Chapter 7: The Woman in the Back Seat
For several seconds, I couldn't move.
The black SUV had disappeared around the corner, but the image remained burned into my mind: Vanessa behind the wheel, Robert Hayes beside her, and a woman in the back seat whose face looked exactly like my mother's.
The same auburn hair.
The same narrow nose.
The same small scar above her right eyebrow, where she'd fallen from a bicycle when she was twelve.
I knew that scar because my father had shown me the photograph hundreds of times.
My mother had been dead for seventeen years.
I'd watched her coffin lowered into the ground.
I'd stood beside her grave every October, leaving white roses against the cold stone.
And yet I'd just seen her alive.
“Dad,” I whispered.
Marcus was gripping the edge of the table.
“Don't.””
“You saw her.””
He closed his eyes.
“Emily, don't jump to conclusions.””
“You saw her!””
“I saw someone who looked like her.””
“You recognized her before I said anything!””
His jaw tightened.
For a moment, he looked as though he might deny it.
Then his shoulders sagged.
“Yes,” he said.
“I recognized her.””
The words sent a chill through me.
“She's alive?””
“I don't know.””
“You said you found her body.””
Marcus stared at the open metal box.
“No. I said the police identified her.””
I felt the floor shift beneath my feet.
“What does that mean?””
He rubbed his forehead.
“After the accident, I was told your mother had been taken to the hospital. By the time I arrived, she was gone. Detective Hayes handled the identification. He told me there had been severe injuries, that the body had been identified through personal belongings and dental records.””
“Did you see her?””
“No.””
“Did you attend the funeral?””
“Yes.””
“Did you look inside the coffin?””
His silence was answer enough.
I backed away from him.
“You buried an empty coffin?””
“I don't know what was in it.””
“How could you not know?””
“Because Hayes told me the family shouldn't see her after what happened. He said it would be cruel for you to remember her that way.””
I stared at the man who had raised me.
Every answer opened another hole in the story.
“Why didn't you question him?””
“Because I was afraid of what I might discover.””
I laughed bitterly.
“You've been afraid for seventeen years.””
“Yes.””
At least he no longer pretended otherwise.
I grabbed my backpack from the floor and shoved my mother's letter inside.
“I'm going after them.””
Marcus stood.
“No.””
“You don't get to tell me what to do.””
“Emily, listen to me. If that woman is your mother, there's a reason she stayed away. If she's not, someone is trying to make you believe she is.””
“Either way, I need answers.””
He reached for his phone.
“Then we'll call the police.””
I stared at him.
“Which police? The department that let Hayes rewrite the accident report? The people who buried a woman they couldn't even prove was dead?””
He had no response.
I pulled my phone from my pocket and enlarged the photograph I'd taken of the SUV.
The image was blurry, but the license plate was partially visible.
I read the numbers aloud.
Marcus snatched the phone from my hand.
“Where did you get this?””
“I took it when they drove away.””
He examined the screen.
Then he went pale.
“That's my old registration.””
“What?””
“That plate belonged to a vehicle I sold years ago.””
“Who bought it?””
He stared at the image.
“Vanessa.””
The revelation landed between us.
My stepmother hadn't merely been driving away with Robert Hayes and a woman who looked like my mother.
She had been using a car connected to my father.
A car he had supposedly sold years earlier.
“Dad, how many things have you hidden from me?””
He looked at me helplessly.
“Too many.””
For once, I believed him.
I took the phone back.
“I'm calling Vanessa.””
“She won't answer.””
I called anyway.
The phone rang four times before she picked up.
“What?”” she said sharply.
“Who was in the back seat of your car?””
Silence.
Then a soft, humorless laugh.
“You saw her?””
“So it was Mom?””
Vanessa didn't answer.
“Tell me!””
“Emily, you need to stop asking questions you aren't ready to hear the answers to.””
“I've spent my entire life hearing lies from people who claim to be protecting me. I'm finished with that.””
“Then come to the old Whitmore estate. Six o'clock tonight. Come alone.””
I looked at Marcus.
He was shaking his head.
“Why should I trust you?”” I asked.
“You shouldn't.””
The honesty surprised me.
“But if you want to know whether your mother is alive, I'll show you.””
“Why not tell me now?””
“Because this conversation is being recorded.””
My stomach tightened.
“By whom?””
“Your father.””
I turned.
Marcus was holding his phone, his face stricken.
Vanessa continued, “You see, Emily? Even now, he can't stop himself.””
The call ended.
I stared at the screen.
Then I turned toward Marcus.
“Were you recording me?””
He lowered the phone.
“No.””
“Then what did she mean?””
He looked at the device in his hand.
“There's a recording on it.””
He pressed the screen.
A file appeared, dated seventeen years earlier.
The title was simply October 14.
My father stared at it as if it were a loaded weapon.
“Where did this come from?”” I asked.
“I don't know.””
“Play it.””
He hesitated.
“Dad.””
With trembling fingers, he pressed the button.
