I read the sentence on the back of Walt’s envelope three times.
“The reason I never trusted Kevin with the inheritance is because I discovered what really happened to his first wife.”
My hands began shaking so badly that the paper slipped onto my lap.
Susan.
My son’s first wife.
Seventeen years ago, Kevin had called me in the middle of the night and told me she’d died in a terrible car accident.
He said she’d lost control on a wet road.
He said there was nothing anyone could have done.
And I had believed every word.
“Mrs. Larson?” Daniel asked gently. “What does the letter say?”
I looked at him.
“My husband thought Kevin was involved in his first wife’s death.”
Daniel went completely still.
“Are you sure?”
I showed him the envelope.
He read the sentence carefully.
Then he looked at me with an expression I couldn’t forget.
“We need to talk to your husband’s attorney.”
“I already did.”
“No, ma’am. I mean we need to show him this.”
I nodded slowly.
But my mind was seventeen years in the past.
I remembered Susan standing in my kitchen, holding a cup of coffee with both hands.
She’d been thirty-two, with kind brown eyes and a smile that always seemed a little sad.
I remembered her visiting me one afternoon while Kevin was working.
She’d asked a strange question.
“Peggy, did Walt ever tell you what happens to someone’s life insurance when they die?”
I had laughed.
“Why on earth are you thinking about something like that, sweetheart?”
She’d looked down at her coffee.
“Just wondering.”
Then she had asked something else.
“Do you think Kevin really loves me?”
I remembered being startled.
“Of course he does.”
She hadn’t answered.
Three weeks later, she was dead.
For seventeen years, I had convinced myself that her sadness was simply part of a difficult marriage.
Now I wondered whether I had missed something terrible.
“Daniel,” I whispered, “I need to know what happened to Susan.”
He pulled his chair closer.
“Then we’ll start with what you know.”
I took a deep breath.
“Kevin told us she was driving home from visiting a friend. It was raining. Her car went off the road.”
“Was there an investigation?”
“I suppose there must have been.”
“Did you ever see a police report?”
“No.”
“Did you attend the funeral?”
“Of course.”
“Was her family there?”
I hesitated.
That question brought back another memory.
Susan’s younger sister, Emily.
She had stood beside the graveside with her arms wrapped tightly around herself.
After the service, she had approached Kevin.
I remembered their conversation because Emily had been crying so hard she could barely speak.
“You know what you did,” she had whispered.
Kevin had grabbed her arm.
“Not here,” he’d said.
I remembered being embarrassed.

I had assumed grief was making everyone behave strangely.
But now, sitting in my living room seventeen years later, I could still picture the fear in Emily’s eyes.
“Oh, my goodness,” I whispered.
Daniel leaned forward.
“What?”
“Her sister.”
“Susan’s?”
“Emily. She accused Kevin of something at the funeral.”
“What did she say?”
I closed my eyes.
“You know what you did.”
Daniel didn’t speak for a moment.
Then he asked, “Do you know where Emily lives?”
I shook my head.
“Not anymore. She moved away after Susan died.”
“Do you remember her last name?”
“Harper. Emily Harper.”
Daniel wrote it down.
Then he looked at the clock.
It was nearly six in the evening.
“Mrs. Larson, I’d like to suggest something.”
“What?”
“Let me help you secure the money tonight. Tomorrow, contact Mr. Whitmore and ask him to review the letter with you. And we should find out whether Susan’s accident was ever questioned.”
I nodded.
But another thought had already entered my mind.
“Daniel?”
“Yes?”
“Why would Kevin want that letter so badly?”
Daniel looked at the envelope.
“Maybe he knows what your husband discovered.”
I felt cold.
“Then he might also know what’s in the blue envelope.”
“Possibly.”
I stared toward my front door.
Suddenly, the quiet little house Walt and I had shared for forty-three years didn’t feel safe anymore.
Just then, my telephone rang.
I nearly jumped out of my chair.
The caller ID showed an unfamiliar number.
Daniel looked at me.
“Do you want me to answer?”
I shook my head.
“No. I need to stop being afraid of the telephone.”
I lifted the receiver.
“Hello?”
A woman’s voice answered.
“Mrs. Peggy Larson?”
“Yes?”
“My name is Laura Whitmore. I’m Arthur Whitmore’s daughter.”
My stomach tightened.
