Pam recovered quickly.
“I don’t know what you think you saw on my face.”
I had not accused her aloud.
That was the mistake.
Dale closed his eyes for half a second.
Alan noticed too.
Marilyn looked from Pam to me.
The basement seemed smaller with each new truth.
“You know about the red ledger,” I said.
Pam shook her head.
“No.”
“You just answered a question I didn’t ask.”
“I’m answering the accusation written all over your face.”
Dale stepped between us.
“This is ridiculous.”
I laughed softly.
“Which part?”
“The interrogation.”
“Nobody is making you stay.”
“You’re standing in property I’m responsible for.”
Marilyn cleared her throat.
“Actually, Mr. Harper, the estate-sale contract gives us control of the work areas while we’re staging.”
Dale turned toward her.
“What?”
She tapped her clipboard.
“You asked us to begin today.”
His expression became dangerous in a quiet way.
Marilyn did not flinch.
“I’m not saying you can’t be here. I’m saying nobody needs to pretend this basement is a private office.”
For the first time that afternoon, I almost smiled.
Dale saw it.
“Fine.”
He climbed the stairs.
Pam followed immediately.
I caught her wrist lightly before she passed.
“Christmas.”
She pulled free.
“What?”
“Alan said he saw the red ledger last Christmas.”
“So?”
“So you hosted Christmas dinner.”
She blinked.
That fact had not seemed important until I said it aloud.
Grandpa’s health had already begun declining. Pam had insisted everyone gather at her house because it was easier than making Grandpa manage guests.
We had gone.
I worked the morning shift and arrived late.
Grandpa had already been tired.
He left before dessert.
“Did Grandpa bring the ledger with him?” I asked.
“I don’t remember.”
“You just said you didn’t know there was one.”
Her mouth tightened.
“I don’t.”
“Then how would you know whether he brought it?”
“I said I don’t remember seeing any ledger.”
“That isn’t what I asked.”
Dale shouted from upstairs.
“Pam.”
She stepped around me.
“I’m done with this.”
“No, you’re avoiding it.”
She turned.
For one moment, the polished defensiveness fell away.
“You have no idea what Dale has done for this family.”
There was emotion in her voice.
Real emotion.
That startled me more than anger would have.
“What does that have to do with Grandpa’s records?”
“Everything.”
“Then explain it.”
She looked toward the ceiling.
“No.”
“Because you can’t?”
“Because it won’t change anything.”
I stepped closer.
“It already has.”
Pam stared at me.
Then she went upstairs without another word.
Alan sank into Grandpa’s fishing chair.
The five-dollar sticker remained on one arm.
He peeled it off slowly.
“Nance.”
I looked at him.
“I know you hate me.”
“I don’t know what I feel.”
“That’s fair.”
“No, it isn’t.”
He frowned.
“Nothing about this is fair.”
He stared at the sticker between his fingers.
“I thought I’d paid it back.”
“To Dale.”
“Yes.”
“And then?”
“I stopped asking.”
“Why?”
“Because I wanted the shame gone.”
That answer sounded true.
I hated it anyway.
I sat on the edge of Grandpa’s workbench.
“Tell me about the red ledger.”
Alan rubbed his forehead.
“I saw Grandpa writing in it at Pam’s house.”
“Where?”
“In the den.”
“What was he writing?”
“I didn’t see.”
“You said you saw the ledger.”
“I did. Red cover. Same size as the blue one.”
He looked toward the stairs.
“Dale came in and asked Grandpa what he was doing. Grandpa shut it.”
“And?”
“They argued.”
My pulse quickened.
“About what?”
“I couldn’t hear everything. People were in the kitchen.”
“Try.”
He closed his eyes.
“Grandpa said something like, ‘She gets it after I’m gone.’ Dale said, ‘You’re going to tear everyone apart.’”
I felt a chill.
“Who was she?”
“Grandpa didn’t say.”
“But you thought me.”
Alan nodded.
“Why?”
“Because after Dale left, Grandpa asked whether you were coming.”
