Chapter 9 - THE STORAGE UNIT
Nora’s storage facility was twelve minutes from the church if traffic cooperated.
Charleston traffic did not cooperate.
By the time Margaret’s driver pulled onto King Street, a summer downpour had begun hammering the windshield.
I sat in the back of the SUV with my wheelchair secured beside me, my hands clenched so tightly in my lap that the scar tissue across my knuckles hurt.
Daniel sat across from me.
Margaret was on the phone with the storage manager.
Thomas Reed followed in his truck.
Nora and my mother rode with him.
Emily had refused to come.
She had stood beneath the church awning in her ruined wedding makeup and told us she was done being dragged through my “investigation.”
Then she had climbed into the limousine meant to carry her and Daniel to their reception.
Alone.
I had watched the white car disappear through the rain and felt almost nothing.
That frightened me.
For most of my life, hurting Emily had felt worse than hurting myself.
Now I was beginning to understand how dangerous that instinct had been.
Margaret ended the call.
“The manager has locked the building entrance.”
“Is Dad still there?” I asked.
“Yes.”
“He is claiming Nora gave him permission to access the unit.”
Daniel looked out the window.
“Did she?”
“No.”
My phone buzzed.
A message from Dad.
COME HOME AND WE CAN FIX THIS BEFORE YOU DESTROY THE FAMILY.
I stared at it.
Then another arrived.
YOU HAVE NO IDEA WHAT REED IS DOING TO YOU.
A third.
HE TRIED TO RUIN US ONCE BEFORE.
Daniel watched my face.
“What is he saying?”
I showed him.
He read the messages.
“He still thinks the problem is that you found out.”
“Yes.”
“Not what he did.”
“No.”
The SUV turned into a fenced storage complex behind a row of warehouses.
Rainwater ran in sheets across the pavement.
A man in a blue polo waited inside the locked glass office door.
Thomas’s truck pulled in behind us.
Then I saw my father.
He stood under a metal awning beside one of the storage buildings.
His suit jacket was soaked at the shoulders.
In his right hand was a red metal pry bar.
My stomach dropped.
Daniel swore under his breath.
Margaret’s voice became ice.
“He came prepared.”
The office manager unlocked the door for us.
His name tag read BEN.
“I told him the unit owner denied access,” Ben said quickly.
“He said he was family.”
Nora came in behind us, drenched from the run through the rain.
“I don’t care if he is the Pope.”
“He is not authorized.”
Ben nodded.
“I understand.”
“Did he get inside?”
“No.”
“He tried an old access code at the gate, but it was inactive.”
“How did he know the unit number?”
Nora’s face changed.
“I never told him.”
We all looked toward my mother.
Linda shook her head.
“I didn’t either.”
Thomas stared through the rain at Mark.
“Then he has been here before.”
The possibility tightened something in my chest.
Ben called police because of the pry bar.
My father must have realized what was happening because he started walking toward the parking lot.
Thomas opened the office door.
“Mark.”
My father stopped.
Rain ran down his face.
“Stay away from me.”
“What were you trying to get?”
“Nothing.”
Thomas pointed toward the pry bar.
“You bring that to weddings?”
Dad threw it onto the pavement.
The metal clanged sharply.
“I was trying to help Nora.”
Nora stared at him.
“By breaking into my storage unit?”
“You said there were old bills.”
“You heard that less than half an hour ago.”
“And you got here before us.”
“I drove faster.”
Margaret stepped outside under the awning.
“How did you know which facility?”
Mark’s face tightened.
Nora had only said she kept boxes in storage.
She had never named the company.
Not in the church.
Not on the phone.
My father looked at her.
“You have used this place for years.”
Nora’s expression changed.
“No.”
She shook her head slowly.
“I moved my unit here three years ago.”
Dad said nothing.
My pulse quickened.
Nora stepped closer.
“The only person I told was Linda.”
My mother went pale.
“I wrote it in my Christmas card.”
She looked at Dad.
“You read my sister’s card?”
He laughed bitterly.
“This is ridiculous.”
Police sirens approached in the distance.
Dad glanced toward the gate.
