Chapter 3 - Emily at the Window
Rachel hadn't seen her sister since she was nine.
Still, she recognized Emily immediately.
The same narrow eyes.
The same slight tilt of her head.
A scar near her chin from falling off a bicycle when she was twelve.
Except the woman in the photograph was no longer nineteen.
She was forty-two.
Exactly the age Emily would be.
Rachel touched the screen.
“Oh my God.”
Helen refused to look.
That bothered me.
“Your daughter might be alive.”
Helen whispered:
“That doesn't mean that's Emily.”
Rachel turned.
“You recognize her.”
“No.”
“You won't even look.”
Helen stood and walked away.
I followed.
“Why are you afraid of her?”
Helen stopped.
“Because Emily hated me.”
“Why?”
She looked back toward Rachel.
“I gave her a reason.”
Twenty-three years earlier, Emily discovered her grandmother's trust.
Margaret had died months earlier.
Emily was supposed to receive partial control at twenty-one.
But she also discovered something else.
Helen had borrowed $90,000 from the trust.
Without permission.
Frank's business was failing.
Kevin needed surgery after a serious motorcycle accident.
Helen convinced herself she would repay it before Emily ever knew.
She didn't.
Emily found the records.
They fought.
Emily threatened to tell Frank.
That night she disappeared.
I stared.
“You let everyone believe she died without telling police you'd argued about stolen money?”
Helen cried.
“Yes.”
Frank never knew.
Neither did Rachel.
Kevin knew part of it.
Helen had used some money for his medical care.
That explained why he had spent years protecting her.
But $90,000 didn't explain $1.8 million.
Helen insisted she never made later transfers.
Then who did?
Emily?
Someone impersonating her?
Kevin?
Frank's records included something else.
Hollow Creek Consulting was registered to a man named Thomas Reed.
I searched the name.
Nothing remarkable.
Then Rachel saw his address.
She froze.
“That's near where Emily crashed.”
Hollow Creek.
The mountain road where Emily's car went over the edge.
The property belonged to Thomas Reed.
Had for thirty years.
We drove there the next morning with a sheriff's investigator.
The house was empty.
But someone had left recently.
Coffee still in the machine.
A refrigerator full of food.
On the wall were photographs.
Frank.
Helen.
Kevin.
Rachel.
Me.
Our house.
Rachel's workplace.
My truck.
Someone had been watching all of us.
Then Rachel found a photograph of herself at age nine.
Emily stood beside her.
Behind them was a young man I didn't recognize.
Helen did.
Her face collapsed.
“Thomas.”
The sheriff looked at her.
“You know him?”
Helen whispered:
“He was Emily's boyfriend.”
Frank had always told Rachel that Emily wasn't dating anyone when she died.
Another lie.
Thomas Reed had been twenty-four.
Emily nineteen.
And according to Helen, Thomas was the last person Emily called before her disappearance.
Then we heard a floorboard creak upstairs.
The deputy drew his weapon and ordered whoever was there to come down.
A man appeared.
Gray hair.
Late forties.
Hands raised.
Rachel stared.
“Thomas?”
He nodded.
Then he looked directly at Helen.
“You finally told them.”
Helen whispered:
“Where is Emily?”
Thomas laughed bitterly.
“You're still pretending you don't know?”
Rachel stepped forward.
“What does that mean?”
May you like
Thomas looked at her.
“Your mother saw Emily after the crash.”
