Chapter 5: The Woman Who Died
I pressed the phone so tightly against my ear that my fingers hurt.
“Say that name again.””
The woman from the bank hesitated.
“Margaret Bennett.””
Laura was watching my face.
I turned away from her and gripped the staircase railing.
“My mother was Margaret Bennett.””
“Then I need to ask you a security question before we continue.””
“My mother is dead.””
Silence.
“Mrs. Carter—”
“She died when I was nine.””
“I understand.””
“No, you don’t.””
My voice rose.
“I went to her funeral.””
Laura stepped closer.
“Emily.””
I held up one hand.
On the phone, Rebecca Shaw spoke carefully.
“I’m not qualified to explain the personal circumstances. I can only tell you what our records show.””
“What do they show?””
“That an account associated with Bennett Property Holdings lists Margaret Bennett as the primary authorized party.””
My heart hammered.
“Current?””
“Yes.””
“How current?””
“There was activity this month.””
I sat down on the top stair.
Laura crouched beside me.
“What kind of activity?””
“I can’t disclose transaction details over the phone.””
“You called me.””
“Because law enforcement contacted our fraud department regarding documents recovered from your residence.””
I closed my eyes.
Downstairs, the front door still stood partly open from the officers leaving.
Ryan was gone.
But somehow the house felt more dangerous without him.
“Was the account active twelve years ago?””
Another pause.
“Yes.””
“When my father died?””
“Yes.””
“Was there a transfer three days after his death?””
Rebecca stopped.
“I really need you to come into the bank.””
“That means yes.””
“I didn’t say that.””
“You didn’t have to.””
Laura whispered, “Ask if Margaret has appeared in person.””
I looked at her.
She repeated, “Ask.””
“Rebecca, has Margaret Bennett personally visited the bank?””
“I can’t answer that.””
“Is there identification on file?””
“Yes.””
“Recent identification?””
Rebecca exhaled softly.
“Mrs. Carter, please come to our downtown branch tomorrow morning. Bring government-issued identification. I’ll also have our legal department present.””
“Why legal?””
“Because there are irregularities.””
“What kind?””
“I can’t discuss them over the phone.””
“Is Margaret Bennett alive?””
Silence.
That silence frightened me more than any answer.
Finally Rebecca said, “There are documents in our system that indicate she is.””
My hand went numb.
The call ended a few minutes later.
I don’t remember saying goodbye.
For several seconds, I remained on the staircase with the phone against my ear.
Laura sat beside me.
“Emily.””
“I watched them bury her.””
Laura said nothing.
“I remember the rain.””
My voice sounded distant.
“I remember my father holding my hand. I remember asking why the coffin was closed.””
Laura’s expression changed.
“Closed?””
“Yes.””
“Did you see her body?””
I looked at her.
“No.””
The answer came slowly.
“She died in a car accident.””
“Who identified her?””
“My father.””
“Are you sure?””
I opened my mouth.
Then stopped.
I had been nine.
Adults had told me things.
I had believed them.
My father said Mom was gone.
My aunt Susan packed her clothes.
Neighbors brought casseroles.
There were flowers everywhere.
A closed coffin.
A cemetery.
A gravestone.
To a child, that was death.
Laura sat back against the wall.
“We need to stop assuming anything.””
I laughed bitterly.
“You sound like a detective.””
“No. I sound like someone who just discovered her husband had another wife.””
That silenced me.
Then she added, “And apparently another life.””
I looked toward the bedroom.
“The papers.””
We returned to Ryan’s office.
Officer Daniels had taken several documents, but plenty remained.
Laura pulled on a pair of disposable cleaning gloves she found beneath the bathroom sink.
I stared at her.
“What?””
“If the police come back for more, I’d rather not put fingerprints everywhere.””
Despite everything, I almost smiled.
We started with the oldest folders.
Most contained things I didn’t understand.
Property deeds.
Corporate filings.
Insurance records.
Photocopies of identification.
Then I found an envelope taped beneath the bottom drawer.
“Laura.””
She leaned over.
I peeled it free.
Inside was an old photograph.
My father stood outside an office building.
He was younger than I remembered him.
Beside him stood my mother.
Alive.
Smiling.
And beside her stood a third person.
A much younger Ryan.
Laura grabbed my arm.
“No.””
I stared at the photograph.
Ryan looked maybe twenty-two.
Twenty-three at most.
He had told me he met my father only twice.
But nobody posed like strangers in that photograph.
My mother’s hand rested casually on Ryan’s shoulder.
On the back, someone had written a date.
Fifteen years ago.
Three years before my father died.
Four years before Ryan claimed we met for the first time.
Laura sank into the desk chair.
“He knew your mother too.””
I turned the photograph over again.
Something else was written beneath the date.
A single word.
Chicago.
Laura looked at me.
“Ryan told me he grew up near Chicago.””
My stomach dropped.
The trips.
His supposed consulting project.
The weekends away.
I grabbed my phone and called Aunt Susan.
She answered on the fourth ring.
“Emily?””
“Aunt Susan, I need to ask you something.””
“You sound upset.””
“Did my mother know Ryan?””
Nothing.
Not confusion.
Not surprise.
Silence.
My blood ran cold.
“Aunt Susan?””
“Where did you get that idea?””
“Answer me.””
“Emily, this isn’t something to discuss over the phone.””
My hand started shaking again.
“You knew.””
“Please.””
“You knew my mother was connected to Ryan.””
“No.””
“That isn’t what I asked.””
Laura watched me from across the desk.
I put the call on speaker.
“Aunt Susan, is my mother alive?””
A sharp breath came through the phone.
Then nothing.
“Aunt Susan?””
“You need to come see me.””
“Answer the question.””
“I can explain.””
My eyes filled with tears.
“For twenty-seven years?””
“Emily—”
“For twenty-seven years, you let me believe she was dead?””
“Your father made me promise.””
My knees weakened.
Laura caught my elbow.
I whispered, “So she is alive.””
Susan began crying.
That was answer enough.
“Where is she?””
“I don’t know.””
“Don’t lie to me.””
“I swear I don’t.””
“When did you last see her?””
Another pause.
“After your father’s funeral.””
My chest tightened.
“You saw her twelve years ago?””
“Yes.””
“Where?””
“At the cemetery.””
I stopped breathing.
Susan continued.
“She stood across the road. She never came through the gates.””
“Why?””
“She said it wasn’t safe.””
“Safe from whom?””
Susan started to answer.
Then a loud crash came through the phone.
“Aunt Susan?””
No response.
“Susan?””
I heard movement.
A door.
Then her frightened voice, much farther away.
May you like
“Emily, someone’s here.””
The call disconnected.
