Mrs. Holloway lived across the street from Mom.
She was seventy-three and had once mailed me a box of Christmas cookies because Mom complained I was spending the holiday alone in Singapore.
When she answered, she sounded delighted.
“Emily? Your mother said you were coming home sometime this fall.”
“I’m home.”
“Oh, wonderful.”
Her warmth nearly broke me.
“Mrs. Holloway, can I ask you something strange?”
Her voice became cautious.
“Of course.”
“Do you know where Mom’s old walnut clock went?”
Silence.
Then she said, “Why?”
The question told me she knew something.
“Because I need to find it.”
Another pause.
“I saw Derek carrying it out several months ago.”
My fingers tightened around the phone.
“Where?”
“Into a van.”
“What van?”
“One of those storage companies. Blue writing. I didn’t catch the name.”
“Was Mom there?”
“Yes.”
“What was she doing?”
Mrs. Holloway hesitated.
“She was standing on the porch.”
“Did she look upset?”
“Yes.”
I pressed my lips together.
“Did Derek remove anything else?”
“Several boxes. Furniture too.”
“Do you remember the company?”
“No. But…”
“What?”
“I may have a photograph.”
I straightened.
“Why?”
“Because they blocked my driveway, and I took a picture of the van in case they damaged the mailbox.”
Twenty minutes later, a photograph arrived.
LEXINGTON HERITAGE STORAGE.
By noon, I was standing inside a climate-controlled storage facility speaking to a manager named Colin.
I showed him a photograph of the clock from an old family Christmas.
“I’m trying to determine whether this item is stored here.”
He shook his head.
“I can’t give you information about another customer’s unit.”
“I understand.”
I slid Dad’s winding key across the counter.
“This belongs to the clock.”
He still hesitated.
“Whose name would the account be under?”
“Derek Carter.”
Something in his face shifted.
I saw it.
“You know the name.”
“I didn’t say that.”
“You didn’t have to.”
He pushed the key back.
“I can’t grant access.”
“Can you tell me whether my mother, Margaret Carter, is listed?”
He looked at the computer.
Then at me.
“I can tell you this. If a person named on an account comes here with identification, I can discuss access with that person.”
My heart began beating faster.
“Is Margaret named?”
He did not answer directly.
He only said, “Bring your mother.”
I left with more than I had entered with.
Mom was connected to the unit.
That meant Derek had not simply discarded her belongings.
He had stored them somewhere she could potentially still access.
The problem was getting her out of the house.
At two thirteen, my phone rang.
Mom.
I answered immediately.
“Mom?”
Her breathing sounded shallow.
“I don’t have long.”
“Are you alone?”
“He went to pick Vanessa up.”
“Where are you?”
“In the laundry room.”
The sentence hurt more than it should have.
“I need you to come with me.”
“I can’t yet.”
“Yes, you can.”
“No.”
“Mom, you told me he might kill you.”
“I was scared.”
“You are still scared.”
Silence.
“Please.”
“I need the clock first.”
My eyes closed.
“So it is in storage.”
She inhaled sharply.
“You found it?”
“I think so.”
“Emily, listen to me. There’s something inside it.”
“What?”
“I can’t explain over the phone.”
“Is it evidence about the deed?”
Her breath caught.
Then I heard a door somewhere near her.
“Mom?”
“I have to go.”
“Wait.”
“The lower compartment.”
“What about it?”
“Behind the pendulum board.”
The line went dead.
I stared at the phone.
Behind the pendulum board.
At three, I called Laura.
“I know where the clock is.”
“Can you access it?”
“Only with Mom.”
“Then we get your mother out first.”
“She won’t leave until we have the clock.”
Laura exhaled.
“Then give her a reason Derek won’t question.”
We decided on the simplest one.
A doctor.
Not because Mom had a medical emergency, but because Derek had already built his story around her age and supposed inability to manage herself.
At four ten, I called the house.
This time Vanessa answered.
“I’m taking Mom to lunch tomorrow.”
“That isn’t a good idea.”
I almost smiled.
“Why?”
“She’s tired.”
“Then I’ll take her for coffee.”
“Emily—”
“And I’m taking her to buy clothes.”
Silence.
“Why?”
“Because I’m not spending my first week home looking at her in a gray housekeeping uniform.”
Vanessa’s voice cooled.
“You’re being dramatic.”
“Tomorrow at ten.”
Derek called five minutes later.
I let it ring once before answering.
“You don’t get to make plans with Mom without talking to us.”
I looked out the hotel window.
“Listen carefully to yourself.”
“What?”
“You just told me I need your permission to take our mother to lunch.”
“That isn’t what I said.”
“It is exactly what you said.”
“She gets confused.”
There it was.
The beginning of another justification.
“Does she?”