I looked at the basement floor.
That Christmas.
I had arrived an hour later.
Grandpa hugged me.
He had seemed unusually relieved.
I remembered now.
He kept asking whether we could talk after dinner.
Then Pam said he looked tired.
Dale drove him home.
I had offered.
Dale said Grandpa didn’t need the trouble of climbing into my old car because his SUV sat higher.
A stupid detail.
A stupid, ordinary explanation.
I had let them leave.
“What happened to the ledger?” I asked.
“I don’t know.”
“Did you ever see it again?”
“No.”
A movement at the top of the stairs caught my attention.
One of Marilyn’s workers.
He looked embarrassed.
“Sorry. I need the table saw tagged.”
I looked at Grandpa’s workbench.
“Can you give us five minutes?”
“Sure.”
He retreated.
Marilyn stayed.
I turned to her.
“Do you remember a red book being removed this morning?”
She thought.
“There was a red binder.”
My heart jumped.
“How big?”
“Three-ring. Too large to be what you’re describing.”
“Anything else?”
She shook her head.
“Dale carried out a banker’s box before my crew came in. I saw folders and loose paper. I didn’t see every item.”
“Where did he take it?”
“To his vehicle.”
I looked at Alan.
“Do you know what he drives?”
“A gray Tahoe.”
I remembered it parked behind the house after the funeral.
Not today.
Today Dale had come with Pam.
Two cars?
No.
I pictured the driveway when I arrived that morning.
Pam’s white crossover.
Dale’s Tahoe had been there.
When I returned after the bank, only the estate-sale van and Pam’s crossover were in the driveway.
“Dale left sometime after I did.”
Alan stood.
“Probably took the papers home.”
“Or somewhere else.”
I removed my phone.
Dale had texted repeatedly while I was at the bank.
I scrolled.
One message stood out now.
Need to pick up Dad’s records before sale company arrives.
Dad.
Dale’s father was Grandpa’s son.
My uncle Robert.
Dead twelve years.
Why would Grandpa have Robert’s records separated from estate papers?
I showed Alan.
He frowned.
“Uncle Robert’s records?”
“That’s what he wrote.”
“Robert had a safe-deposit box.”
I looked up.
“How do you know?”
“Grandpa and Robert shared one years ago.”
“Where?”
“Same bank Grandpa used.”
My mind went back to Mrs. Whitaker’s office.
The man who had come asking about two-name bonds.
Henry Harper’s name had come up.
Perhaps Dale had not gone there only for the bonds.
“Did Robert have anything to do with my money?”
“I don’t know.”
“That answer is getting expensive.”
“I know.”
Alan stood.
“There’s something else.”
My patience snapped.
“Stop saying that.”
He flinched.
I softened my voice, barely.
“If you know things, tell me all of them.”
He nodded.
“When Robert died, Dale handled his paperwork too.”
“Okay.”
“Grandpa accused him of throwing away records.”
“What records?”
“I don’t know.”
“Alan.”
“I really don’t. Grandpa said Robert kept notes on family money. Dale said they were outdated.”
I looked at the blue ledger.
Family money.
Safety account.
Bonds.
A down-payment check.
Records.
This had stopped being about one envelope.
“Did Grandpa trust Dale?”
Alan hesitated too long.
“Sometimes.”
“That isn’t trust.”
“Grandpa trusted him to get things done.”
“And not to make decisions.”
Alan looked at me.
“That sounds right.”
Marilyn cleared her throat again.
“I need to tell you something.”
We both turned.
She tucked a strand of gray hair behind her ear.
“I don’t know whether it matters.”
“At this point, assume it does.”
“When I came for the initial walk-through three weeks ago, your grandfather’s desk upstairs was still full.”
I stared at her.
“Three weeks ago?”
“Yes.”
“Grandpa had been dead three weeks.”
“That’s why I was here.”
“What was in the desk?”
“Paperwork. Pens. Check registers. A couple of notebooks.”
My pulse quickened.
