Chapter 10 - The Woman in the Photograph
The photographs from Samuel Price’s safe-deposit box answered part of the question.
Not enough.
Never enough.
The first envelope was marked MAY 1989.
Three years before I was born.
Inside were photographs of Richard with a woman I did not recognize.
Dark hair.
Tall.
Thin.
She was standing beside him outside a courthouse.
In another photograph, they were sitting together at a diner.
In a third, Grandma Margaret stood beside the woman.
They looked close.
The back of the photograph contained one name.
Anna Mercer.
My stomach tightened.
“Who is she?”
Susan knew.
I saw it immediately.
Her face changed before she spoke.
“Susan.”
She looked at Michael.
Then at me.
“I haven’t heard that name in years.”
“Who is she?”
“Your father’s first wife.”
The room went still.
“My father was married before Mom?”
“Yes.”
“No.”
I almost laughed.
“That would have come up.”
“It was brief.”
“How brief?”
“Four years.”
“That isn’t brief.”
Susan looked down.
“They separated before you were born.”
My pulse quickened.
“Why has nobody ever told me?”
“Elaine didn’t want Anna discussed.”
“Why would Elaine get to decide?”
Susan said nothing.
Michael whispered, “Mom.”
Susan closed her eyes.
“Because Anna was your mother.”
Every sound in the room disappeared.
I heard nothing.
Not the air conditioner.
Not traffic.
Not my own breathing.
“My mother is Elaine.”
Susan began crying.
“Elaine raised you.”
“That wasn’t the question.”
“No.”
Her answer was nearly inaudible.
My hands went numb.
“No.”
I stood.
“Claire.”
Rebecca reached toward me.
I moved away.
“No.”
There are truths so large the body rejects them before the mind.
I walked to the window.
My reflection looked back at me.
Brown eyes.
Dark hair.
I thought of Elaine’s blue eyes.
Natalie’s blonde hair.
Richard’s gray-green eyes.
All the silly family comments.
Claire looks like no one.
Claire must take after some distant relative.
Grandma Margaret used to say I had “Anna’s stubborn chin.”
I thought Anna was a cousin.
An aunt.
Someone from Grandma’s side.
“What happened to her?”
Susan wiped her face.
“She died.”
“When?”
“When you were three.”
My knees weakened.
“How?”
“Car accident.”
“Where?”
“Outside Carrow.”
The same town again.
I turned slowly.
“Lake Carrow?”
“Yes.”
Of course.
Every road in this story seemed to lead there.
“Did I live with her?”
“For your first year.”
“Then?”
“She became sick.”
“What kind of sick?”
Susan hesitated.
“People said depression.”
“People?”
“Richard.”
I stared at her.
“What did Grandma say?”
“That Anna was being drugged.”
Nobody moved.
The word hung there.
Drugged.
Grandma’s recording.
And because she has done it before.
Ask her about Claire’s mother.
My hands shook.
“Elaine?”
Susan looked terrified.
“I don’t know.”
“Stop saying that.”
“I don’t.”
“You knew Anna was my mother for thirty-seven years.”
“Yes.”
“You watched Elaine let me call her Mom.”
“Yes.”
“You watched Richard erase an entire woman from my life.”
“Yes.”
“And now you want me to believe you don’t know anything else?”
Susan broke.
“I was twenty-two.”
“I was scared of them.”
“I thought adults knew what they were doing.”
“Then years passed.”
“Then telling you became harder.”
“That is how secrets work in this family.”
She covered her face.
“They become normal because everyone is ashamed they waited too long.”
That sentence hurt because it was true.
I sat.
“Start at the beginning.”
Susan nodded.
Richard met Anna Mercer in college.
They married young.
Grandma Margaret adored her.
Anna was an elementary school teacher.
She wanted children.
Richard wanted money.
According to Susan, the marriage became volatile.
Richard controlled finances.
Anna threatened to leave.
Then she got pregnant with me.
