Chapter 4 - The House by the Lake

The Cedar Ridge cottage had been empty all winter.

Richard and I bought it when Julian was twelve.

There was a dock, a stone fireplace, and a narrow attic where Richard stored tax files because he trusted paper more than computers.

The police reached it before I did.

I arrived with Detective Ortiz and Samuel Reed just after noon.

Fresh footprints marked the snow.

Ortiz raised one hand.

"Stay behind me."

The front door was unlocked.

Inside, the air smelled like cold wood and dust.

A kitchen chair had been knocked over.

One cabinet door hung open.

Reed looked toward the hallway.

"Someone beat us here."

"Victoria?"

"Maybe."

We moved room by room.

Nothing.

Then Ortiz called from Richard's old study.

"Margaret."

I went in.

The wall safe was open.

Empty.

My stomach dropped.

"Richard kept records here."

Reed crouched.

"The lock wasn't forced."

"Then someone knew the combination."

"Who?"

"Richard. Me. Julian."

Ortiz looked at me.

"Victoria?"

"Not from me."

A sound came from upstairs.

Ortiz drew her weapon.

"Police! Come down with your hands visible!"

Silence.

Then a woman's voice answered.

"Don't shoot."

A young woman appeared at the top of the stairs.

She wore a winter coat over medical scrubs.

Her hands were raised.

I did not recognize her.

Ortiz said, "Name."

"Nora Bell."

My pulse jumped.

"Bell?"

She nodded.

"My uncle owns Bell & Crane Funeral Services."

The room went still.

"You hid the key," I said.

Nora looked at me.

"Yes."

I had imagined that moment a dozen ways.

I had imagined anger.

Gratitude.

Questions.

Instead, I said, "Why didn't you take her out yourself?"

Nora began crying.

"Because I was terrified."

Ortiz lowered her weapon but did not holster it.

"Start at the beginning."

Nora sat at the kitchen table.

"My uncle, Dennis Bell, has done private work for Dr. Latham for years."

"What kind of work?" Reed asked.

"Discreet transport. Paperwork. Deaths people don't want examined closely."

My stomach turned.

"Chloe?"

Nora wiped her face.

"I was told she had a contagious illness and the family wanted a closed service."

"You believed that?"

"At first."

"What changed?"

"She moved."

I gripped the chair.

"When?"

"At the funeral home."

Nora nodded.

"I was helping dress her. Her fingers moved."

"Why didn't you call police?"

"My uncle came in. I told him."

"What did he say?"

"'You didn't see anything.'"

Ortiz leaned forward.

"And then?"

"He called Victoria."

My skin crawled.

"I heard Victoria say the dose would hold until morning."

Reed asked, "Did she say dose?"

"Yes."

"What did Bell do?"

"He told me to finish preparing the casket."

I stared at Nora.

"You strapped her down."

Her face collapsed.

"I did."

I almost stood.

Then she said, "And I hid the key."

I stayed seated.

"I thought if she woke up, maybe someone could get her out."

"You could have gotten her out."

"I know."

"You could have saved her before she ever came to the house."

"I know."

I hated her for a full ten seconds.

Then I remembered Julian saying the same thing with different words.

Cowardice.

Not innocence.

But not the same as murder.

Ortiz said, "Why are you here?"

Nora looked toward the study.

"Because I copied files from Dr. Latham's office."

"How?"

"I cleaned there twice a week."

"You worked for him too?"

"My uncle made me."

"What files?"

"Records. Payments. Medication logs."

"Where are they?"

Nora pointed toward the attic.

"I hid them here last month."

Reed stood.

"Why here?"

"Because Richard Hale told me to."

My heart stopped.

"What?"

Nora looked at me.

"Four years ago."

I gripped the edge of the table.

"You knew my husband?"

"Not really. He came to the funeral home once. He asked questions about Latham."

"When?"

"Two weeks before he died."

I could barely breathe.

"What did he tell you?"

"That if I ever saw something that scared me, I should not trust the people who told me to stay quiet."

I closed my eyes.

That sounded like Richard.

"He gave you access to this house?"

"He gave me the code to the old lockbox in the attic."

