Chapter 5: The Secret in Her Mother's Letters
I ran.
I didn't remember leaving the compartment or crossing the corridor. One moment I was staring at the photograph on my phone, and the next I was calling Nia's name through the observation car.
She wasn't there.
The green velvet seats stood empty. Rain blurred the city lights beyond the windows, and a half-finished cup of tea sat on the small table beside the door.
“Nia?””
No answer.
I checked the adjoining lounge.
Then the washroom corridor.
Then the narrow passage leading toward the sleeping compartments.
Nothing.
My heart began to hammer.
“Lenora!””
She appeared from the service passage almost immediately.
“Mr. Mercer?””
“Have you seen my daughter?””
“Not in the last few minutes.””
“Where is security?””
“Near the platform entrance.””
“Get them here. Now.””
She took one look at my face and reached for her radio.
I called Nia's phone.
It rang twice before going to voicemail.
I called again.
Voicemail.
On the third attempt, someone answered.
“Dad?””
I stopped moving.
“Nia, where are you?””
“I'm in the ladies' lounge.””
“Stay there. Don't move.””
A pause.
“Dad, what's happening?””
“Someone sent me a photograph of you.””
Silence.
Then she whispered, “Did you see what was behind me?””
I looked at the image.
Nia stood beside the observation car doorway. Behind her, reflected in the curved glass, was a man in a dark coat.
His face was indistinct.
But one hand rested against the wall beside the door, and a silver ring gleamed on his little finger.
“Who is he?”” I asked.
“I don't know.””
“Did you see him?””
“No. I only saw the picture.””
I felt my stomach tighten.
“Who sent it?””
“I was going to ask you the same thing.””
The line crackled.
“Nia, listen to me. Stay where you are. I'm coming.””
I reached the ladies' lounge less than a minute later.
Nia stood beside the window with her phone in one hand and a small envelope in the other.
When she saw me, she held the envelope against her chest.
“What is that?””
She looked toward the door.
“Something Odessa gave me.””
I stopped.
“Odessa gave you something before she was attacked?””
“Not tonight. Three days ago.””
She opened the envelope.
Inside was a handwritten letter, a brass key, and a photograph of Simone standing beside the Marigold's original route map.
My throat tightened.
The photograph had been taken before the train was built. Simone stood in a railway workshop wearing jeans, a white shirt, and a hard hat that sat crookedly on her head.
She was laughing at something outside the frame.
I hadn't seen that expression in five years.
“Why didn't you tell me you had this?””
“Because Odessa asked me not to.””
I looked at the letter.
The handwriting was Simone's.
I would have recognized it anywhere.
My first wife had written in slanted blue ink, with the letter S always slightly larger than the others.
I unfolded the page.
Damon,
If you're reading this, something has happened that I couldn't bring myself to explain while I was alive. I need you to know that I never stopped loving you, even when I began to fear the life we were building.
I stopped reading.
The room seemed to lose its air.
Nia watched me carefully.
“Keep going,” she whispered.
I forced myself to continue.
There are things happening inside the company that I cannot explain. Payments are being made without proper approval. Files are disappearing. People I trusted have begun telling me that I'm imagining things.
I wanted to tell you everything, but every time I tried, I found myself wondering whether the person listening was the person I thought I knew.
My hands began to shake.
I have made copies of the documents. I have hidden them somewhere no one will think to look. If anything happens to me, please don't let anyone tell Nia that her mother was careless, weak, or afraid.
I was afraid.
But I was not careless.
The river remembers everything.
Simone.
I lowered the letter.
For a long time, neither of us spoke.
Then Nia touched my arm.
“Dad?””
I looked at her.
“Where did Odessa find this?””
“She said Mom gave it to her a week before the accident. Odessa kept it because she didn't know what to do with it.””
“Why wait five years?””
“She was scared.””
I looked at the letter again.
“Scared of whom?””
“Camille.””
I stared at her.
Nia took a breath.
“Three weeks ago, I found Mom's old letters in the attic. Camille had put them in a box marked for donation. I recognized the handwriting, so I took them to Odessa.””
“How many letters?””
“Seven.””
“Where are they?””
“In my bedroom at home.””
“Have you read them?””
“Some.””
She looked down at the envelope.
“Mom wrote about someone following her. She wrote about a meeting with Adrian. She wrote about a test she wanted the hospital to run.””
I felt the floor shift beneath me.
“Did she mention Camille?””
“Not by name.””
“Then why do you think she was afraid of her?””
“Because the last letter was written the day before Mom died.””
Nia handed me a folded page.
The paper had a faint coffee stain near the bottom. One corner was torn, and the ink had blurred in places.
I read the first line.
I think Camille knows.
I stopped.
“Camille?””
Nia nodded.
“That's why I didn't want her to hear about the letters.””
I continued reading.
I don't know how much she knows, or whether she understands what Adrian has done. But I heard her speaking to him on the phone tonight. She said the documents had to be removed before Damon saw them.
She said if I kept asking questions, I would destroy everything.
I asked her what she meant.
She told me I was making a mistake.
The letter ended abruptly.
No signature.
No explanation.
Just one final sentence written in darker ink.
If I don't make it home tomorrow, find the blue box.
I stared at the words.
“What's the blue box?””
Nia shook her head.
“I don't know.””
I read the letter again.
The day before Simone died.
A conversation with Camille.
A warning about documents.
And a blue box hidden somewhere no one would think to look.
“Did Odessa tell you anything else?””
Nia hesitated.
Then she reached into her jacket and withdrew a small photograph.
