Chapter 1 - Beneath the FlowersJasper could hear his mother’s voice.
That was the worst part.
“Mom, have you seen Jasper?”
The nine-year-old boy opened his mouth, but only a broken whisper came out.
“Mom…”
Darkness pressed against him.
Jasper lay horizontally along the length of the large suitcase, knees slightly bent because there was barely enough room. His dirty sweater stuck to his back. His face hurt where he had fallen earlier.
He lifted one trembling hand.
Tap.
Nothing.
He tried again.
Tap.
Above him, footsteps moved across the garden.
Then Beverly’s voice floated through the layers separating them.
“I saw him ride his bike out this morning.”
Jasper’s eyes widened.
That was a lie.
Grandma Beverly knew exactly where he was.
She had put him there.
Less than an hour earlier, Jasper had been upstairs in his grandfather’s old study, looking for a pencil sharpener.
He was not supposed to enter that room.
Beverly reminded him constantly.
“Your grandfather’s things are private.”
But Jasper had heard Beverly talking inside.
The door had been slightly open.
She was on the phone.
“I don’t care what the trust says,” she snapped. “Monica signs tomorrow, and once the transfer is filed, the eastern garden is ours to sell.”
Jasper had stopped breathing.
His mother’s name made him listen.
Then Beverly said something stranger.
“The boy doesn’t know what he saw.”
Jasper’s heart had jumped.
What had he seen?
Three nights earlier, he had walked into the kitchen after midnight because he wanted water.
Beverly was sitting at the table.
In front of her were papers.
One page had his mother’s name at the bottom.
But the signature looked wrong.
Jasper knew his mother’s signature.
Monica signed school forms every week.
Her M was tall.
The signature on Beverly’s page was short and curved.
Jasper asked:
“Why did you write Mom’s name?”
Beverly had gone completely still.
Then she smiled.
“I didn’t.”
Jasper knew she was lying.
Now, standing outside the study, he heard Beverly say into the phone:
“If Monica finds out before she signs tomorrow, we lose everything.”
Jasper stepped backward.
A floorboard creaked.
The study door opened.
Beverly stared at him.
Neither spoke.
Then Jasper ran.
He almost reached the back door.
Beverly caught him near the laundry room.
After that, everything happened too fast.
The suitcase.
The garden.
Beverly’s cold voice telling him to stop screaming.
Now Jasper could hear Monica only a few yards away.
He raised his fist.
Thump.
Pain shot through his knuckles.
Above ground, Monica looked toward the freshly planted row of flowers.
“What was that?”
Beverly’s expression barely changed.
“What?”
Monica listened.
Natural daylight fell across the garden behind the enormous American mansion.
Near Beverly’s shoes sat a shovel.
Beside it were several empty flower trays.
The earth looked freshly turned.
“You heard that, right?”
Beverly smiled.
“Probably the irrigation line.”
Monica frowned.
She had driven home thirty minutes earlier than expected.
Her meeting downtown had been canceled.
She had texted Jasper.
No response.
His bicycle was not beside the garage.
His backpack was inside.
His sneakers were inside.
His favorite blue bicycle helmet was hanging exactly where it always hung.
Yet Beverly claimed he had ridden away.
“Without his helmet?”
Beverly looked toward the garage.
“What?”
“Jasper’s helmet is inside.”
For the first time, Beverly’s smile tightened.
“He probably forgot it.”
“He never forgets it.”
“Children forget things.”
Monica looked at the shovel.
Then at the soil.
Then at her mother.
“Why are you planting flowers today?”
“You keep saying the garden needs color.”
“I said that six months ago.”
Beverly folded her hands.
“Well, I finally listened.”
Monica tried to laugh.
She couldn’t.
Something felt wrong.
Not dramatic.
Not obvious.
Just wrong.
She pulled out her phone.
“I’m calling him.”
Beverly’s eyes moved to the screen.
Monica pressed Jasper’s number.
They listened.
No ringtone.
The call went to voicemail.
“His phone’s probably dead,” Beverly said.
Monica looked at her.
“Jasper doesn’t have a phone.”
Silence.
Beverly had made a mistake.
A small one.
But Monica felt it like a door slamming inside her mind.
Her mother knew Jasper did not own a phone.
Why had she answered as if he did?
Monica stepped toward the flower bed.
Beverly moved too.
“Where are you going?”
“I heard something.”
“You heard pipes.”
“Maybe.”
Monica crouched.
Beverly’s voice sharpened.
“Monica.”
She looked up.
“What?”
Her mother smiled again.
Too quickly.
“You’re wearing good clothes. I just watered everything.”
Monica stared at her.
Then lowered her hand to the soil.
Loose.
Recently disturbed.
Her fingers pressed into it.
Beverly’s expression changed.
“Stop.”
Monica looked up.
The warmth had vanished.
“What did you say?”
“Don’t ruin the flowers.”
Another sound came from below.
Thump.
Monica froze.
Beverly did too.
This time there was no mistaking it.
Monica dropped to both knees.
“Jasper?”
Nothing.
Then:
Thump.
Thump.
Monica’s face drained of color.
“JASPER!”
She clawed at the loose soil.
Beverly grabbed her shoulder.
“Monica, stop!”
Monica spun.
“Get off me!”
“You don’t understand.”
“JASPER!”
Monica dug faster.
Her fingernails filled with dirt.
Beverly reached for her again.
Monica shoved her away.
“What did you do?”
Beverly’s face became cold.
“He was going to destroy everything.”
Monica stared.
“What?”
The words were barely audible.
Then Monica understood what she was hearing.
Not a misunderstanding.
Not an accident.
A confession.
Her own mother knew Jasper was beneath the garden.
Monica screamed for help although no one else was nearby.
She grabbed the shovel.
Beverly backed away.
“Monica, listen to me.”
Monica began clearing the loose earth.
“Jasper! Baby, make noise!”
Thump.
A few inches farther.
The shovel struck something hard.
Monica dropped it immediately and used her hands.
A dark surface appeared.
Then a handle.
A suitcase.
Her scream tore through the garden.
“No. No, no, no…”
Beverly stood completely still.
Monica uncovered enough to reach the closure.
Her hands shook violently.
“Jasper!”
Inside, the boy heard her.
“Mom…”
Monica pulled.
The suitcase opened.
Jasper lay horizontally inside, curled slightly along its length, his face wet with tears.
For one second, Monica could not move.
Then she lifted him out.
Jasper collapsed against her.
“I knew you’d hear me.”
Monica held him so tightly he cried out.
She immediately loosened her arms.
“Oh God. I’m sorry. I’m sorry.”
Jasper buried his face against her.
“Don’t let her take me.”
Monica looked at Beverly.
Her mother had not run.
She stood beside the flowers with an expression Monica had never seen before.
No panic.
No regret.
Only frustration.
As if Jasper’s rescue were an inconvenience.
Monica reached for her phone.
Beverly said quietly:
“If you call the police, you’ll lose this house.”
Monica stopped.
Not because of the threat.
Because Beverly had just revealed something else.
“What did you say?”
Beverly’s eyes flicked toward Jasper.
The boy tightened his grip around Monica.
Beverly realized too late that she had spoken too much.
Monica dialed 911.
And while the call connected, Jasper whispered against her shoulder:
“Mom…”
“Yes?”
“Grandma wrote your name on papers.”
Monica’s eyes locked onto Beverly.
“What papers?”
May you like
Jasper began crying again.
“The ones that say the garden isn’t mine anymore.”
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