kind.
The colder kind.
The kind that makes every previous conversation rearrange itself.
I thanked Harry and told him to finish breakfast.
Then I called Helen.
She answered quickly.
“I was about to call you.”
“I found something.”
“So did I.”
My pulse quickened.
“What?”
“I checked the old estate file you showed me. There's a correspondence log.”
“What does it say?”
“David's name appears.”
I stood.
“When?”
“Before you met him.”
I closed my eyes.
“How long before?”
“Eight months.”
I couldn't speak.
Helen continued.
“There are three references to him.”
“What was he doing?”
“That isn't clear yet.”
“Then find out.”
“I already started.”
She told me to come to her office.
I drove there alone.
The city was waking around me.
I barely noticed the traffic.
When I arrived, Helen had several copies spread across her desk.
She pointed to the first.
“This is an email from your sister's attorney.”
I read it.
It referred to an inquiry made by a man named David Mercer.
My David.
The email was dated eight months before our first meeting.
My stomach twisted.
“What did he want?”
Helen handed me another page.
“Information about the estate.”
“Why would he ask?”
“He claimed to be assisting someone who was considering purchasing an interest in a property.”
I looked at the address.
It was my house.
I stared at it.
“That can't be right.”
Helen nodded.
“It is.”
My house had been left to me after my sister's death through a complicated arrangement involving family assets.
David had asked about it before meeting me.
I felt suddenly foolish.
He hadn't learned about the house because he loved me.
He may have learned about me because of the house.
But there was still something missing.
“How did he know my sister?”
“He may not have known her personally.”
“Then how did he know about the estate?”
“That is what we're trying to establish.”
I looked at the correspondence again.
There was a phone number.
Not David's current number.
An older one.
Helen checked it.
“It belonged to a business.”
“What business?”
She turned her monitor toward me.
A small construction company.
I knew the name.
It was the company David had once told me he wanted to start.
Except it had existed years before I met him.
He had never told me that.
I sat down.
“Why would he lie about that?”
Helen folded her hands.
“Because the truth may complicate his story.”
I looked at the documents.
“Is he connected to the company?”
“Possibly.”
“How?”
“We need records.”
I thought about the photograph.
The unknown man.
The folder.
The law office.
The old estate.
Everything was converging.
But one thing still bothered me.
The unknown sender.
I showed Helen the messages.
She read them carefully.
“Don't respond.”
“Why?”
“We don't know whether this person is helping you or manipulating you.”
“I need to know who they are.”
“We can work on that.”
She made copies of everything.
Then she looked at me.
“There is one more thing.”
“What?”
“Your sister's estate was reviewed twice.”
“Twice?”
“Once before her death. Once after.”
“Who requested the second review?”
Helen turned the page.
David's name was not there.
Neither was Margaret's.
Instead, there was the name of the construction company.
I felt the room grow quiet.
“That's the company David claimed he wanted to start.”
Helen nodded.
“Which suggests he may have been involved with it.”
I stared at the name.
“Why would a construction company care about my sister's estate?”
“That is what we need to discover.”
I left Helen's office carrying copies of every document.
On the drive home, I called an old friend of my sister's.
Her name was Patricia.
She had known my sister for more than twenty years.
When I explained that I needed to ask about David, there was a long silence.
Then Patricia said, “I wondered when you'd find out.”
I pulled the car to the side of the road.
“What did you just say?”
“I didn't know how to tell you.”
“Tell me what?”
“Your sister didn't trust him.”
My hand tightened around the steering wheel.
“David?”
“Yes.”
“How did she know him?”
“I don't think she knew him well.”
“Then why didn't she trust him?”
Patricia sighed.
“Because he came asking questions.”
“What questions?”
“About your family.”
I closed my eyes.
“When?”
“Before your sister died.”
“How long before?”
“Around a year.”
My heart began pounding.
“Why didn't anyone tell me?”
“Your sister asked us not to.”
“Why?”
“She was afraid you'd get involved.”
I swallowed.
“Did she write anything down?”
Patricia hesitated.
“Yes.”
“Where?”
“At her house.”
“My old house?”
“No. Her old office.”
I wrote down the address.
Patricia continued.
“There was a drawer she kept locked.”
“What was in it?”
“I don't know.”
“You saw it?”
“Once.”
“What did you see?”
“A photograph.”
“Of whom?”
She paused.
“You.”
I felt a chill.
“Me?”
“Yes.”
“Why would she have a photograph of me in a locked drawer?”
“I don't know.”
I ended the call and sat motionless.
Then my phone buzzed.
The unknown number again.
Don't trust the man who helped you open your sister's locked drawer.
I stared at the message.
I hadn't told anyone about the drawer.
Not Helen.
Not Patricia.
Nobody.
I looked around the empty car.
Someone knew what I had just learned.
Someone had been watching the investigation closely enough to know where I was looking.
Then another message arrived.
Go to the office before David does.
I started the car.
Click here to continue reading: PART 7: The Locked Drawer Was Still Waiting Inside My Sister’s Old Office, but Someone Had Already Been There Looking for the Same Thing
The Call That Was Never Supposed to Stay Open Revealed What My Fiancé Planned to Do After We Said Our Vows
Part 6 of 10
