Chapter 15 - The Woman Before My Mother
Eleanor Wallace changed the investigation overnight.
She had been Patricia's cousin.
Widowed.
Childless.
Financially comfortable.
For nearly a year, she lived with Patricia and Melissa.
Then she moved into assisted living.
Three months later, she died following complications from pneumonia.
Nothing about the death itself appeared suspicious.
The finances did.
Detective Reed discovered thousands of dollars had been transferred from Eleanor's account before she died.
A credit card had been opened in her name.
And Melissa had received an insurance payout.
The pattern was painfully familiar.
Isolation.
Financial control.
Debt.
Insurance.
Mom sat beside me while Reed explained it.
“She practiced on Eleanor,” I whispered.
Reed corrected me.
“We don't know that yet.”
But we all understood the implication.
Melissa surrendered the next morning.
She arrived wearing sunglasses and an expensive coat.
A local reporter had somehow learned about the investigation.
Cameras waited outside.
The woman who had spent two years pretending to own my home suddenly covered her face as she walked into the police station.
Her attorney insisted she had done nothing wrong.
Then investigators played Derek's recordings.
That changed his tone.
Melissa was questioned for six hours.
Meanwhile, I started restoring Mom's house.
The first thing I did was move her out of the laundry room.
We carried Patricia's furniture downstairs.
Then I returned Dad's chair to its old place.
Mom watched silently.
“You don't have to fix everything at once.”
“I know.”
“You look tired.”
“So do you.”
She smiled for the first time since I arrived.
We spent the afternoon hanging old family photographs.
Dad went back on the mantel.
Mom's wedding picture returned to the hallway.
I found one photograph of Derek and me as children sitting on Dad's shoulders.
Mom touched the frame.
“Don't hate him forever.”
I didn't answer.
Because I didn't know what I felt.
Derek had moved into a motel voluntarily.
He said Mom needed space.
It was probably the first decent decision he had made in years.
That evening, he called.
“Rachel.”
“What?”
“I found something.”
“What?”
“Melissa kept another phone.”
My attention sharpened.
“Where?”
“In a storage unit.”
“You knew about the unit?”
“No.”
“Then how did you find it?”
“She used my email when she rented it.”
“What is inside?”
“Boxes.”
“What kind?”
“Documents.”
He paused.
“And photographs.”
“Of what?”
His voice shook.
“Mom.”
I stood.
“What do you mean?”
“Photographs of her medication.”
“Her doctor's appointments.”
“Her prescriptions.”
“And Rachel?”
“Yes?”
“There are handwritten notes.”
“What notes?”
He swallowed.
“They track when Mom gets dizzy.”
“When she sleeps.”
“When she's alone.”
My blood ran cold.
May you like
Then Derek said the words that sent me running for the door.
“One note says, ‘Increase after appraisal.’”
