Chapter 2 - The woman in the black SUV
The rear door opened.
A woman stepped out.
Mid-forties.
Dark coat.
Black gloves.
She looked at Brad before she looked at me.
That mattered.
“Problem?”
Brad forced a laugh.
“No.”
The woman saw the open trunk.
Then Ivy.
Her expression changed.
“Close it.”
I stepped between Brad and the vehicle.
“Who are you?”
She ignored me.
“Brad.”
He slammed the trunk shut.
Too fast.
Too frightened.
I watched the woman return to the SUV.
No greeting.
No introduction.
No explanation.
Then she left.
I looked at Brad.
“Who was that?”
“Business.”
“You don't own a business.”
His jaw tightened.
“Not everything is your concern, Henry.”
Ivy moved closer to me.
That was answer enough.
I didn't argue.
I didn't accuse.
I simply said:
“Take care of her.”
Then watched them drive away.
The following Monday, I closed Harper Family Market early.
For the first time in years, I followed my son-in-law.
Brad left Ivy at school.
Then drove downtown.
He parked behind a boutique hotel and entered through a side door.
I waited.
Forty-three minutes later, he emerged with the same woman from the SUV.
They were arguing.
Not lovers.
At least it didn't look that way.
She shoved a folder into his chest.
He pushed it back.
Then she said something I couldn't hear.
Brad froze.
She touched his shoulder.
Not affectionately.
Like a threat.
He handed her an envelope.
Cash.
My cash?
Maybe.
I photographed everything.
Then Brad drove to a storage facility.
Unit 318.
He entered alone.
Twenty minutes later, he came out carrying a cardboard box.
On the side was one word written in marker.
Willow.
My heart stopped.
I almost got out of the car.
Instead, I followed him again.
He drove to a small chapel on the edge of town.
No funeral.
No wedding.
He carried Willow's box inside.
I waited.
Then another car arrived.
Blue sedan.
A man stepped out.
Tall.
Gray coat.
He looked familiar.
I didn't place him until he turned.
Dr. Samuel Keene.
The physician who had signed Willow's death certificate seven years earlier.
My hands went cold.
Brad and Dr. Keene entered the chapel together.
Then the woman from the black SUV arrived.
Three people.
All connected somehow to my dead daughter.
When they finally left, I went inside.
The chapel was empty.
Except for one thing.
A white envelope lay beneath the front pew.
My name was written on it.
Henry Harper.
Inside was a photograph of Willow.
May you like
Alive.
Dated six months after her funeral.
