Chapter 6 - The SUV Across the Street
Travis moved before I did.
He crossed the kitchen, locked the back door, then checked the front.
“Get Zia away from the windows.”
I ran to the living room.
Elena looked up from the couch.
“What?”
“Take Zia upstairs.”
My sister heard something in my voice that made her move without asking questions.
Zia stood.
“Mom?”
“It’s okay.”
That was a lie.
I hated lying to her.
“Go with Aunt Elena.”
“Why?”
“Because Dad and I need to talk to somebody.”
She looked toward the window.
I stepped between her and it.
“Upstairs, sweetheart.”
Once they disappeared, I returned to the kitchen.
The SUV remained across the street.
Lorraine stood beside the counter, pale.
“Call the police.”
“I already am.”
Travis spoke to the dispatcher.
He gave our address.
Vehicle description.
Location.
Then the SUV pulled away.
“No.”
Travis ran to the front window.
“Dark Chevy Tahoe.”
He read the plate aloud.
I wrote it down.
Lorraine shook her head.
“That plate won’t be real.”
“How do you know?”
“Victor used temporary plates.”
Travis turned on her.
“Victor is dead.”
“Yes.”
“Then who is doing this?”
“I don’t know.”
“You keep saying that.”
“Because I don’t.”
I stepped between them.
“This is not helping.”
The police arrived eleven minutes later.
By then, the Tahoe was gone.
Officer Daniels took our statements.
He looked at the photograph of Zia.
Then at the text.
Then at Aaron’s USB drive sitting beside the laptop.
“This sounds like it may be connected to an old case.”
“It is.”
“Was the original death investigated as criminal?”
“No.”
“That complicates things.”
“My daughter is being photographed.”
“That part does not.”
He asked whether anyone had threatened Zia directly.
I showed him the message.
THE BLUEBIRD SHOULD HAVE STAYED HIDDEN.
His expression sharpened.
He called a detective.
An hour later, Detective Renee Alvarez arrived.
She was in her late forties with a black wool coat and tired eyes.
She listened without interrupting.
That alone made me trust her more than I expected.
When we finished, she looked at Lorraine.
“You waited six years to tell anyone your version of the night Aaron Bennett died?”
Lorraine swallowed.
“Yes.”
“Why now?”
“Because somebody photographed Zia.”
“You could have told police after Aaron died.”
“Yes.”
“You could have told Maya before she married your son.”
“Yes.”
“You could have told your son.”
“Yes.”
“But losing access to a house finally created the circumstances in which you found your conscience.”
Lorraine flinched.
Travis almost smiled.
Alvarez did not.
“I am not judging you.”
Her tone suggested she absolutely was.
“I am establishing motivation.”
She turned to me.
“Mrs. Mercer, do you still have Aaron’s original devices?”
“Some.”
“Phone?”
“No.”
“Laptop?”
“In storage.”
“Documents?”
“Yes.”
“I want all of it.”
“Okay.”
“To be clear, do not search further tonight.”
“Why?”
“If someone knows you found the drive, they may know what is on it.”
“They were already watching Zia.”
“Yes.”
“That means this was active before Christmas.”
Alvarez nodded.
“That concerns me.”
Travis asked, “Can you trace the SUV?”
“We’ll run the plate.”
“You think it’s fake?”
“Probably.”
“Can you put someone outside the house?”
“I can request patrol attention.”
“That isn’t the same thing.”
“No.”
She looked at him.
“But unless there is an immediate actionable threat, I cannot station an officer here permanently.”
I hated how reasonable that sounded.
“What can we do?”
“Do not follow strange vehicles.”
Travis looked away.
“Do not confront your mother alone.”
Lorraine frowned.
“I’m standing here.”
“Exactly.”
Alvarez continued.
“Do not post about this.”
We hadn’t.
“Change your routines temporarily.”
I thought of Zia’s school.
“We keep her home?”
“Tomorrow is school break.”
“After that?”
“We’ll reassess.”
The front door opened.
Elena came downstairs.
Zia was asleep against her shoulder.
My daughter looked so small.
Her gold Christmas dress had been replaced with pajamas.
One sock had slipped halfway off.
Nothing about her should have belonged in a police report.
Alvarez saw her.
Her expression softened.
“That’s Zia?”
“Yes.”
“Do not tell her more than necessary.”
“I know.”
Lorraine watched Zia too.
For once, there was no distance in her face.
Only grief.
Elena carried her upstairs.
Alvarez asked Lorraine for the envelope containing the photograph.
Then she asked a question that changed the mood again.
“Who knew Aaron called Walter that night?”
Lorraine answered.
“Walter.”
“You.”
“Yes.”
“Victor?”
“Probably.”
“Celia?”
“I don’t know.”
“Naomi?”
“Possibly.”
“Harold Finch?”
“Walter told him later.”
“And who knew about the bluebird nickname?”
I looked at her.
“Aaron.”
“You.”
“Yes.”
“Family?”
“My parents.”
“Friends?”
“Maybe.”
“Travis?”
“I told him today.”
Alvarez nodded.
“Lorraine?”
“No.”
Lorraine looked offended.
“I had never heard it before.”
Detective Alvarez held up the photograph.