“Is your father all right?”
“Yes, ma’am. He’s fine. He asked me to call you.”
I exhaled.
“Thank goodness.”
“I’m also an attorney. I work with him on certain estate matters.”
“All right.”
“Mrs. Larson, my father told me about your conversation. He also asked me to check the status of any court proceedings involving you.”
My grip tightened.
“And?”
She hesitated.
“Your son filed a petition this morning.”
My heart began pounding.
“For guardianship?”
“Yes.”
I closed my eyes.
Kevin hadn’t merely threatened me.
He had already started.
Laura continued.
“The petition alleges that you’re unable to manage your finances and may be vulnerable to exploitation.”
A bitter laugh escaped my lips.
“Exploitation?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“My son sold my car without my permission, kept the money, and now he’s accusing other people of exploiting me?”
“I understand why you’re upset.”
“No,” I whispered. “I don’t think anyone understands.”
Laura’s voice softened.
“Mrs. Larson, filing a petition doesn’t mean the court has granted it. You have rights, including the right to contest the allegations. My father wants to help you obtain proper representation.”
I swallowed.
“Will I lose my house?”
“Not simply because your son filed paperwork.”
“Will someone take me away?”
“There’s no reason to assume that. We need to review exactly what was filed and respond appropriately.”
I nodded, trying to steady myself.
Then Laura said something unexpected.
“There’s another matter. My father asked whether you found Walter’s personal letter.”
I looked at Daniel.
“Yes.”
“Did you read both sides?”
My breath caught.
“Yes.”
There was a pause.
“Then you know about Susan.”
I sat up straight.
“You know?”
“Some of it.”
My voice trembled.
“Please tell me.”
Laura hesitated.
“Mrs. Larson, I don’t want to frighten you with information that hasn’t been fully verified.”
“I’ve spent seventeen years believing my daughter-in-law died in an accident. I think I deserve to know why my husband questioned that.”
Laura took a slow breath.
“Shortly before Walter died, he asked my father to help him locate an investigator who had worked on Susan’s case.”
I couldn’t speak.
“The investigator had received information suggesting Susan was afraid of Kevin during the final weeks of her life.”
Tears filled my eyes.
“Afraid?”
“Yes.”
“Did Kevin hurt her?”
“We don’t know that, Mrs. Larson. But apparently Susan had told someone she was considering leaving him.”
I pressed a trembling hand over my mouth.
Laura continued.
“And there was a financial issue.”
“What financial issue?”
“A life insurance policy.”
My heart seemed to stop.
“How much?”
“Two hundred thousand dollars.”
I closed my eyes.
I remembered Kevin buying a new truck six months after Susan died.
I remembered the expensive vacations.
The way he suddenly seemed to have money after years of struggling.
When I asked him about it, he told me he’d received a promotion.
I had believed him.
I always believed him.
“Did Kevin receive the insurance money?” I whispered.
“According to the records my father kept, he was listed as the beneficiary. But the existence of a policy or payment doesn’t establish wrongdoing.”
I nodded, though my thoughts were spinning.
“Did the police know?”
“That’s one of the things we need to verify.”
I looked down at Walt’s letter.
“Why didn’t my husband tell me?”
Laura was quiet for a moment.
“From what my father remembers, Walter was afraid of accusing his son without enough evidence. He was trying to learn the truth before saying anything.”
Tears slipped down my cheeks.
That sounded exactly like Walt.
Careful.
Patient.
Always wanting to be certain before speaking.
“And then he died,” I whispered.
“Yes.”
I wiped my face.
“Laura, what’s in the blue envelope?”
She paused.
“I’m not certain of everything inside. My father retained records relating to the safe-deposit box, but Walter arranged for some materials to be sealed separately.”
“Can we open it?”
“We need to confirm the bank’s access requirements and who is authorized. My father is making those arrangements.”
I glanced at Daniel.
“Could we do that tomorrow?”
“We’ll try.”
Then Laura lowered her voice.
“Mrs. Larson, there’s something else you should know.”
“What?”
“Your son contacted our office this afternoon.”
A chill moved through me.
“What did he want?”
“He demanded to know whether you had called.”
My stomach twisted.
“What did you tell him?”
“That we couldn’t discuss confidential client matters.”
“And?”
“He became very angry.”
I closed my eyes.