It showed Simone sitting on a bench beside a river, holding a little girl on her lap.
Nia.
She couldn't have been more than five.
On the back, Simone had written a date and three words.
*Under the old bridge.*
I stared at the photograph.
“The river,” I whispered.
Nia nodded.
“Odessa said Mom used to hide things near the old railway bridge outside Milwaukee. She thought nobody would search there because the bridge had been closed for years.””
I looked at my daughter.
“Why Milwaukee?””
“Because that's where Mom's car crashed.””
The answer settled between us.
I turned toward the door.
“We're going to Milwaukee.””
Nia grabbed my sleeve.
“Not yet.””
I stopped.
“Why not?””
“Because Camille knows about the letters.””
“How?””
“Yesterday, she asked me whether I still had Mom's things. She said she wanted to help me let go.””
I felt my jaw tighten.
“What did you tell her?””
“I said no.””
“Did she believe you?””
Nia shook her head.
“She went into my room after I left for school.””
My blood ran cold.
“How do you know?””
“Because the box was open when I got home. The letters were in a different order. And the photograph of Mom by the river was missing.””
I looked at the photograph in my hand.
“This one?””
“No. That was the copy Odessa gave me.””
I closed my fingers around it.
“Then Camille has the original.””
“Probably.””
“And she knows about the blue box.””
Nia's expression changed.
“Dad, there's something else.””
“What?””
She took my phone from my hand and enlarged the photograph of the man standing behind her.
“Look at his hand.””
I did.
The silver ring was unmistakable now.
A heavy signet ring with a dark stone set in the center.
I had seen it before.
Not on Adrian.
Not on Camille.
On our father.
He had worn it for thirty years, until his death twelve years earlier. After the funeral, the ring disappeared from his study.
I remembered asking Adrian whether he had taken it.
He had laughed and told me I was being sentimental.
I looked at Nia.
“Where did you see this ring?””
“In Mom's letters.””
My pulse quickened.
“One of the photographs showed a hand holding the blue box. The person was wearing the same ring.””
I stared at the image.
The man in the photograph had his hand pressed against the wall.
The ring's dark stone caught the light.
“Do you think it's Adrian?””
Nia shook her head.
“I don't know.””
“Then who?””
She looked at the door.
“There's only one person I know who wears Dad's ring now.””
I felt my stomach turn.
“Who?””
Nia's voice was barely audible.
“Camille.””
We found her in the first-class sleeping compartment, standing beside an open suitcase.
The pearls were back in her ears.
She had changed out of her white silk suit into a dark blue dress, and her hair was perfectly arranged. On the bed beside her lay a leather handbag, a folded coat, and a small velvet box.
She looked up when we entered.
“Damon. I was wondering when you'd come.””
I closed the door behind me.
“Where are you going?””
“Home.””
“The train hasn't departed.””
“Then I'll take a car.””
“Not until the police finish speaking with you.””
She smiled faintly.
“Are you detaining me now?””
“No. I'm asking you a question.””
“And I'm answering it.””
I looked at the open suitcase.
“What's in the velvet box?””
Her hand moved over it.
“Jewelry.””
“Open it.””
“No.””
“Camille.””
She lifted her chin.
“You don't get to order me around because your daughter has decided to turn this evening into a conspiracy.””
Nia stepped forward.
“Where's the photograph of Mom by the river?””
Camille's expression didn't change.
“What photograph?””
“The one you took from my room.””
“I have no idea what you're talking about.””
“You searched my room.””
“I was looking for your school documents.””
“You took Mom's photograph.””
Camille's smile disappeared.
Then she turned to me.
“Your daughter has become obsessed with her mother's death. She needs professional help.””
I felt a terrible calm settle over me.
“Perhaps. But that doesn't explain the forged documents, the missing files, or the payments to Bellweather Consulting.””
For the first time, Camille looked genuinely cornered.
Then she did something unexpected.
She laughed.
“You really think this is about money?””
“Isn't it?””
“No, Damon. Money is merely the easiest thing to count.””
She closed the suitcase.
“You've spent your entire life believing that if you built something large enough, no one could take it from you. The company. The train.
The house. Your reputation.””
She looked at Nia.
“Even your daughter.””
Nia's face hardened.
“Leave me out of this.””
“Your mother tried to do the same thing.””
The room went silent.
I took one step toward Camille.
“What did you say?””
She looked at me.
“Simone thought she could protect everyone by keeping secrets. She thought she could save you from the truth.””
“What truth?””
Camille picked up her handbag.
“You should ask Adrian.””
“I'm asking you.””
She walked past me toward the door.
I caught her wrist.
“Not this time.””
She looked down at my hand.
Then she raised her eyes to mine.
“You have no idea what happened at that hospital.””
“Then tell me.””
Her lips parted.
For one moment, I thought she might finally speak.
Instead, she leaned close and whispered, “Your first wife wasn't the only woman who wanted you dead.””
I released her.
She opened the door.
Two police officers stood outside.
Camille looked at them, then back at me.
“Be careful what you wish for, Damon.””
One officer stepped forward.
“Mrs. Mercer, we'd like you to accompany us for questioning.””
Camille lifted her hands.
“Of course.””
As she walked into the corridor, Nia caught my arm.
“Dad.””
I turned.
She was staring at the velvet box.
It had fallen open when Camille lifted her handbag.
Inside lay a silver ring.
My father's signet ring.
And beneath it, folded into a tiny square, was a piece of blue paper.
I picked it up.
May you like
There were only five words written on it.
*The box is not buried.*