For several months, things improved.
After I was born, they deteriorated.
Anna filed for separation when I was ten months old.
She took me to stay with her parents.
Richard fought for custody.
Elaine entered the story during the custody dispute.
She worked at Dr. Ames’s medical office.
My parents had told me Elaine met Richard at a charity dinner.
Another lie.
“How did she go from working at a doctor’s office to marrying Dad?”
Susan looked away.
“Richard started seeing her before the divorce was final.”
Of course.
“What happened to Anna?”
“She began having episodes.”
“What kind?”
“Dizziness.”
“Confusion.”
“Sleepiness.”
My skin crawled.
“Medication?”
“She had anxiety medication.”
“Prescribed by Dr. Ames?”
“Yes.”
“Elaine had access?”
“She worked there.”
Rebecca and Hale exchanged a look.
I hated those looks now.
They always meant another floor had fallen out beneath me.
“Was there a custody hearing?”
“Yes.”
“Did Dad win?”
“Temporary custody.”
“Why?”
“Anna missed a hearing.”
“Why?”
“She was hospitalized.”
“For?”
“An overdose.”
I stopped breathing.
“Intentional?”
“That’s what they said.”
“Who said?”
“Richard.”
“Elaine.”
“Dr. Ames.”
The same three people.
Richard.
Elaine.
The doctor who later regretted signing Grandma’s death certificate.
“What did Grandma believe?”
“That Anna did not take the pills intentionally.”
“Why?”
“She said Anna was terrified of medication by then.”
My eyes burned.
“Then what?”
“Richard got primary custody.”
“Elaine moved in.”
“They married when you were two.”
“And Anna?”
“She had supervised visitation.”
I could barely breathe.
“Did I see her?”
“Yes.”
“How often?”
“At first, every week.”
I had no memory.
None.
“Then?”
“Less.”
“Why?”
“Richard said she was unstable.”
“When did she die?”
“July seventeenth.”
“Where?”
“Route 19.”
“Near the lake house?”
“The property wasn’t ours then.”
Mine.
It would become mine later.
“What happened?”
“Her car went off the road.”
“Accident?”
“That was the finding.”
“Was she alone?”
“Yes.”
“Was she intoxicated?”
“Sedatives were found in her system.”
Of course they were.
I covered my face.
For a moment, I could not think.
My entire identity had been assembled by people now accused of forging documents and concealing evidence.
Even my mother had been assigned to me.
Megan came downstairs.
I immediately wiped my face.
She stopped.
“Are you okay?”
I almost said yes.
Habit.
Then I remembered what I had told her.
People become what they repeatedly choose.
“I got some upsetting news.”
“About Grandpa?”
“About a lot of things.”
She looked at the adults.
“Are we still safe?”
“Yes.”
That answer I could give honestly.
She nodded.
“Okay.”
She went back upstairs.
After she left, I whispered, “I’m not doing this to them.”
Rebecca understood.
“Doing what?”
“Secrets.”
“Lies.”
“Making them build their childhood around things that aren’t true.”
Susan cried harder.
I didn’t comfort her.
Not then.
Hale requested Anna Mercer’s death records.
By evening, we had the crash report.
Single vehicle.
Clear weather.
No skid marks.
Vehicle left road at a curve.
Toxicology showed a high level of a sedative.
Prescription bottle found in purse.
Prescribing physician.
Leonard Ames.
Dispensed pharmacy.
Not Carrow Community.
A different pharmacy where Elaine had once worked part-time.
My stomach turned.
“Was there an investigation?”
“Routine.”
“Any suspicion?”
“Not documented.”
“Did Grandma ever challenge it?”
Susan answered.
“Yes.”
“What did she do?”
“She hired someone.”
“A lawyer?”
“A private investigator.”
My heart jumped.
“Who?”
“I don’t know.”
“Did Richard know?”
“Eventually.”
“What happened?”
“Grandma dropped it.”
“Why?”
