Chapter 2 - The Letters That Vanished

Eleanor did not open the door.

The man outside knocked again.

"Mrs. Hayes?"

Clara whispered, "Should we call the police?"

Thomas shook his head.

"Not yet."

Eleanor turned on him.

"You do not get to make decisions in my house."

"Then you decide."

She glared at him.

The voice outside continued.

"My name is Marcus Bell. I'm Daniel Bell's attorney."

Thomas's jaw tightened.

Eleanor whispered, "Related?"

"Daniel's cousin."

"Of course."

Clara said, "What does he want?"

Thomas answered, "The will."

Eleanor looked down at the envelope in her hand.

"How would he know you brought it here?"

Thomas did not answer.

That was answer enough.

"You were followed."

"I thought I lost them."

"You brought danger to my house."

"Yes."

Clara whispered, "Grandma, we need to move away from the door."

Eleanor ignored her.

"Fifty years and you arrive with men following you."

Thomas's eyes held hers.

"I didn't know where else to go."

That was the wrong thing to say.

Eleanor laughed bitterly.

"You knew exactly where not to go for fifty years."

The knocking stopped.

Then Marcus called, "Thomas, I know you're in there."

Thomas moved toward the window.

Eleanor grabbed his sleeve.

"No."

He looked at her.

"If they think I'm alone, they may leave you out of it."

"They already know my name."

"Because Peter's statement names you."

Eleanor went still.

"Read it."

"I don't have the original."

"Where is it?"

"At a law office in Columbus."

"Then how do you know what it says?"

"The attorney read part of it to me."

"Why?"

"Because Peter instructed him to contact me if proof emerged that I was alive."

Clara frowned.

"That sounds like Peter knew there was a chance."

Thomas looked at her.

"Exactly."

Eleanor felt another crack open beneath everything she believed.

"Maybe he knew."

Thomas nodded.

"Maybe."

The SUV started.

Clara peered through the curtain.

"They're leaving."

Thomas did not relax.

"One car."

"What?"

"There were two men."

Clara looked again.

Only Marcus drove away.

The second man was gone.

Thomas whispered, "Back door."

Clara ran toward the kitchen.

Eleanor heard the lock rattle.

A second later, someone forced the door inward.

Thomas moved faster than a seventy-three-year-old man with a cane should have.

He grabbed the intruder's wrist.

The man's flashlight crashed to the floor.

Clara screamed.

Eleanor picked up the heavy ceramic bowl from the counter.

"Get out!"

The intruder shoved Thomas.

Thomas hit the refrigerator.

Eleanor swung the bowl.

It struck the man's shoulder.

He cursed.

Clara grabbed her phone.

"I'm calling 911!"

The man fled through the back door.

Thomas slid to the floor.

Eleanor rushed toward him before she could stop herself.

"Thomas?"

"I'm fine."

"You hit your head."

"I've hit it harder."

"That is not reassuring."

Clara was on the phone with emergency dispatch.

Thomas looked at Eleanor.

"Now call the police."

She almost laughed.

"Thank you for permission."

Twenty minutes later, two patrol cars were outside.

Officer Ben Ruiz, whom Eleanor had known since he was a child, took statements.

He stared at Thomas for a long time.

"My father said you died."

Thomas nodded.

"Most people did."

Ben looked at Eleanor.

"And you knew he was alive?"

"Until forty minutes ago, no."

Ben rubbed his jaw.

"This is above my pay grade."

"Everything today is above everyone's pay grade," Clara muttered.

Ben almost smiled.

He took photographs of the damaged door.

"No sign the man took anything?"

Thomas checked his coat.

Then went pale.

"The returned letters."

Eleanor stared.

"What?"

"They're gone."

Clara looked around.

"The intruder took them?"

Thomas checked the floor, chair, hall.

"Yes."

Eleanor's stomach tightened.

"So someone wanted proof you wrote me."

"Or proof I received your father's money."

"The receipt?"

Thomas checked.

Still there.

He exhaled.

Ben said, "Why would anyone steal fifty-year-old letters?"

Thomas looked at Eleanor.

"Because dates matter."

"How?"

"If I wrote after my official death, it proves I survived."

Ben stared.

"That's not exactly criminal genius territory."

"No. But the letters also mention Peter."

Eleanor snapped, "You didn't tell me that."

Thomas looked at her.

"I hadn't finished."

"What did you write?"

"That Peter framed me."

"For attempting to kill him."

"Yes."

Ben's expression sharpened.

"Framed how?"

Thomas leaned against the counter.

"In October 1976, Peter came to my apartment bleeding from the shoulder. He told police I shot him."

"Did you?"

"No."

"Gun?"

"Found in my truck."

"Yours?"

"My father's."

"Prints?"

"Mine."

Eleanor whispered, "Because you had handled it."

"Earlier that week."

Ben said, "Why weren't you prosecuted?"

"Peter disappeared before the hearing."

Eleanor stared.

"What?"

Thomas nodded.

"Same night my truck went over the ridge."

Clara frowned.

"So Peter claimed Thomas shot him, then Peter vanished, then Thomas supposedly died?"

"Yes."

"And later Peter came back?"

"Three weeks after my funeral."

Eleanor remembered.

Peter had appeared at church thin and bandaged.

He told everyone he had been recovering with relatives.