At first, there was only static.
Then a woman's voice emerged.
My mother's voice.
“Marcus, if you're listening to this, something has happened to me.””
I covered my mouth.
The recording crackled.
“I need you to remember what you promised. Whatever happens, don't let them take Emily. Don't let them change her name again.””
My father sank into a chair.
The recording continued.
“Daniel knows about the money. Hayes knows about the accident. But there's someone else involved, someone I trusted. Someone who has been inside our home.””
A pause.
Then my mother's voice became quieter.
“Vanessa knows where the documents are.””
I looked at Marcus.
He couldn't meet my eyes.
The recording continued.
“If Vanessa comes to you, don't believe everything she says. She has her own reasons for wanting the truth buried.””
There was a faint sound in the background.
A car door slamming.
Then my mother spoke again, more urgently.
“Marcus, if you love Emily, tell her what happened before she turns eighteen. Tell her the truth about her father. Tell her why the accident—”
The recording stopped.
I stared at the phone.
“That's it?””
Marcus nodded slowly.
“That's all there is.””
I snatched the device and replayed the final seconds.
The same static.
The same unfinished sentence.
The same awful silence.
“Why did you keep this for seventeen years?””
“I didn't know it existed until this morning.””
“Then who put it on your phone?””
He shook his head.
I looked at the recording's file information.
It had been created at 3:14 a.m.
Only hours earlier.
Someone had accessed my father's phone.
Someone had placed my mother's voice inside it.
Someone wanted us to hear that message now.
My mind returned to Vanessa's invitation.
The old Whitmore estate.
Six o'clock.
Come alone.
I checked the time.
It was 9:02 a.m.
I had nine hours to decide whether to trust the woman who had framed me for theft, threatened to destroy my family, and now claimed she could lead me to my dead mother.
Marcus stood beside me.
“Emily, please. Don't go.””
I looked at him.
“Do you know where the Whitmore estate is?””
His expression changed.
“You've heard of it?””
“It's where Daniel grew up.””
“Why would Vanessa take Mom there?””
He stared at the recording.
Then he whispered, “Because that's where your mother and I were married.””
I felt a terrible certainty settle over me.
The wedding album.
The hidden documents.
The secret birth certificate.
The old estate was not just another location in this mystery.
It was where the story had begun.
And perhaps where it would finally end.
“I have to go,” I said.
Marcus reached for my hand.
“Then I'm coming with you.””
I pulled away.
“No. You can either stay here and tell me the rest of the truth, or you can follow me and risk ruining whatever chance I have of finding her.””
He looked devastated.
But he didn't argue.
I turned toward the door.
Behind me, my father spoke.
“Emily?””
I stopped.
“If you see your mother, tell her I'm sorry.””
I looked back at him.
“For what?””
His eyes filled.
“For not being brave enough to save her.””
I left without answering.
At 5:42 p.m., I arrived at the Whitmore estate.
The house stood on a wooded property outside Providence, surrounded by iron gates and a long gravel driveway. Ivy covered much of the stone exterior. Several windows were boarded up, and the garden had grown wild.
A black SUV sat beside the entrance.
Vanessa was waiting on the porch.
She wore a dark coat and carried no handbag, no jewelry, nothing that might make her look like the polished woman who had accused me of stealing her necklace.
She looked exhausted.
“You came,” she said.
“I want to see my mother.””
Vanessa opened the door.
“Then you'd better be prepared to hate me.””
Inside, the air smelled of damp stone and old wood. A chandelier hung crookedly above the entrance hall. Dust covered the portraits along the staircase.
Vanessa led me into a room at the back of the house.
A fire burned in the fireplace.
Robert Hayes stood beside the window.
And sitting in an armchair near the fire was the woman from the SUV.
She looked older than the photographs.
There were silver strands in her auburn hair. Fine lines surrounded her eyes. One hand rested on a walking stick.
But when she turned toward me, I saw the familiar shape of her smile.
My knees almost gave way.
She rose slowly.
“Emily?””
I couldn't speak.
She took one uncertain step forward.
“Sweetheart, it's me.””
I stared at her.
Then I saw the ring on her finger.
My mother's wedding ring.
The same one Marcus had told me was buried with her.
I began to cry.
She reached for me.
I stepped back.
“Don't touch me.””
Her hand fell.
“Emily, please.””
“You're dead.””
Her face crumpled.
“I know.””
“You let me bury you.””
“I didn't have a choice.””
“You let me visit your grave every year!””
She started crying.
“I know.””
“You let me believe I was alone!””
She pressed a hand to her mouth.
“I thought staying away would keep you safe.””
I looked at Vanessa.
Then at Hayes.
Then back at the woman who had given birth to me.
“Tell me the truth,” I whispered.
My mother nodded.
“Everything.””
She looked toward Robert Hayes.
Then she said the words that shattered the last piece of my childhood.
“Marcus didn't just help cover up the accident, Emily.””
May you like
She took a trembling breath.
“He was the one who ordered it.””
