We left Marianne's house before dawn.
Nobody slept.
Russell drove while I sat beside him with Daniel's ledger on my lap. Marianne followed in her car several lengths behind us. Evelyn remained at home, waiting for our call.
Harold's address was an abandoned commercial building near the river.
The closer we came, the less I trusted the invitation.
“Slow down,” I told Russell.
He eased off the accelerator.
“What?”
“There.”
A dark sedan was parked beneath a broken streetlamp.
Marianne's car stopped behind us.
Nobody got out.
We watched.
The sedan remained still.
Then my phone rang.
It was Evelyn.
“Linda?”
“Yes.”
“Something happened.”
My stomach tightened.
“What?”
“I went to Mama's house.”
“Why?”
“I found the front door open.”
Russell looked at me.
“Was anything taken?”
“I don't know.”
“Check the kitchen.”
There was a pause.
“The flour tin is gone.”
My heart dropped.
“What?”
“The tin isn't there.”
Russell pulled the car to the side of the road.
“Check Mama's bedroom,” I said.
“Why?”
“Because she might have left something else.”
Evelyn moved through the house.
We could hear drawers opening.
Then she stopped.
“Someone searched the desk.”
“Anything missing?”
“Yes.”
“What?”
“Her old bank papers.”
I closed my eyes.
“They know.”
Russell looked at me.
“Who?”
“The person who has been watching us.”
My phone vibrated.
A message.
Unknown number.
I opened it.
Stop looking for what your mother buried.
A second message followed.
Go home.
A third appeared.
Or you will lose more than money.
Russell stared at my phone.
“We're leaving.”
“No.”
“Linda.”
“Harold said he has the report.”
“He may be the one threatening you.”
“He may not.”
Marianne walked to our car.
“What happened?”
I showed her the messages.
Her expression changed.
“Don't respond.”
“I wasn't going to.”
“Good.”
She looked toward the dark sedan.
“It isn't Harold.”
“How do you know?”
“Because Harold never texts.”
The sedan suddenly started.
It pulled away slowly.
Marianne watched it disappear.
“That's our warning.”
“Then we need the report.”
“Yes.”
We followed the address Harold had given us.
The building was empty.
A rusted sign hung above the entrance.
The front windows had been boarded.
A side door stood open.
Russell stopped.
“No.”
I looked at him.
“What?”
“He said come alone.”
“That doesn't mean we leave.”
“It means he expected one person.”
Marianne shook her head.
“It means he wanted privacy.”
We entered.
Dust covered the floor.
The air smelled of damp concrete and old paper.
“Harold?” I called.
Nothing.
We moved deeper inside.
A room at the back contained a desk.
On it was an envelope.
My name was written across it.
I picked it up.
Inside was a photocopy.
The original accident report.
I unfolded it.
The report stated that the truck's braking system had failed.
But beneath the official conclusion was a handwritten note from the investigating officer.
Possible mechanical interference.
I stared at it.
“This is it.”
Marianne leaned closer.
“It's a copy.”
“Where's the original?”
A voice came from behind us.
“You don't have it.”
We turned.
Harold Voss stood in the doorway.
He was older than I had imagined.
Thin.
Gray-haired.
One hand gripping a cane.
The other holding a file.
Russell stepped forward.
“You lied to us.”
“No.”
“You said you had the report.”
“I said I would tell you where it was.”
“You have it.”
“I had a copy.”
I stared at him.
“Where is the original?”
Harold looked at me.
“Your mother had it.”
I felt the floor shift beneath me.
“Mama?”
“She took it from my office twenty-two years ago.”
“Why?”
“To make sure Wayne couldn't destroy it.”
“Then where is it?”
Harold's face tightened.
“She gave it to someone.”
“Who?”
“I don't know.”
“You're lying.”
“No.”
He looked at Russell.
“Your mother trusted the wrong people.”
Russell stepped forward.
“Who?”
Harold said, “Your father.”