Laura continued.
“He claimed you were being influenced by a stranger who had recently entered your life.”
I looked at Daniel.
“He means Daniel.”
“I assumed so.”
“Daniel returned my stolen savings,” I said. “He hasn’t asked me for anything.”
“I’m glad someone helped you. But we need to document what happened carefully, especially with the guardianship petition pending.”
I nodded.
Then Laura said, “Mrs. Larson, please keep the original letter safe. Don’t give it to Kevin or anyone claiming to act for him.”
“I won’t.”
“And one more thing.”
“Yes?”
“Do you remember a woman named Emily Harper?”
The air seemed to disappear from the room.
“Susan’s sister?”
“Yes.”
“Of course.”
“She contacted my father yesterday.”
I nearly dropped the telephone.
“Yesterday?”
“Yes.”
“After seventeen years?”
Laura hesitated.
“She said she’d recently found something belonging to Susan.”
My heart hammered.
“What?”
“A small cassette tape.”
I stared at the wall.
“A tape?”
“Apparently Susan recorded herself speaking shortly before her death.”
I felt dizzy.
“What did she say?”
“Emily wouldn’t discuss the full contents over the phone.”
“Why not?”
“She said she wanted to give it directly to someone she could trust.”
My mouth went dry.
“Who?”
Laura’s next words made my heart ache.
“You, Mrs. Larson.”
I couldn’t speak.
Susan had been gone for seventeen years.
And now a recording of her voice might finally tell me what she had been afraid to say while she was alive.
Laura continued.
“Emily plans to meet with my father. If you’re comfortable, we’d like to arrange for you to speak with her.”
“Yes,” I whispered. “Please.”
After we ended the call, I sat holding the receiver against my chest.
Daniel watched me.
“Mrs. Larson?”
I looked at him.
“Susan left a recording.”
His expression changed.
“What kind of recording?”
“Something she made before she died.”
Daniel slowly sat down.
For a long time, neither of us spoke.
Then I turned toward the framed photograph on my mantel.
Walt and me, standing outside our house on our fortieth wedding anniversary.
He was smiling.
His arm wrapped around my shoulders.
I had spent ten years wishing I could ask him one more question.
Now I had a hundred.
“Why didn’t you tell me, Walt?” I whispered.
Daniel looked away, giving me a moment.
Then his phone buzzed again.
He glanced at the screen.
Another message from Kevin.
This time, it wasn’t words.
It was a photograph.
Daniel frowned.
“What is it?” I asked.
He turned the phone toward me.
The picture showed a small white house with blue shutters.
I knew that house.
I had been there many times.
It was the house where Susan and Kevin had lived.
The house Kevin sold shortly after her death.
Underneath the photograph was a message.
“TELL MY MOTHER TO STOP DIGGING. SOME THINGS WERE BURIED FOR A REASON.”
I felt my skin turn cold.
Daniel immediately saved the message.
“That’s concerning,” he said.
But I barely heard him.
Because something in the photograph had caught my attention.
The front porch.
The little wooden railing.
And the flowerpot beside the steps.
I remembered Susan standing there one afternoon, looking nervous as Kevin walked toward us.
I remembered her slipping something into my coat pocket while he was distracted.
A folded piece of paper.
She’d whispered, “Peggy, please keep this somewhere safe.”
At the time, I thought it was a shopping list.
I had put it in the drawer of my bedside table.
And then I’d forgotten about it.
Seventeen years.
Seventeen years, that little piece of paper might have been sitting in my house.
I gripped my walker.
“Daniel, I need to go to my bedroom.”
“Why?”
“Because Susan gave me something before she died.”
He stood immediately.
“What did she give you?”
“I don’t know. I never opened it.”
He helped me rise.
We moved slowly down the hallway.
Every step hurt my healing hip.
But I barely felt the pain.
I reached my bedroom and pointed toward the old wooden bedside table.
“Bottom drawer.”
Daniel opened it.
Inside were old birthday cards, a broken watch, my mother’s rosary, and a bundle of folded papers tied with faded ribbon.
He carefully lifted the bundle.
“These?”
I nodded.
My heart was pounding.
He handed them to me.
I untied the ribbon.
One by one, I unfolded the papers.
Old receipts.
A photograph.
A handwritten recipe.
Then I found it.
A small sheet of yellow paper folded into quarters.
