Chapter 7 - THE MISSING CABINET
The house looked exactly as I remembered.
That was somehow worse.
Dad’s boots were still beside the mudroom door.
His coffee mug sat on the drying rack.
His reading glasses rested beside his chair.
Eleven months had passed.
Mom had preserved everything like a museum.
Except the study.
The wooden cabinet beneath Dad’s desk had been ripped from the wall.
Police officers moved through the room.
Mom stood in the hallway demanding answers.
Then she saw me.
“You called the police?”
“I didn’t have to.”
She glared at Helen.
“You.”
Helen remained calm.
“A neighbor reported a broken window.”
Mom folded her arms.
“This is what happens when you bring strangers into family business.”
Samuel looked at her.
“Someone steals Thomas’s files and you’re angry at Claire?”
“I’m angry that my husband isn’t even buried and she’s treating me like a criminal.”
I stepped closer.
“Where did the hundred and fifty thousand dollars come from?”
Her face stopped moving.
Only for half a second.
Then she laughed.
“What?”
“The money Ray transferred to you.”
Evan came in behind me.
Mom looked at him.
“You told her?”
“No.”
“Dad knew.”
That struck harder.
She turned back to me.
“Your father and Raymond had business arrangements you don’t understand.”
“Then explain it.”
“I don’t owe you an explanation for every financial decision in my marriage.”
“You do when Dad wrote that it was connected to forged papers.”
Her eyes flicked toward the police.
That was another tell.
“Keep your voice down.”
“Why?”
“Because you are humiliating your father.”
“No.”
I pointed toward the empty space under his desk.
“Whoever took his files is humiliating him.”
A police officer approached.
“Commander Bennett?”
“Yes.”
“We found something outside.”
In the backyard, muddy footprints led toward a side gate.
A security camera over the garage had been disabled.
But the camera on a neighbor’s shed caught part of the alley.
A black SUV pulled up at 1:08 p.m.
A man got out.
He entered through the rear of the property.
Twenty minutes later, he returned carrying something large.
The image was grainy.
But I recognized his walk.
Evan did too.
“Uncle Ray.”
Mom immediately shook her head.
“You can’t tell from that.”
I looked at her.
“You can.”
“No.”
“Mom.”
“It could be anyone.”
The officer asked whether Raymond had access to the house.
Mom hesitated.
“Yes.”
“Does he have a key?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“He’s family.”
That word was beginning to sound poisonous.
The officer stepped away to make a call.
I walked back into Dad’s study.
The cabinet was gone.
But whoever removed it had missed something.
A small brass key lay beneath the edge of the rug.
I picked it up.
Dad had labeled keys for as long as I could remember.
This one had a tiny paper tag.
SB-47.
Samuel came beside me.
His breath caught.
“What?”
He stared at the key.
“I know what that opens.”
“Where?”
He looked toward the doorway.
Then lowered his voice.
“Your father’s old safe-deposit box.”
“Which bank?”
Samuel shook his head.
“Not a bank.”
“Then where?”
“The veterans’ lodge.”
I stared at him.
“What did Dad keep there?”
May you like
Samuel’s answer chilled me.
“The things he didn’t trust your mother to find.”
