Chapter 6
Michael stopped speaking.
Rebecca Ellis did too.
The silence stretched so long I wondered if the call had dropped.
Finally Michael whispered, “Why would Daniel believe that?”
Rebecca exhaled.
“Because of what Robert told him.”
“What did my father tell him?”
“Two weeks before he died, Robert drove to Louisville.”
“To see Daniel?”
“Yes.”
“He told Daniel he believed Diane was tampering with his medication.”
My stomach tightened.
“What medication?” I asked.
Rebecca paused.
“Who is that?”
“My wife. Emily.”
“Robert had been prescribed blood pressure medication after the collapse at work.”
Michael looked at my mother.
“You said his heart was healthy.”
“It was,” Mom replied.
Rebecca continued.
“The cardiologist believed stress was causing his blood pressure to spike. He gave Robert a low-dose medication.”
“What made him think Diane was tampering with it?”
“He said the pills looked different twice.”
“Different how?”
“Different color. Different markings.”
I felt chilled.
Michael asked, “Did he test them?”
“No.”
“Then how could he know?”
“He didn’t.”
“So it was suspicion.”
“Yes.”
“Did he stop taking them?”
“For several days.”
“What happened?”
“He said he felt better.”
My mother sat down.
“Robert told me he felt dizzy sometimes.”
Rebecca’s voice sharpened.
“Who are you?”
“Linda Parker.”
Long pause.
Then Rebecca said, “Linda?”
My mother’s eyes widened.
“You know me?”
“Robert mentioned you.”
Michael looked at Mom.
Rebecca continued.
“He said he had given you something.”
“The letter.”
“And a key.”
Mom stared at the brass key on the table.
“Yes.”
Rebecca let out a long breath.
“Then he did it.”
“Did what?”
“Protected the files.”
Michael leaned toward the phone.
“You know what’s inside Unit 214?”
Rebecca’s voice changed.
“How do you know about the unit?”
“We found it.”
“Have you opened it?”
“Not yet.”
“Do not let Diane enter it.”
Michael stared at me.
“Why?”
“Because Robert told Daniel he stored copies of everything there.”
“Everything what?”
“Financial records. Medical records. Notes. Copies of letters.”
My pulse quickened.
“Anything about his death?”
Rebecca almost laughed sadly.
“He created it before he died.”
Michael rubbed his forehead.
“Of course.”
“But Robert suspected something might happen.”
“Why didn’t Daniel ever go there?”
“He tried.”
“When?”
“A month after the funeral.”
“What happened?”
“Diane was waiting.”
My mother whispered, “Of course she was.”
Rebecca continued.
“She told Daniel the unit belonged to her.”
“Did he have a key?”
“No.”
“Then Dad gave the only key to Linda?”
“It sounds like it.”
Michael looked at my mom.
“Why you?”
Mom shook her head.
“I don’t know.”
Rebecca answered.
“Because Linda was outside both families.”
That made sense.
Robert did not trust Diane.
He did not want to burden Daniel.
He didn’t know whether Michael would ever learn the truth.
So he gave the key to the sister of a former business partner.
A woman Diane had no legal authority over.
Rebecca said, “Robert thought David trusted Linda more than anyone.”
Mom’s eyes filled.
“My brother always said Robert was scared but not stupid.”
Michael looked toward the window.
“I need to meet Daniel.”
Rebecca sighed.
“I’ll ask him.”
“Please.”
“I can’t promise anything.”
“Tell him…”
Michael stopped.
“What?”
“Tell him I didn’t know.”
Rebecca’s voice softened.
“I already did.”
She hung up.
That afternoon, the court granted temporary access to Unit 214 for inventory purposes.
Diane was notified.
She had the right to have an attorney present.
She arrived in person.
Of course she did.
When we pulled into Union Storage, she was standing beside her lawyer wearing sunglasses and a perfectly pressed cream coat.
You would never know she had thrown water in someone’s face three days earlier.
Michael walked toward her.
She removed the sunglasses.
“You look terrible.”
He ignored it.
“You could have prevented this.”
“I tried.”
“No, you tried to stop it.”
Her attorney stepped in.
“Mr. Hale, this process is for inventory only. No property should be removed until ownership is determined.”
Michael’s attorney nodded.
“We understand.”
My mother held the old brass key.
Diane noticed.
Her face tightened.
“Give me that.”
Mom almost smiled.
“You’ve been asking me that for twenty-five years.”
The storage manager cut the current outer lock.
The door rolled upward.
Inside were old chairs.
Boxes.
Two filing cabinets.
A desk covered with a tarp.
Nothing dramatic.
Diane immediately said, “See? Junk.”
But Mom was staring toward the back.
“There.”
A tall metal safe stood behind the desk.
It had no combination dial.
Only a keyhole.
Michael looked at Diane.
“Can you open it?”
She said nothing.
Mom stepped forward.
Her hand shook as she inserted the brass key.
It turned.
Diane whispered, “Linda, don’t.”
Mom looked back.
“Why?”
For once, Diane had no clever answer.
The safe opened.
Inside were folders.
Dozens.
Every one labeled in Robert’s handwriting.
BANK.
CHARLES.
DANIEL.
MICHAEL.
DIANE.
MEDICAL.
My heart pounded.
Michael reached for the folder with his name.
His attorney stopped him.