On the outside was Susan’s handwriting.
“PEGGY — IF SOMETHING HAPPENS TO ME, PLEASE READ THIS.”
My breath caught.
Daniel stepped closer.
“Mrs. Larson?”
I unfolded the paper.
Inside, Susan had written only three sentences.
But they changed everything.
“Kevin has been putting something in my medicine. I found the bottles he hid in the garage. If I disappear or have an accident, please don’t believe him.”
I couldn’t breathe.
My knees began to buckle.
Daniel caught my arm before I fell.
And beneath Susan’s final sentence, she had written one last thing.
A date.
The date was three days before her death.
Then a name.
“ASK WALT. I TOLD HIM EVERYTHING.”
I stared at those words through my tears.
My husband hadn’t merely suspected something.
Susan had gone to him for help.
And now the woman my son claimed had died in an ordinary accident was telling me, from seventeen years in the past, that she had been afraid for her life.
Before I could say another word, Daniel’s phone rang.
He answered.
“Hello?”
A woman’s frightened voice came through loudly enough for me to hear.
“Is this Daniel Brooks?”
“Yes.”
“My name is Emily Harper. Arthur Whitmore gave me your number because Peggy isn’t answering her phone.”
Daniel looked at me.
“She’s right here.”
“Please,” Emily whispered. “Tell her not to open her door to Kevin.”
Daniel’s face tightened.
“Why?”
Emily began crying.
“Because I just found the rest of Susan’s recordings.”
I gripped the yellow paper.
“And?”
Emily’s voice shook.
“Kevin wasn’t the only person Susan was afraid of.”
The room went silent.
Then Emily said something that made me feel as though the floor had disappeared beneath my feet.
“Peggy, Susan said the second person helping Kevin was someone in your own family. Someone you trusted with your life.”
END OF PART 4 — TO BE CONTINUED…

PART 5 — THE PERSON MY HUSBAND WARNED ME NEVER TO TRUST

For seventeen years, I had believed my daughter-in-law Susan died in a tragic accident.
Now her younger sister was telling me that someone in my own family had helped Kevin keep a terrible secret.
I gripped the yellow note Susan had slipped into my coat pocket three days before her death.
My hands wouldn’t stop trembling.
“Emily,” I whispered, leaning toward Daniel’s telephone, “who was it?”
On the other end, Emily Harper began crying.
“Peggy, I wish I could tell you everything right now.”
“Please. I’ve already lost seventeen years.”
“I know. And I’m so sorry.”
Daniel switched the call to speakerphone and placed the phone on my bedside table.
Emily took a shaky breath.
“Susan made several recordings before she died. I only found two of them until recently.”
“Where were they?”
“Inside a box of her belongings my mother kept. When Mom passed away last month, I started sorting through everything.”
I closed my eyes.
Poor Susan.
Even after death, she’d been waiting for someone to listen.
“Emily, you said another person was helping Kevin.”
“Yes.”
“Who?”
Emily hesitated.
Then she said, “Peggy, do you remember your niece, Patricia?”
My heart seemed to stop.
Patricia.
My sister Margaret’s only daughter.
She had practically grown up in my house.
After Margaret died, I helped pay Patricia’s college tuition.
When she struggled through her divorce, Walt and I let her stay with us for six months.
She called me Aunt Peg.
She remembered every birthday.
She brought soup when I was sick.
And three weeks ago, when I was recovering from hip surgery, she was the one who had offered to help Kevin organize my paperwork.
“Oh, no,” I whispered.
Daniel looked at me.
“Who is Patricia?”
“My niece.”
Emily continued.
“Susan mentioned her on the recording.”
“What did she say?”
Emily’s voice lowered.
“She said Patricia was helping Kevin prepare documents. Susan believed they were planning to take control of something that belonged to Walt.”
I stared at the bedroom wall.
“My husband’s inheritance.”
“Possibly.”
I pressed a hand against my chest.
“Emily, was Patricia involved in Susan’s death?”
“I don’t know. Susan was frightened of her, but that doesn’t prove what happened. I don’t want to accuse anyone of something I can’t establish.”
Her caution made the words even more frightening.
“Can I hear the recording?”
“Yes. But I think we should do it with Mr. Whitmore present. He wants to make copies and help us preserve the originals.”
I swallowed.