“What color?”
She thought.
“One might have been burgundy.”
Alan and I looked at each other.
“Red?”
“Maybe.”
“What happened to it?”
Marilyn shook her head.
“When we came back today, the desk had been emptied.”
“Who had access?”
“Family, I assume.”
Dale’s voice came from the kitchen.
“Marilyn!”
She sighed.
“I’m coming.”
Before she left, I touched her arm.
“Would your initial inventory mention the notebooks?”
“Possibly.”
“Do you still have it?”
She lifted the clipboard.
“Digital copy.”
Dale called again.
Marilyn went upstairs.
I looked at Alan.
“We need that inventory.”
He nodded.
“And the bank records.”
“Yes.”
“And Grandpa’s attorney.”
Alan’s expression changed.
“What?”
“You haven’t talked to him?”
“No.”
“Dale said he was handling it.”
“Who is it?”
“Samuel Creighton.”
I knew the name.
Grandpa used to complain that Mr. Creighton charged money every time he moved a comma.
“Do you have his number?”
Alan pulled out his phone.
“I probably do.”
I opened Grandpa’s ledger again while he searched.
Near the back, several pages had been cut out.
Not torn.
Cut.
A blade had left neat edges close to the binding.
“Alan.”
He came beside me.
“Were these missing before?”
“I don’t know.”
I counted.
Four pages.
Maybe six.
Someone had removed them carefully.
I angled the next page toward the light.
Writing pressure had left faint indentations from whatever had once been written on the missing sheet.
“Can you read that?”
Alan squinted.
“No.”
I photographed it.
Maybe Mrs. Whitaker could help.
Maybe the attorney could.
Maybe anyone other than my family could look at Grandpa’s records without deciding what I was allowed to know.
Alan found the number.
He called.
It went to voicemail.
“Leave one.”
He did.
“This is Alan Harper. I’m with Nancy Ellis at Grandpa Henry’s house. We found records that may concern the estate and Nancy directly. We need to speak with you before anything else is removed.”
He ended the call.
My phone buzzed.
Pam.
This time, a text.
You need to stop. You’re humiliating Alan over money he repaid years ago.
I stared at it.
Then typed back.
Where is the red ledger?
Three dots appeared.
Disappeared.
Appeared again.
Finally:
There is no red ledger.
I showed Alan.
“She’s lying.”
“Probably.”
“No.”
I enlarged the message.
“She said there is no red ledger.”
“So?”
“Twenty minutes ago she said she didn’t know about one.”
Understanding spread across his face.
She had shifted from ignorance to certainty.
I typed another message.
Did Grandpa bring it to your house last Christmas?
This time no dots appeared.
No answer.
A car engine started outside.
I ran upstairs.
Through the kitchen window, I saw Pam backing out of the driveway.
Dale was in the passenger seat.
His head was down.
Looking at something on his lap.
Red.
Only a glimpse.
A dark red rectangle.
I grabbed my keys.
Alan caught my arm.
“Where are you going?”
“To see where they take it.”
“Nancy, don’t chase them.”
“I’m not chasing anybody.”
My phone rang.
Unknown number.
I answered while watching Pam’s car disappear at the end of the street.
“Hello?”
A man’s voice.
“Nancy Ellis? This is Samuel Creighton. I just got your brother’s message.”
I stopped moving.
“Yes.”
There was a pause.
Then he said, “I’m glad one of you finally called me.”
The sentence chilled me.
“What do you mean?”
“Because I’ve been trying to reach you for nearly a month.”
I looked at Alan.
“Why?”
Another pause.
“Your grandfather left specific instructions that certain estate documents were not to be handled by Dale Harper.”
Click here to continue reading: PART 7: Grandpa’s Attorney Had Been Trying to Reach Me for a Month, but Every Number He Was Given Somehow Led Back to Dale
Three Hundred Dollars for Grandpa’s Basement Sounded Like Charity Until Dale Made Sure I Understood Exactly What I Was Allowed to Touch
Part 6 of 44
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