“Then whoever wrote this either had access to Aaron’s hidden evidence or knew him personally.”
That left a very small circle.
Aaron.
Me.
Possibly Naomi.
Possibly someone who had searched his belongings.
Possibly whoever had killed him.
“Could Naomi still be alive?” I asked.
Lorraine’s face changed.
“I don’t know.”
“You said Victor claimed she left.”
“Yes.”
“Did anyone ever find a body?”
“No.”
“Did anyone file a missing-person report?”
Lorraine looked down.
“No.”
Alvarez’s eyebrows lifted.
“Your daughter disappeared after being threatened, and you did not report it?”
“I thought she took money.”
“Because Victor told you.”
“Yes.”
Detective Alvarez wrote something.
“What?”
Lorraine’s voice cracked.
“What are you writing?”
“That I need to verify whether Naomi Brooks actually disappeared.”
“Why?”
“Because if she is alive, she may know what happened to Aaron.”
I watched Lorraine absorb that possibility.
Hope could be cruel too.
After Alvarez left, Travis told Lorraine she could not return to Hawthorne House alone.
Her chin lifted.
“I am not afraid of my own home.”
“Someone photographed Zia.”
“That doesn’t mean they’ll come there.”
“It means we know nothing.”
“I’m not staying here.”
“You are definitely not staying here.”
The sharpness in his voice surprised her.
“Then where am I supposed to go?”
“Carol’s.”
“She will ask questions.”
“Good.”
Lorraine glared.
“I am still your mother.”
“And Zia is still my daughter.”
Silence.
He did not have to explain the hierarchy.
For once, Lorraine understood it.
Carol came to pick her up.
Before leaving, Lorraine stood at the bottom of the stairs.
“Is she asleep?”
“Yes.”
“Can I see her?”
“No.”
The answer came from me.
Lorraine looked at me.
I didn’t soften it.
“She gets to decide later.”
Her face tightened.
Then she nodded.
It was perhaps the first time she had respected a boundary without trying to negotiate it.
After she left, Travis and I checked every lock.
We pulled the curtains.
Elena stayed in the guest room.
At midnight, I finally went to bed.
Travis sat beside me.
“You believe Mom?”
“About what?”
“The crash.”
“I believe she told us some truth.”
“Some?”
“She spent years lying.”
“So you think she’s still lying.”
“I think people rarely confess everything at once.”
He looked tired.
“What would she still be hiding?”
“I don’t know.”
“That answer is becoming contagious.”
I leaned against him.
“Your father told Aaron to trust him.”
“Yes.”
“Your father tried to pay Victor for Naomi.”
“Yes.”
“That sounds like someone trying to fix things.”
“He also lied about his car.”
“Yes.”
“Maybe because Mom was in it.”
“Maybe.”
He was quiet.
Then he said, “Do you wish you never met me?”
The question broke my heart.
“No.”
“Even if my family is connected to Aaron’s death?”
“You are not your family’s worst secret.”
He looked at me.
“Neither is Zia.”
I touched his face.
“That is exactly why we’re here.”
At 2:11 a.m., glass shattered downstairs.
Travis was out of bed before I fully woke.
“Stay here.”
Absolutely not.
I grabbed my phone and followed.
A kitchen window had been broken.
Cold air poured through the opening.
No one was inside.
A brick lay on the floor.
Paper was wrapped around it.
Travis stopped me from touching it.
We photographed it first.
Then he used gloves to remove the note.
Three words.
STOP DIGGING, MAYA.
My name.
Not Travis.
Not Lorraine.
Me.
Police returned.
Detective Alvarez arrived again.
This time she looked angry.
“Who knows you found the USB?”
“Andrew.”
“Lorraine.”
“Us.”
“Elena knows something happened but not details.”
“Anyone else?”
“No.”
Alvarez looked at the broken glass.
“The threat escalated quickly.”
“What does that mean?”
“It means somebody is nervous.”
That should have comforted me.
It didn’t.
At 3:30, while officers dusted the brick, Alvarez’s phone rang.
She stepped into the hall.
When she returned, her expression had changed.
“We found the Tahoe.”
“Where?”
“Abandoned behind a grocery store.”
“Plate?”
“Stolen.”
“Fingerprints?”
“They’re processing it.”
“Anything inside?”
She looked at me.
“A photograph.”
“Of Zia?”
“No.”
“Me?”
“No.”
“Then who?”
Alvarez turned toward Travis.
“Your father.”
She showed us the image on her phone.
Walter stood beside Aaron in a parking garage.
The photograph had clearly been taken secretly.
On the back, written in black marker, was a date.
The day before Aaron died.
And beneath it were two words.
WALTER KNOWS.
Travis stared at the screen.
“Knows what?”
Alvarez slid her phone into her pocket.
“We may have an answer.”
“How?”
“The vehicle also contained a storage-unit receipt.”
My pulse quickened.
“Whose?”
“Naomi Brooks.”
Lorraine’s missing daughter had apparently rented a storage unit six years earlier.
The unit still existed.
And according to the payment history Alvarez had just received, someone had been paying cash every January to keep it open.
Including this January.
Three weeks ago.
Naomi Brooks might not have disappeared.
May you like
She might have been hiding.
And someone had just handed us the first place to look.