“When?”
“Tomorrow morning.”
I nodded even though she couldn’t see me.
Then Emily said something unexpected.
“Peggy, did Susan ever give you a yellow piece of paper?”
I nearly dropped the telephone.
“Yes.”
Silence.
“You found it?”
“I’m holding it.”
Emily began crying harder.
“Oh, thank God.”
“Why?”
“Because Susan told me she had given you a warning. I thought Kevin might have found it after she died.”
I looked at Daniel.
“What else did Susan tell you?”
Emily took a trembling breath.
“She told me that if anything happened to her, Walt would know where to look for the truth.”
I glanced at the note.
ASK WALT. I TOLD HIM EVERYTHING.
My husband had known.
And whatever he discovered had frightened him enough to hide a warning in my car.
“Emily,” I whispered, “Walt died ten years ago.”
“I know.”
“But he left me a letter.”
Emily went silent.
Then she asked, “Does it mention a blue envelope?”
I felt the blood drain from my face.
“Yes.”
“Peggy, you need to get that envelope before Kevin does.”
Daniel leaned forward.
“Why?”
Emily’s voice became urgent.
“Because Susan said there was a second set of documents. Documents Kevin had been trying to find for years.”
My chest tightened.
“What documents?”
“Bank records, handwritten notes, and something Walt kept about Patricia.”
I closed my eyes.
The people I loved most were becoming strangers.
“Emily, I need to ask you one thing.”
“Anything.”
“Did Susan ever tell you that Kevin was putting something in her medicine?”
A long silence followed.
Then Emily whispered, “Yes.”
My heart broke.
“Why didn’t she go to the police?”
“She told me she was collecting evidence. She wanted to leave him, but she was scared.”
I looked down at Susan’s handwriting.
A young woman had reached out to me.
And I’d left her warning unopened in a drawer for seventeen years.
“I should have read her note,” I whispered.
“Peggy, you couldn’t have known what it said.”
“But she trusted me.”
Emily’s voice softened.
“Then help her now.”
Those four words settled into my heart.
Help her now.
I wiped my tears.
“All right,” I said. “Tell Mr. Whitmore I’ll be there tomorrow.”
After the call ended, Daniel helped me back into the living room.
I felt older than seventy-nine.
But for the first time since my fall, I also felt determined.
Daniel brought me a glass of water.
“Mrs. Larson, there’s something we should discuss.”
“What?”
“Your niece Patricia. Does she have a key to your house?”
I stared at him.
“Yes.”
His expression darkened.
“Does anyone else?”
“Kevin. Patricia. And my neighbor Mrs. Bell, for emergencies.”
Daniel looked toward the hallway.
“Then I think we should have the locks changed as soon as possible.”
I nodded.
He helped me call a locksmith with an emergency evening service.
The locksmith said he could arrive within the hour.
While we waited, I pulled out my address book.
Patricia’s name was written on the first page.
I stared at it for a long time.
Then I picked up my telephone.
Daniel frowned.
“Who are you calling?”
“My niece.”
“Are you sure that’s wise?”
“I won’t tell her anything about Susan. I just need to hear what she says.”
He nodded cautiously.
I dialed.
Patricia answered on the second ring.
“Aunt Peg! How are you feeling?”
Her cheerful voice almost made me cry.
“Still sore, sweetheart.”
“Oh, you poor thing. Kevin told me you were having a difficult day.”
I stiffened.
“Did he?”
“Yes. He said some stranger was confusing you about your finances.”
I glanced at Daniel.
“That’s interesting.”
“Really, Aunt Peg, you shouldn’t let people into your home when you’re alone.”
I swallowed.
“Patricia, did Kevin tell you he sold my car?”
Silence.
Then she laughed lightly.
“Oh, honey, he was only trying to help.”
“By selling something that belonged to me?”
“Well, you can’t drive right now.”
“That’s not what I asked.”
Her voice changed slightly.
“Aunt Peg, I don’t want to argue.”
“Neither do I.”
“Good. Now, Kevin mentioned you’ve been asking questions about old family documents.”
My heart hammered.
“What documents?”
“You know. Your husband’s estate.”
I looked down at Walt’s letter.
“Why would that concern Kevin?”
Patricia hesitated.
“Because you’re recovering from surgery, and complicated financial matters can be overwhelming.”