“She said she had to protect you.”
That made no sense.
“Protect me from what?”
Susan did not know.
Then Michael opened another envelope from Samuel’s box.
PHOTOGRAPHS - A.M.
Inside were pictures of Anna.
Some with me.
Me as a baby in her arms.
Me asleep against her chest.
Me wearing a yellow raincoat.
Anna smiling down at me.
I touched one photograph.
My mother.
My actual mother.
A woman whose face had been removed from every album I grew up with.
I did not remember her.
But my body responded anyway.
Something about the way she held me.
The familiarity of her hands.
The shape of her smile.
Grief can arrive for memories you never had.
Behind the photographs was a photocopy of a letter.
Anna to Margaret.
Dear Margaret.
I know what Richard is saying about me.
I know Elaine is helping him.
I have stopped taking anything from Dr. Ames.
I still wake up unable to remember hours.
Someone has been entering my apartment.
I told police, but Richard says I am paranoid.
Please believe me.
I stopped.
The next line.
If anything happens to me, do not let them raise Claire to believe I abandoned her.
I could not continue.
Rebecca read silently.
Then handed me the final page.
Anna had written.
Elaine wants my life.
I used to think that meant Richard.
Now I think it means everything.
My husband.
My daughter.
My name.
Three months later, Anna was dead.
Less than a year later, Elaine legally adopted me.
The adoption file was sealed.
Hale requested it.
The petition described Anna as deceased and Elaine as “the only maternal figure the child remembers.”
I stared at that sentence.
Maybe true.
Maybe manufactured.
Then we found something strange.
Consent documents.
Grandma Margaret had filed an objection to the adoption.
Withdrawn two weeks later.
“Why?”
No explanation.
But attached to the withdrawal was a note from Grandma’s attorney at the time.
CLIENT WITHDRAWS OBJECTION AFTER THREATS REGARDING CONTINUED ACCESS TO CHILD.
I closed my eyes.
They used me.
Even then.
If Grandma fought them, they would keep me away.
So she stayed inside the family.
She watched.
She documented.
She built a trust that favored me.
Maybe not simply because Natalie had already received more.
Maybe because Grandma knew a debt existed that money could never repay.
At 8:44, Hale received a call from Arizona.
Dr. Leonard Ames had agreed to a recorded interview.
We joined remotely.
He looked eighty.
Thin.
Tired.
He recognized my name immediately.
“Claire.”
I stared at him through the screen.
“You knew my mother.”
He closed his eyes.
“Yes.”
“Which one?”
He looked away.
“Anna.”
My throat tightened.
“What happened to her?”
His hands trembled.
“I made mistakes.”
“That isn’t an answer.”
“I know.”
“Did Elaine alter her medication?”
Ames inhaled.
“I don’t know.”
“Did you prescribe sedatives?”
“Yes.”
“Did she need them?”
“At first.”
“Then?”
“I continued longer than I should have.”
“Why?”
“Richard pressured me.”
“How?”
“Business.”
“Money.”
“Threats.”
“Pick one.”
“All three.”
The room went silent.
“Did Elaine have access to Anna’s medical information?”
“Yes.”
“Medication samples?”
“Yes.”
“Prescription pads?”
“Yes.”
“Did you know?”
“I should have controlled access better.”
My anger rose.
“Did you know she was having an affair with Richard?”
His face changed.
“Yes.”
“Did you help them take me from Anna?”
“No.”
“Your records were used.”
“I know.”
“Did you correct them?”
“No.”
“Then you helped.”
He lowered his head.
I let the silence hurt him.
Then Hale asked about Grandma Margaret.
Ames became pale.
“She called me the morning she died.”
My pulse jumped.
“What time?”
“Shortly after nine.”
Susan had spoken to Grandma around eight.
Then Grandma tried Susan at ten-fourteen.
“What did she say?”
“She thought she had taken the wrong pills.”
“Did you tell her to call 911?”
“Yes.”