"Why didn't you come forward after he died?"

"Because Latham knew I had spoken to him."

"Did he threaten you?"

"My mother was sick. My uncle paid her bills. They made it clear that would stop."

Ortiz said, "Take us to the files."

The attic lockbox was still sealed.

Inside were two flash drives and a notebook.

Reed opened the notebook carefully.

Dates.

Initials.

Dollar amounts.

Medication names.

Death certificate numbers.

One page had Richard's name.

R.H.

A medication beside it.

A sedative.

Then another drug commonly used to affect heart rhythm.

I sat down on the attic floor.

"No."

Ortiz crouched near me.

"This is not proof by itself."

"It is his date."

"I know."

"It is his initials."

"I know."

"Dr. Latham killed him."

"We need laboratory confirmation."

"Four years later?"

"Sometimes we can still find evidence."

I covered my mouth.

Nora whispered, "There's more."

Reed looked up.

"What?"

"Victoria paid Latham."

"How do you know?"

"One of the drives has account ledgers."

They opened the first drive downstairs.

Payments from shell companies.

Funeral services.

Private prescriptions.

Consulting fees.

Then the name V. HALE appeared.

Twenty thousand dollars.

Forty thousand.

Seventy-five thousand.

A payment three days before Richard died.

A payment two days after.

Another six weeks before Chloe's supposed death.

Reed stared at the screen.

"This is conspiracy evidence."

Ortiz said, "And potentially homicide."

A car engine sounded outside.

Nora went pale.

"That's him."

"Who?"

"My uncle."

Ortiz moved toward the window.

A black sedan stopped near the cottage.

Dennis Bell stepped out.

He did not approach.

He saw the police vehicles.

Then he ran back to his car.

Ortiz was already on the radio.

"Vehicle fleeing east from Cedar Ridge residence. Black sedan."

Reed looked at Nora.

"Did he know you came here?"

"No."

"Then how did he find you?"

Nora looked down at her phone.

Her face drained.

"My uncle pays for the account."

"Give it to me."

Reed took the phone.

"Location sharing."

Ortiz cursed softly.

Within minutes, officers were pursuing Bell.

I stared at the payment ledger.

Richard had found the pattern.

Richard had hidden evidence.

Richard had trusted a frightened young funeral worker more than his own son.

That knowledge hurt almost as much as the possibility that he had been murdered.

My phone rang.

It was the hospital.

I answered immediately.

"Is Chloe okay?"

The nurse hesitated.

"Mrs. Hale, she became very agitated after seeing someone in the hallway."

"Who?"

"We don't know. Security is reviewing footage."

I stood.

"Is she safe?"

"Yes."

"Put a guard on her door."

"We already have."

I looked at Ortiz.

"Someone went to the hospital."

We drove back in silence.

Security footage showed a woman in a surgical mask and dark coat entering the pediatric floor.

She never reached Chloe's room.

A nurse asked for identification.

The woman turned away.

The camera caught her profile near the elevator.

Victoria.

Chloe recognized her immediately.

"Mommy."

Her hand tightened around mine.

"She came back."

"She didn't get in."

"She'll try again."

"No."

"She always tries again."

I looked at Ortiz through the glass.

"Find her."

"We will."

Chloe leaned closer.

"Grandma?"

"Yes?"

"Mommy has a red house."

I looked down.

"What red house?"

"Where she took me when Daddy was at work."

"Do you know where?"

"Near the horses."

"What horses?"

"The big white horse sign."

Ortiz stepped into the room.

"Chloe, was it a barn?"

"No."

"A farm?"

She shook her head.

"A house. Red door. White horse."

Reed, standing behind Ortiz, pulled out his phone.

"There's an equestrian club outside Barrington with a white horse logo."

I remembered Victoria mentioning a riding instructor once.

"She doesn't ride."

Reed looked at me.

"Maybe the club isn't hers."

Chloe whispered, "Dr. Mal lives there."

Every adult in the room stopped.

"Dr. Mal?" I asked.

She nodded.

"Mommy said never say his whole name."

Dr. Malcolm Latham.

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The missing physician.

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