She had never questioned it.

Thomas continued.

"By then, the case against me was closed because I was dead."

Ben said, "And the body in your truck?"

"Burned beyond recognition."

"Identification?"

"Dental records."

Thomas looked at Eleanor.

"Peter arranged them."

Ben swore softly.

Eleanor sat.

"Who could the body have been?"

Thomas shook his head.

"I spent years trying to find out."

"And failed?"

"Until last month."

Eleanor looked up.

"You know something."

Thomas nodded.

"A missing man."

"Name."

"Samuel Reed."

Eleanor's heart stopped.

Clara noticed.

"Grandma?"

Eleanor whispered, "Sam Reed worked for my father."

Thomas looked surprised.

"You knew him?"

"Of course. He delivered supplies to the hardware store."

"What happened to him?"

"He left town."

"When?"

Eleanor thought.

"October 1976."

The kitchen became silent.

Thomas said, "His sister reported him missing on October nineteenth."

The day before Thomas's funeral.

Clara whispered, "Oh my God."

Ben took notes quickly.

"Why wasn't that connected to the crash?"

Thomas laughed bitterly.

"Small town. Influential families. Convenient death."

Eleanor looked at him.

"You're saying my father knew Samuel."

"Yes."

"Everyone knew Samuel."

"Your father paid him cash two days before the crash."

Eleanor's face hardened.

"Proof?"

"Bank records from Peter's private files."

"You have them?"

"Copies."

"Where?"

Thomas looked away.

"Not here."

Eleanor stood.

"Where?"

"In my motel room."

Ben said, "Which motel?"

Thomas told him.

Ben radioed another officer.

Eleanor asked, "Why were you going through Peter's files?"

"Because he sent me a key."

"What?"

"Two weeks before he died."

Thomas reached into his pocket.

A brass key.

Clara said, "To what?"

"A storage unit."

"Where?"

"Outside Dayton."

Eleanor stared.

"Peter sent you a key after fifty years?"

"With a note."

"What did it say?"

Thomas took out his wallet.

Inside was a folded photocopy.

He handed it to her.

Tom,

I am dying. You were right about our father, wrong about Eleanor's father, and wrong about me in one important way. If you still hate me after you see the box, I will deserve it. If you do not, burn what is left of us.

P.

Eleanor read one line again.

Wrong about Eleanor's father.

She looked at Thomas.

"You said my father helped him."

"The sealed statement says Harold Carter helped cover up the crash."

"Then what was I wrong about?"

"I don't know."

Ben's radio crackled.

The officer sent to Thomas's motel spoke urgently.

Ben's expression changed.

"What?"

He listened.

Then looked at Thomas.

"Your motel room was broken into."

Thomas closed his eyes.

"The bank records?"

"Room tossed. Papers missing."

Clara said, "Who knew where you were staying?"

Thomas counted silently.

"Peter's attorney. Daniel. Marcus."

"And?"

Thomas hesitated.

Eleanor saw it.

"Who else?"

He met her eyes.

"My daughter."

Eleanor froze.

"You have a daughter."

"Yes."

"How old?"

"Forty-eight."

The arithmetic struck like a slap.

Eleanor whispered, "You left me because you believed I was pregnant, then had a child with someone else two years later."

Thomas said nothing.

"Answer me."

"Yes."

Clara stepped between them slightly.

"Grandma."

"No."

Eleanor's voice shook.

"What's her name?"

"Rebecca."

"Mother?"

"Margaret Lewis."

Eleanor knew the name.

A nurse from Ohio.

Thomas continued.

"Margaret died ten years ago."

"And Rebecca knows you're here?"

"Yes."

"Why?"

"She drove me."

That surprised everyone.

Clara said, "She's in town?"

Thomas nodded.

"At the motel."

Ben's radio crackled again.

He listened.

Then said, "Not anymore."

Thomas went pale.

"What?"

"The clerk says a woman matching Rebecca's description left with two men about an hour ago."

"Voluntarily?"

"Couldn't tell."

Thomas reached for his phone.

No answer.

Again.

Nothing.

Then a text appeared.

He read it.

His face emptied.

Eleanor whispered, "What?"

Thomas handed her the phone.

A photograph.

Rebecca tied to a chair.

Behind her was an old wooden wall.

Below the image:

BRING THE ORIGINAL WILL TO THE BELL FARM.

NO POLICE.

Eleanor stared at Thomas.

He looked fifty years younger and fifty years more afraid.

Clara whispered, "They took your daughter."

Thomas nodded.

Ben said, "This is now kidnapping."

Thomas looked at the officer.

"And if police rush the farm, she dies."

Ben's jaw tightened.

"We don't know that."

"I do."

Eleanor looked at the photograph again.

Something about the wooden wall bothered her.

She zoomed in.

A painted red stripe ran behind Rebecca's chair.

Eleanor whispered, "That's not the Bell farmhouse."

Thomas looked.

"How do you know?"

"Because I've seen that wall."

"Where?"

Eleanor looked toward the old photograph box.

"My father's warehouse."

Silence.

The warehouse had burned down in 1981.

Or she had been told it did.

Clara whispered, "Grandma?"

Eleanor stared at the photograph.

"If that wall still exists, then so does the basement."

Thomas said, "What basement?"

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Eleanor looked at him.

"The one my father never let anyone enter."