“Did she?”
“I don’t know.”
“Did you call?”
Ames looked ashamed.
“No.”
“Why?”
“She told me Richard was there.”
Hale leaned forward.
“And?”
“I believed he would handle it.”
I laughed bitterly.
That sentence could have been our family motto.
“What happened next?”
“Richard called me around eleven-thirty.”
“What did he say?”
“That Margaret had collapsed.”
“Did you go there?”
“Yes.”
“Was she alive?”
“No.”
“Did you examine her?”
“Yes.”
“Did anything concern you?”
Ames closed his eyes.
“Her pupils.”
Hale asked, “What about them?”
“They suggested medication effect.”
“Which medication?”
“I couldn’t know without toxicology.”
“Why didn’t you request it?”
Ames began crying.
“Richard said she had a known heart condition.”
“Did she?”
“Mild.”
“Enough to explain sudden death?”
“Possibly.”
“That isn’t what I asked.”
“No.”
The answer was quiet.
“No.”
“Why did you sign?”
Ames looked at me.
“Because I had already helped that family bury one woman under a story about pills.”
My body turned cold.
Anna.
He continued.
“And I was afraid if I challenged them over Margaret, everything about Anna would come out too.”
I could barely speak.
“What exactly did you bury?”
Ames’s lips trembled.
“I altered Anna’s medical record after she died.”
Hale became very still.
“How?”
“I removed a note.”
“What note?”
“A blood test.”
My heart pounded.
“What did it show?”
Ames looked directly into the camera.
“The sedative in Anna’s blood was not the medication I had prescribed her.”
Nobody moved.
“Then what was it?”
“A different drug.”
“Where would she get it?”
“She wouldn’t.”
“Who had access?”
Ames started crying harder.
“Elaine did.”
My stomach dropped.
Hale asked, “Why didn’t you report that?”
“Richard threatened me.”
“With what?”
“He had evidence I had falsified billing records.”
“Did Elaine know?”
“Yes.”
“Did she ever admit giving Anna anything?”
Ames looked away.
Then he whispered.
“Once.”
The room disappeared.
“What did she say?”
“She said Anna needed to sleep through a custody exchange.”
I felt physically sick.
“Did she say how much?”
“No.”
“Did she say she caused the crash?”
“No.”
“Do you believe she did?”
Hale stopped me.
“Claire.”
Ames answered anyway.
“I believe I should have gone to police thirty-four years ago.”
Not an answer.
But close enough to destroy what remained of my childhood.
Then Ames said something else.
“There is someone who knows more.”
“Who?”
“The pharmacist.”
“What pharmacist?”
“The one who filled Richard’s prescription before Margaret died.”
“Name?”
“Thomas Keene.”
Hale typed.
Ames continued.
“He called me after Margaret died.”
“What did he say?”
“That Richard had asked him a strange question.”
“What question?”
Ames looked at me.
“He wanted to know how long a particular sedative remains detectable after death.”
Silence.
“Did Keene report it?”
“No.”
“Why?”
“Richard invested in his business afterward.”
The life insurance money.
Carrow Community Pharmacy Group.
Hush money disguised as investment.
Hale asked where Thomas Keene was now.
Ames hesitated.
“Last I heard, still near Carrow.”
Police searched.
Thomas Keene was alive.
Still in the county.
And according to public records, he owned a small pharmacy less than two miles from the road where Anna Mercer died.
For thirty-four years, the same cluster of people had carried pieces of two dead women’s stories.
Grandma Margaret.
Anna Mercer.
My grandmother.
My mother.
And every path led back to Richard, Elaine, Dr. Ames, and the town of Carrow.
But when police arrived at Thomas Keene’s home that night, the front door was open.
His car was in the driveway.
His wallet was inside.
His phone was on the kitchen table.
Thomas Keene was gone.
May you like
And on that phone, the last incoming call had been placed twenty-seven minutes earlier.
From Elaine Bennett.
