Chapter 7: The Grandmother Who Was Supposed to Be Dead
For several seconds, I couldn't move.
The image on Caleb's tablet was blurry, distorted by smoke and poor lighting, but the woman standing behind my mother was unmistakable.
Silver hair.
A familiar posture.
One hand resting on a wooden walking cane.
My grandmother.
Margaret Hayes.
The woman whose funeral I had attended six years earlier.
“That's impossible,” Mom whispered.
I turned toward her.
“You recognize her?””
Mom's face had gone completely white.
She looked at the tablet, then at the driveway, as if expecting someone to emerge from the darkness.
“Turn it off,” she said.
Caleb pulled the tablet against his chest.
“No.””
“Caleb, please.””
“You always say that when you don't want us to know something.””
Aunt Meredith approached the screen.
“Let me see.””
She watched the final seconds twice.
Then she sat down heavily.
“Oh, my God.””
I looked at her.
“Do you recognize her?””
Meredith nodded slowly.
“That's Margaret.””
“But she died.””
Meredith didn't answer immediately.
Instead, she looked toward my mother.
“Eleanor, what have you done?””
I felt my heart pounding.
“Mom, why did Grandma appear in a video six years after her funeral?””
Mom shook her head.
“I can't explain.””
“Then tell us what you can explain.””
She looked at the tablet.
“The jewelry box belonged to your grandmother. It contained something your father had been looking for.””
“What?””
“I don't know.””
“You were holding it.””
“I was supposed to retrieve it.””
“From a burning house?””
She closed her eyes.
“Yes.””
I stared at her.
The fire had nearly killed me.
It had left Caleb traumatized.
It had destroyed the cottage where we had grown up.
And my mother had returned to the burning building to retrieve a jewelry box.
I could barely recognize the woman standing in front of me.
Aunt Meredith grabbed her sister's arm.
“Eleanor, where is Margaret?””
Mom began crying.
“I don't know.””
Meredith shook her head.
“You expect me to believe that?””
“I'm telling the truth!””
“You attended her funeral with me!””
“I know!””
“Then explain why she's standing behind you in that recording!””
Mom collapsed into a chair.
I looked at Caleb.
“Can you show the recording to the officer?””
He nodded.
The older officer had remained near the garden entrance, speaking with his colleague.
I approached him and showed him the video.
He watched without interrupting.
When it ended, he asked Caleb to preserve the original file.
“Do you know when this was recorded?””
Caleb pointed to the timestamp.
“Eight months ago. The night of the fire.””
The officer exchanged a look with his colleague.
“We'll need to verify the footage and identify the person shown.””
I nodded.
“Can you find my grandmother?””
“We'll investigate the information you've provided.””
It wasn't the answer I wanted.
But it was better than another promise from my parents.
The officer then asked my mother to remain available for questioning.
Mom nodded weakly.
Before he walked away, I stopped him.
“Can I ask you something?””
“Of course.””
“If my grandmother is alive, can she help establish what happened that night?””
“If we locate her, we'll want to speak with her.””
I nodded.
Then I returned to the table.
Thomas was examining the photograph from the utility room.
He looked troubled.
“June, there's something I haven't told you.””
I was beginning to hate those words.
“What?””
He held up the insurance document.
“Your grandmother owned the lake cottage before your father transferred it into the family property company.””
I frowned.
“What does that have to do with anything?””
“Margaret had a separate ownership agreement. She retained control over a portion of the property and certain financial records.””
“Why?””
Thomas hesitated.
“Because she didn't trust your father.””
Meredith let out a bitter laugh.
“She was right about that.””
Thomas continued.
“Six years ago, shortly before the funeral, Margaret asked me to help prepare some documents. She believed Richard was using family properties to conceal debts.””
I stared at him.
“You knew?””
“I suspected. I didn't have proof.””
“Why didn't you tell us?””
“Your grandmother specifically asked me to wait.””
“Until when?””
He looked at the tablet.
“Until the original documents were found.””
I remembered the blue folder Sloane had mentioned.
The one Dad claimed I had stolen.
“Was that what he was looking for?””
Thomas nodded.
“Possibly.””
I sat down.
For eight months, I had believed the cottage fire was a terrible accident followed by a cruel family cover-up.
Now it seemed the fire might have been connected to something that had begun years earlier.
Something involving my grandmother.
Something worth destroying an entire property to hide.
Caleb touched my sleeve.
“June?””
I turned.
He looked frightened again.
“There's another thing.””
“What is it?””
“When I found the tablet, I also found a little notebook.””
He reached into his pocket and pulled out a folded piece of paper.
It was yellowed at the edges.
My name was written across the front.
*For June, when she's old enough to understand.*
My hands began shaking.
“Where did you find this?””
“In the same metal box.””
I opened it carefully.
Inside was a short handwritten note.
The handwriting was unmistakable.
Grandmother's.
My dearest June,
If you're reading this, something has happened that I prayed would never happen. Your father has spent years searching for the documents I kept hidden. He believes they will destroy him.
But the truth is more important than his reputation.
There is something you must know about your birth, about your sister, and about the name Hayes.
I stopped reading.
My chest tightened.
About my birth?
I looked up.
Mom was staring at the note as if she had seen a ghost.
I continued.
You and Sloane were not supposed to be separated. One of you was meant to inherit everything. The other was supposed to be protected from the consequences.
Your father changed the agreement.
My fingers went numb.
I looked at Meredith.
“Does this mean Sloane and I aren't both Grandma's biological granddaughters?””
Meredith looked at Mom.
Then at Thomas.
Neither spoke.
Finally, Meredith whispered:
“June, there's a reason your grandmother always treated you differently.””
My throat tightened.
“What reason?””
She reached for my hand.
“Because she knew something your parents had hidden from you since the day you were born.””
Before she could continue, a car horn sounded outside the gate.
A black sedan had stopped beneath the entrance lights.
The driver's door opened.
An elderly woman stepped out.
She used a wooden cane.
Her silver hair fell neatly against her shoulders.
And when she looked toward the garden, her eyes found mine.
“June,” she called.
I couldn't breathe.
Grandmother Margaret had just walked into my eighteenth birthday party.
Alive.
May you like
And the first thing she said was:
“Where is the blue folder?””