I felt a familiar anger rising.
Not the loud anger of younger years.
Something quieter.
Stronger.
“I’m old, Patricia. I’m not incapable.”
“Of course not, Aunt Peg.”
“Then stop speaking to me as though I am.”
Another pause.
Then Patricia said, “Has anyone given you anything from Walt?”
I froze.
“What do you mean?”
“A letter, perhaps? Something in an old envelope?”
Daniel lifted his head.
I tightened my grip on the receiver.
“Why do you ask?”
“Oh, no reason. Kevin just mentioned there might be some paperwork missing.”
My stomach twisted.
Kevin and Patricia were looking for the same letter.
And neither of them seemed concerned about my health anymore.
“Patricia,” I said quietly, “did you know Susan Harper?”
The silence was immediate.
For several seconds, I thought the call had disconnected.
Then Patricia whispered, “Why would you bring her up?”
“Just remembering.”
“Aunt Peg, Susan died a long time ago.”
“I know.”
“There’s no reason to upset yourself thinking about the past.”
I stared toward the photograph of Walt.
“Sometimes the past has a way of coming back.”
Patricia’s breathing changed.
“What does that mean?”
“It means I miss her.”
“Aunt Peg, listen to me carefully.”
Her voice was suddenly cold.
“You need to stop letting strangers put ideas in your head.”
I felt a chill.
“Goodnight, Patricia.”
“Wait. Have you spoken to Arthur Whitmore?”
My heart stopped.
“Why?”
“Because Kevin said you might.”
I looked at Daniel.
Then I said, “Goodnight.”
And hung up.
For a long moment, I sat staring at the telephone.
Daniel broke the silence.
“She knows about the letter.”
I nodded.
“And the attorney.”
“Yes.”
He looked troubled.
“Mrs. Larson, I think your son and niece are much more interested in your husband’s estate than they’re admitting.”
I looked at the photograph on the mantel.
Walt smiled back at me.
For ten years, I’d imagined he had left this world with everything settled.
Now I wondered how much worry he had carried alone.
The locksmith arrived forty minutes later.
Daniel explained that I wanted all exterior locks rekeyed.
I showed the locksmith identification and proof that I owned the house.
He worked quietly while I sat in the living room.
When he finished, he handed me three new keys.
“These old ones won’t work anymore, Mrs. Larson.”
I held them in my palm.
Such small pieces of metal.
And yet, they made me feel as if I had taken back one little piece of my life.
Daniel helped me place the money in a locked cabinet temporarily while I arranged safer storage through my bank.
Then he wrote down the messages Kevin had sent and helped me save copies.
He offered to call someone I trusted to stay with me overnight.
I thought of my neighbor, Helen Bell.
She had been my friend for thirty years.
She knew Walt.
She knew Kevin.
And she had never once asked me for money.
When I called, Helen arrived ten minutes later carrying a casserole.
“Peggy Larson,” she said as she stepped inside, “you look like you’ve been through a war.”
I burst into tears.
She put down the casserole and hugged me.
“Oh, sweetheart. What’s happened?”
I told her enough for her to understand.
The car.
The money.
The guardianship petition.
Walt’s letter.
Helen listened without interrupting.
When I finished, she sat very still.
Then she said something that made my heart skip.
“Peggy, I need to tell you something about Kevin.”
I looked at her.
“What?”
“Three weeks ago, while you were in rehabilitation, he came to your house with Patricia.”
I felt cold.
“They were here together?”
Helen nodded.
“I was watering my roses. I saw them carrying boxes out of your garage.”
My mouth went dry.
“What boxes?”
“Old cardboard boxes. The ones Walt used to keep in his workshop.”
I gripped the armrests.
Walt’s workshop.
The little room behind the garage where he kept his tools, tax records, and important papers.
Kevin had told me he’d cleaned it out after the funeral.
I hadn’t been inside for years.
“Helen,” I whispered, “did they say what they were doing?”
“Kevin told me you asked him to get rid of some old junk.”
I closed my eyes.
“I never asked him that.”
Helen’s expression changed.
“Peggy, there’s more.”
“What?”
“Patricia was carrying a small metal box.”
My heart hammered.
“What color?”
Helen thought for a moment.
“Dark blue. Maybe navy.”
I felt the room tilt.
A blue box.