Russell froze.
“My father?”
“Wayne.”
“He wasn't my father.”
“He raised you.”
“That doesn't answer the question.”
Harold sighed.
“Wayne was not the only person who knew about the report.”
I looked at the copy.
“Who else?”
“Daniel.”
“Calvin.”
“Yes.”
“Your father.”
“Yes.”
“Marianne.”
Harold looked at her.
“Yes.”
She stiffened.
“You knew?”
“I knew she helped Mary.”
Marianne's jaw tightened.
“You knew my father was keeping evidence.”
“Yes.”
“And you said nothing.”
“I was afraid.”
The word sounded familiar.
Too familiar.
Harold looked at me.
“Fear built your family.”
I hated him for saying it.
But I couldn't deny it.
“What happened to the original?”
Harold looked at the floor.
“Your mother gave it to a lawyer.”
“Which lawyer?”
“Thomas Bell.”
Marianne inhaled sharply.
“Thomas died.”
“When?”
“Twenty years ago.”
“Where are his files?”
“His daughter has them.”
“Name?”
“Rachel Bell.”
I wrote it down.
Then Harold reached into his coat.
“There is something else.”
He handed me a photograph.
It showed Wayne standing beside the truck.
The night before the accident.
I stared.
“Where did you get this?”
“Daniel.”
“What does it prove?”
Harold pointed.
“Look at Wayne's hand.”
I zoomed in with my phone.
He was holding a small metal tool.
A wrench.
Beside the truck's front wheel.
My breath caught.
“He was working on the truck.”
“Yes.”
“Why wasn't this in the report?”
“Because I removed it.”
I looked at Harold.
“You destroyed evidence.”
“I was ordered to.”
“By Wayne?”
“Yes.”
“Why are you telling me now?”
“Because I'm dying.”
The words were matter-of-fact.
“I don't have time to protect anyone anymore.”
He handed me another envelope.
“Your mother wanted you to have this.”
I opened it.
A receipt.
Thomas Bell's law office.
The date was the day after Daniel's death.
The description read:
Original accident evidence received from Mary Harper.
I stared at it.
Mama had given the original report to Thomas Bell.
She had not destroyed it.
She had preserved it.
“Why didn't you tell me?”
Harold looked tired.
“Because I was afraid Wayne had people watching me.”
“Wayne is dead.”
“I know.”
“Then who are you afraid of now?”
Harold looked toward the door.
“His daughter.”
I felt my pulse stop.
“Wayne had a daughter?”
Harold shook his head.
“Not by blood.”
“Then who?”
He looked directly at me.
“Evelyn Voss.”
I turned toward Marianne.
She was already shaking her head.
“No.”
Harold continued.
“My daughter knew more than I did.”
Marianne stared at him.
“You told me you never met Wayne.”
“I lied.”
“Why?”
“Because I wanted to protect you.”
The same excuse.
The same prison.
Different generation.
Marianne's face hardened.
“You knew about the money.”
“Yes.”
“You knew about Linda.”
“Yes.”
“You knew my father helped Wayne.”
“Yes.”
“And you still let me believe you were innocent.”
Harold looked down.
“I was trying to keep you alive.”
Marianne stepped away from him.
“I don't need you to protect me anymore.”
For the first time, Harold looked defeated.
Then he turned toward me.
“Rachel Bell has the original.”
“Where?”
“Her house.”
“Address?”
He gave it.
Then he said, “Go there before she leaves.”
“Why?”
“Because someone already went.”
I felt cold.
“Who?”
Harold's eyes met mine.
“The person who broke into your mother's house.”
Click here to continue reading: PART 11: Rachel Bell Had Preserved the Original Evidence, but Her Story Revealed Why Mama Had Never Trusted the Law to Protect Her Daughter
The Flour Tin Mama Guarded for Decades Held More Than Money, and the First Sentence of Her Letter Changed Everything I Remembered
Part 10 of 10