Then he looked at me through the glass office wall.
Our eyes met.
For one second, all the anger disappeared from his face.
What replaced it was worse.
Calculation.
He turned and walked toward his car.
Ben stepped outside.
“Sir, please remain until police arrive.”
My father ignored him.
Thomas did not try to stop him.
Neither did Daniel.
Dad climbed into his sedan and drove away just before the patrol car reached the gate.
The officer took statements and photographed the pry bar.
Because Dad had not actually entered the unit, the officer explained that the immediate charge would depend on surveillance footage and intent.
I barely listened.
All I could think about was the question Thomas had asked.
What was he trying to get?
Nora led us to Building C.
Ben unlocked the exterior door.
The corridor smelled like concrete, dust, and cardboard.
Unit C-118 sat near the end.
Nora entered a code on the padlock.
The door rolled upward with a metallic rattle.
Inside were shelves, plastic tubs, catering equipment, Christmas decorations, and stacks of banker boxes labeled by year.
Nora pointed.
“20014.”
She frowned.
“Sorry.”
“2014.”
The year of the fire.
Thomas and Daniel pulled the boxes into the corridor.
My mother stood several feet away, arms wrapped around herself.
Margaret stayed beside me.
The first box contained catering receipts.
The second held tax documents.
The third was labeled PHONE - BUSINESS.
Nora opened it.
Inside were paper statements bundled with rubber bands.
She searched month by month until she found August.
The fire had happened on August 23.
She spread the bill on top of a plastic bin.
The home phone line for the Whitmore residence appeared under incoming calls at 3:42 p.m.
Duration: one minute, sixteen seconds.
Nora stared at the number.
“That is the call where dinner was canceled.”
My mother leaned over it.
“I swear I didn’t make it.”
Thomas looked at her.
“Were you home at 3:42?”
Linda thought.
“I was at the pharmacy.”
“How do you know?”
“Because Claire had a migraine that afternoon.”
“She asked me to get medicine.”
I remembered.
The headache was why I had not wanted to go to Nora’s.
Mom had left for a pharmacy around three thirty.
Dad had been home.
Emily had been in the backyard.
My throat tightened.
“You weren’t there to make the call.”
Linda shook her head.
Nora whispered, “Then Mark called me.”
Thomas looked at the bill.
“And canceled dinner.”
My mother gripped the edge of the plastic bin.
“He told me you were still coming.”
The two sisters stared at each other.
One phone call had placed them inside different realities.
Nora believed dinner was canceled.
Mom believed Nora was coming for us.
And Dad stood in the middle knowing both versions were false.
Daniel rubbed a hand over his mouth.
“That means he created a reason for Linda to think the girls would be out of the house.”
Thomas nodded.
“It looks that way.”
My mother began shaking.
I wanted to comfort her.
The old reflex rose again.
Then I remembered she had seen Dad removing smoke alarm batteries.
Compassion did not require pretending she had done nothing wrong.
Nora opened another box.
“This is strange.”
She pulled out a small gray answering machine.
My heart jumped.
“That was from your kitchen.”
“Yes.”
Nora turned it over.
“I kept it because it had one of Mom’s last messages before she died.”
Thomas crouched beside her.
“Does it use tape?”
Nora nodded.
“A microcassette.”
She opened the battery compartment.
The tape was still inside.
Margaret looked at Thomas.
“Can it be recovered?”
“Probably.”
Nora frowned.
“Why would it matter?”
Thomas pointed toward the phone bill.
“If Mark called this house at 3:42 and the machine recorded anything before Nora answered, we may hear his voice.”
Nora’s eyes widened.
She lifted the machine carefully.
Something slid out from underneath it.
A white envelope.
Her name was written on the front in my mother’s handwriting.
LINDA TO NORA - IF ANYTHING HAPPENS.
My mother stared at it as if she were seeing a ghost.
“I wrote that.”
“When?” Nora asked.
Linda’s face went white.
“The week after the fire.”
“Why do I have it unopened?”
Mom whispered, “Because I never mailed it.”
Nora turned the envelope over.
May you like
The seal was broken.
Someone had already read it.