Walt had told me to look for a blue envelope at the bank.
Could Patricia have taken something related to it from the workshop?
“Helen, did you see where they put it?”
“In Kevin’s car.”
I pressed my hand to my forehead.
Daniel leaned forward.
“Mrs. Bell, did you happen to take a photograph?”
Helen looked surprised.
“Actually, I did.”
My heart leaped.
“Why?”
“Because I thought it was strange. Kevin was carrying boxes out of Peggy’s house while she was in rehab, and she hadn’t mentioned anything about it to me.”
She reached into her purse.
Pulled out her phone.
Scrolled through her photographs.
Then turned the screen toward us.
There was Kevin, standing beside his truck.
Patricia was next to him.
And in her hands was a small blue metal lockbox.
My breath caught.
But it wasn’t the box that frightened me most.
It was the expression on Patricia’s face.
She was smiling.
And Kevin was holding what looked like a thick stack of papers.
Daniel carefully examined the photograph.
“Mrs. Bell, could you preserve the original and send Peggy a copy?”
“Of course.”
Helen looked at me.
“Peggy, I’m sorry I didn’t tell you sooner.”
I shook my head.
“You didn’t know.”
Then Helen frowned.
“There’s something else I remembered.”
We all looked at her.
“When Kevin and Patricia were leaving, I heard them arguing.”
“What about?”
“I couldn’t hear everything. But Patricia said, ‘If the old man kept copies, we’re finished.’”
My heart seemed to stop.
The old man.
Walt.
Even ten years after his death, my husband was still standing between them and whatever they wanted.
I looked at the photograph again.
Then I noticed a detail none of us had mentioned.
On the side of the metal lockbox was a small white label.
Helen enlarged the picture.
The letters were faded.
But I could read them.
S. HARPER — PRIVATE
I covered my mouth.
Susan.
The box had Susan’s name on it.
For seventeen years, I had believed all her belongings were gone.
And now Kevin and Patricia had carried a box with her name out of my husband’s workshop.
“Daniel,” I whispered, “we have to tell Emily.”
He nodded immediately.
But before he could reach for his phone, someone knocked gently at the front door.
We all froze.
Helen looked at the clock.
It was nearly nine.
“Who could that be?”
Daniel approached the window carefully.
A woman stood on the porch.
She was about fifty, wearing a dark coat, holding a large brown envelope.
She looked frightened.
Daniel called through the door.
“Can I help you?”
The woman answered.
“I’m looking for Peggy Larson.”
“Who are you?”
“My name is Rebecca Shaw.”
I stared toward the hallway.
That name meant nothing to me.
Then the woman spoke again.
“I was Susan Harper’s nurse seventeen years ago.”
The room went completely silent.
My heart hammered.
“What do you want?” I called.
Her voice cracked.
“Mrs. Larson, I should have come to you a long time ago.”
I gripped my walker.
“Why?”
“Because Susan told me she was afraid someone was tampering with her medication.”
Tears filled my eyes.
Rebecca continued.
“I didn’t understand what she was trying to tell me until after she died.”
Daniel glanced at me.
I nodded.
He opened the door cautiously, leaving the security chain attached.
Rebecca held up the brown envelope.
“I brought copies of the notes I made back then. I kept them because something about her case never felt right.”
I stared at her.
“Why are you bringing them now?”
Her eyes filled with tears.
“Because Emily Harper contacted me. And because someone called my house yesterday, demanding that I destroy anything I had kept about Susan.”
My blood ran cold.
“Who called you?”
Rebecca looked straight at me.
“Your niece.”
I felt my knees weaken.
“Patricia?”
Rebecca nodded.
Then she said six words I will never forget.
“She said your husband knew everything.”
I pressed a hand against my chest.
Rebecca opened the brown envelope.
Inside were several pages, an old photograph, and a handwritten note.
She held the note against the glass.
I recognized the handwriting immediately.
Walt’s.
At the top were four words.
“IF PEGGY EVER ASKS.”
And beneath them, my husband had written something that made my breath catch.
“Susan came to me the night before she died. She wasn’t running away from Kevin. She was running away from Patricia.”
END OF PART 5 — TO BE CONTINUED…

Click Here to continuous Read​​​​ Full Ending Story PART 6 — THE WOMAN WHO KNEW WHAT REALLY HAPPENED TO SUSAN