“Let’s photograph everything first.”
A professional inventory began.
Document by document.
Folder by folder.
Diane stood against the wall with her arms crossed.
The longer it went, the more frightened she looked.
The BANK folder contained account statements.
Transfers.
Copies of checks.
Payments to Charles.
Large withdrawals from Robert’s business.
The CHARLES folder contained handwritten notes.
Dates.
Amounts.
Meeting locations.
The DANIEL folder contained photographs, letters, birthday cards Robert had never mailed, and proof of regular support payments.
Michael cried when he saw them.
Then the MEDICAL folder opened.
Inside were prescription bottles sealed in plastic bags.
Diane took one step forward.
Her attorney whispered, “Don’t.”
Michael looked at her.
“What are those?”
She said nothing.
One bottle had Robert’s name.
Another had no label.
There were also lab reports from his hospital visit.
The inventory attorney read one line aloud.
“Toxicology screening indicated traces of digitalis compounds.”
I didn’t understand.
Michael did not either.
My mother looked confused.
Diane’s face went completely still.
“What does that mean?” I asked.
Michael’s attorney searched quickly on his phone.
“It can be a medication used for certain heart conditions.”
“But Robert wasn’t prescribed that,” Mom said.
The attorney looked at the prescription list.
“No.”
Michael stared at Diane.
“Mom.”
She laughed weakly.
“You’re acting like I’m a pharmacist.”
Then the DIANE folder opened.
Inside was a notebook.
Robert’s handwriting filled the first page.
September 4.
Dizzy again after dinner.
September 8.
Skipped evening pill. No symptoms.
September 10.
Pill bottle moved from bathroom.
September 12.
Diane angry that I stopped taking prescription.
September 14.
Collapsed after coffee.
The storage room suddenly felt too small.
Michael whispered, “Coffee?”
Nobody responded.
The next page contained one sentence.
If I am right, I have been very stupid for a very long time.
Diane turned toward the door.
Her attorney blocked her.
“Stay.”
She hissed, “Move.”
“You leave now and it looks terrible.”
“I don’t care.”
Michael stared at her.
“Did you put something in Dad’s coffee?”
“No.”
“Did you change his medication?”
“No.”
“Then why did he think you did?”
“Because he was paranoid.”
“Was he?”
“Yes.”
My mom quietly lifted another document.
“Then why did he write this?”
It was a lab request.
Robert had arranged private testing of two pills.
The results were attached.
One pill matched his prescribed blood-pressure medication.
The other contained a cardiac glycoside inconsistent with his prescription.
Michael read it twice.
Then looked at Diane.
She shook her head.
“No.”
He didn’t say anything.
She became louder.
“No. I don’t know anything about that.”
Michael’s voice was barely audible.
“You knew he suspected you.”
“He accused everyone.”
“You knew.”
“He was leaving me!”
The words exploded from her.
Everyone froze.
Diane realized what she had said.
Michael stared at her.
“So you admit it.”
Her chest rose and fell.
“He was taking everything.”
“What?”
“The house. The business. My life.”
“You told me he never wanted a divorce.”
“He was confused.”
“You just said he was taking everything.”
Diane’s attorney touched her arm.
“Stop talking.”
But she was unraveling.
“I built that life too!”
Michael stared at her.
“What did you do?”
“I did nothing.”
“Then why are you scared of a twenty-five-year-old bottle?”
“Because you’ve decided I’m guilty!”
“No.”
Michael pointed at the open safe.
“Dad decided you were dangerous while he was alive.”
Diane looked toward Linda.
“This is your fault.”
My mother’s eyes hardened.
“No.”
“You should have destroyed that key.”
“No.”
“You promised to stay out of it.”
“I promised Robert I wouldn’t give Michael the letter unless you tried to destroy his family.”
Diane laughed wildly.
“And this family wasn’t already broken?”
I stepped forward.
“Not until you kept hitting the cracks.”
She looked at me.
“Oh, don’t act superior.”
“I’m not.”
“You married Michael because he had money.”
I almost laughed.
“We were both broke when we met.”
“You married him because you wanted this family.”
“No.”
I looked at my husband.
“I married him because I loved him.”
Michael’s eyes filled.
Then I looked at Diane.
“That’s the difference between us.”
She slapped me.
It happened so fast nobody stopped it.
My head snapped sideways.
The sound echoed through the storage room.
Michael went rigid.
“Mom.”
Diane stared at her own hand.
For one second, even she seemed shocked.
Michael stepped between us.
“Get away from my wife.”
Diane’s expression crumpled.
“Michael—”
“No.”
“You’re choosing her?”
He looked at his mother.
“I’m choosing the person you just hit.”
“You would throw away your mother for her?”
Michael’s eyes filled with tears.
“No.”
His voice broke.
“You threw me away years ago every time you decided your secrets mattered more than my life.”
Diane’s attorney guided her out.
She didn’t resist.
At the doorway, she turned.
“You think Robert was a good man?”
Michael looked at her.
“No.”
Her expression changed.
He continued.
“I think he was flawed.”
Then he looked at the folders.
“But at least he eventually tried to tell the truth.”
Diane stared at him.
Then left.
The inventory resumed.
At the very bottom of the safe was a small cassette recorder.
Beside it, a tape.
The label read:
May you like
September 18 — car.
The date Robert died.
