Chapter 6 - The Missing MinutesDetective Morales returned before sunrise.
Claire had not slept.
The mansion no longer felt like a home.
Every hallway seemed to hold a secret.
Every door looked like evidence.
Rosie slept beside Claire in the guest suite because Claire could not bear taking her back to her bedroom.
A child psychologist from the advocacy center had advised keeping routines gentle and avoiding repeated questioning.
Claire tried.
But the unanswered questions crowded her mind.
At seven, Morales sat with Claire and George in the kitchen.
Ethan had left for a hotel after an officer confirmed he was free to go but remained under investigation.
Maria slept in the staff room.
“We recovered part of the deleted camera data,” Morales said.
Claire gripped her coffee.
“From last night?”
“Not yet. From six years ago.”
George looked up sharply.
Morales continued.
“Your current system replaced the old one three years ago, but the security company archived maintenance images.”
Claire stared.
“And?”
“On the night Evelyn died, Ethan entered the house at 2:14 a.m.”
George closed his eyes.
Claire’s throat tightened.
“He left at 2:46.”
“Fifteen minutes after Mom died.”
“Yes.”
“Was he alone?”
“The exterior camera shows him arriving alone and leaving alone.”
“What did he do inside?”
“We don’t have interior footage.”
Claire pushed her coffee away.
“What did Ethan tell you?” George asked.
Morales looked at Claire.
“He says Evelyn asked him to retrieve financial documents.”
Claire laughed without humor.
“Convenient.”
“He claims she called him from the hospital.”
“Is there a record?”
“We’re checking historical phone records, though six years complicates it.”
George stood.
“She could barely speak that night.”
Morales looked at him.
“You were at the hospital?”
“Yes.”
“So was Claire?”
Claire nodded.
“I was sleeping in the chair beside Mom.”
“You never saw Ethan leave?”
“No.”
Her stomach twisted.
She remembered waking at 2:20 and seeing Ethan’s empty chair.
He had told her he went for coffee.
She had believed him.
Why wouldn’t she?
He had held her when the doctor told her Evelyn was gone.
He had driven Claire home at dawn.
He had made funeral arrangements.
He had proposed eleven months later.
Claire covered her mouth.
George touched her shoulder.
She pulled away.
“Don’t.”
His hand dropped.
Morales placed another file on the counter.
“Box 317 can be opened this afternoon. The bank confirmed it hasn’t been accessed since Evelyn rented it.”
Claire stared.
“Then Ethan went there this morning for nothing.”
“Possibly.”
“Or he wanted to know whether the key still worked.”
Morales nodded slightly.
“Possibly.”
Maria appeared in the doorway.
She looked exhausted.
“Mrs. Bennett?”
Claire turned.
Maria had always called her Claire until recently.
The formality felt wrong.
“What?”
“I need to tell you something.”
Morales motioned for her to sit.
Maria didn’t.
“Last night, I heard Rosie.”
Claire’s heart stopped.
“When?”
“After eleven.”
“Where?”
“Upstairs.”
“Why didn’t you say that yesterday?”
Maria began crying.
“Because I was afraid.”
“Of Ethan?”
Maria looked at George.
Claire followed her gaze.
George went pale.
“Maria,” he warned.
Morales stood.
“Mr. Bennett, don’t.”
Maria clasped both hands together.
“I heard Rosie in Mrs. Evelyn’s room.”
Claire stared.
“She was talking to someone.”
“Who?”
“I couldn’t hear.”
“Then what did you hear?”
Maria swallowed.
“Mr. George.”
Claire turned toward her father.
Maria continued quickly.
“He said, ‘Give me the key, sweetheart.’”
George stepped forward.
“That is not what happened.”
“You were there?” Claire asked.
George froze.
Maria nodded desperately.
“I saw him come out of the room.”
Claire’s voice became almost inaudible.
“Dad.”
George looked at her.
“I can explain.”
“You told police you went to bed at ten.”
“I did.”
“Then why were you in Mom’s room after eleven?”
George looked toward the staircase.
His face collapsed.
“Because Rosie wasn’t the first person who found that key.”
Silence.
George reached into his pocket.
Morales’s hand moved instinctively toward her side.
George slowly placed a folded piece of paper on the island.
“I found this under Evelyn’s pillow yesterday morning.”
Claire opened it.
Three handwritten words.
Not Evelyn’s handwriting.
Not George’s.
CLAIRE GETS NOTHING.
Below the words was a date.
Tomorrow’s date.
And beneath it—
May you like
a time.
9:00 a.m.
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