Chapter 5
Richard did not shout when they arrested him.
That scared me more than if he had.
He simply looked through the doorway at his mother and said, “You’ll regret this.”
Mrs. Whitmore shrank into the blanket.
I stepped in front of her.
His eyes moved to me.
“You too.”
The officer guided him toward the cruiser.
Helen closed the door.
Then she turned the lock.
The click sounded small.
But it felt like a wall rising between us and him.
For the first time all evening, Mrs. Whitmore slept.
Not deeply.
Not peacefully.
But her breathing slowed, and the lines around her mouth softened.
I sat in the chair beside her until dawn.
My cheek throbbed.
My shoulder ached.
My hands smelled faintly of paper and disinfectant.
Helen worked at the dining table through the night.
By morning, she had filed motions, contacted the bank, alerted the court, and frozen several transfers Richard had tried to initiate.
At seven, she called my name.
“Miss Parker.”
“Anna,” I said.
She looked up.
“What?”
“My name is Anna. After tonight, I think we can use first names.”
For the first time, Helen smiled.
“Anna, there’s more.”
I hated those words.
Every time someone said there was more, the ground opened wider.
Helen turned her laptop toward me.
“These are attempted wire transfers from Eleanor’s trust.”
I leaned closer.
My eyes blurred from exhaustion.
Five hundred thousand.
Seven hundred thousand.
Two million.
All attempted within the last month.
“All blocked?” I asked.
“Most,” Helen said.
“Most?”
“One went through.”
I felt cold.
“How much?”
“Three hundred thousand dollars.”
“To whom?”
Helen clicked the screen.
A company name appeared.
Ravenhall Memory Care.
I frowned.
“That’s the facility Richard wanted to send her to?”
“Yes.”
“That doesn’t make sense,” I said. “Why pay them before a court order?”
Helen’s expression hardened.
“Because I don’t think it was payment for care.”
The front doorbell rang.
Both of us froze.
One of the agency security guards checked the camera.
“It’s a woman,” he said. “Late forties. Says she’s with Ravenhall.”
Helen’s jaw tightened.
“Let her in.”
The woman who entered wore a gray suit and a smile polished smooth.
“I’m Dr. Celia Marsh,” she said. “I’m here to evaluate Mrs. Whitmore for immediate placement.”
“No,” Helen said.
Dr. Marsh blinked.
“I have authorization from her son.”
“Her son is in custody.”
The smile faltered.
“I’m sure that is a misunderstanding.”
Helen stepped closer.
“I’m sure it isn’t.”
Dr. Marsh looked past her toward Mrs. Whitmore, who had woken and was watching from the sofa.
“Eleanor,” she said sweetly. “Do you remember me?”
Mrs. Whitmore gripped the blanket.
“No.”
The doctor’s voice turned syrupy.
“We met last week. You agreed Ravenhall would be safer for you.”
Mrs. Whitmore shook her head.
“No. Richard said I had to say yes.”
Dr. Marsh’s eyes sharpened.
“Memory patients often become confused.”
I stood.
“She said no.”
Dr. Marsh looked at me like I was furniture that had spoken.
“And you are?”
“Her caregiver.”
“Then perhaps you should stay in your lane.”
I almost smiled.
I was tired enough to be dangerous.
“My lane is keeping her alive.”
Helen lifted her phone.
“Dr. Marsh, before you continue, you should know the police have video of Richard threatening his mother in the basement. We also have financial records showing a three-hundred-thousand-dollar transfer to your facility.”
Dr. Marsh went still.
The polished smile vanished.
“I need to speak to my attorney.”
Helen nodded.
“You should.”
The doctor turned to leave.
But Mrs. Whitmore spoke.
“She wore red shoes.”
Everyone turned.
Mrs. Whitmore stared at Dr. Marsh.
“You wore red shoes when you came with Richard. You told him I would be easier if they changed my medicine.”
Dr. Marsh’s face paled.
Helen’s voice dropped.
“What medicine?”
May you like
Mrs. Whitmore looked at me.
“The little white pills,” she whispered. “The ones that made the walls move.”
