Chapter 8 - The Voicemail Richard BuriedPolice filled the house.
Paramedics checked Lily’s wrists, scalp and cheek.
Martha sat handcuffed inside a patrol car.
Yet the most dangerous thing in the mansion was now Richard’s silence.
Lily sat on the edge of the living-room couch with a blanket around her shoulders.
Richard stood near the fireplace.
Neither looked at the other.
Finally Lily spoke.
“What voicemail?”
“Tonight isn’t the time.”
“You don’t get to decide that.”
Richard closed his eyes.
“Lily.”
“She knew Mom.”
“I know.”
“She knew about a safe in our basement.”
“I know.”
“She knew about the brass key.”
Richard said nothing.
“She said Mom called you before she died.”
His shoulders dropped.
“Three times.”
Lily stared.
“You told me she died instantly.”
“She did.”
“That wasn’t my question.”
Richard looked older suddenly.
Not fifty-two.
Seventy.
“She called me before the crash.”
“And you didn’t answer.”
“No.”
The word barely came out.
“Why?”
“I was working.”
Lily laughed once, but there was no humor in it.
“Of course.”
“That’s fair.”
“You were working?”
“I was negotiating a deal. I thought she was calling about dinner. You had a fever that week, and I assumed—”
“You assumed?”
“I made a mistake.”
“Mistake?”
Lily stood.
“Dad, she died.”
“I know.”
“Did she leave a message?”
Richard looked toward the floor.
Lily stepped closer.
“What did she say?”
Police movement continued quietly around them.
Nobody interrupted.
Richard seemed to forget they existed.
“She sounded scared.”
Lily’s anger weakened.
“What did she say?”
Richard swallowed.
“She said, ‘Richard, call me. Something is wrong.’”
“That’s all?”
“No.”
He rubbed a hand across his face.
“She called again eleven minutes later.”
Lily waited.
“The second voicemail said she had discovered something in the foundation records. She said someone knew she had found it.”
“Martha.”
“We didn’t know that then.”
“And the third?”
Richard didn’t answer.
“Dad.”
“She was crying.”
Lily’s chest tightened.
“She said someone was following her.”
Silence swallowed the room.
“And you didn’t call back?”
“I didn’t hear the messages until after.”
“You saw her calls.”
Richard nodded.
“I silenced the phone.”
Lily turned away.
He reached for her.
She stepped out of range.
That hurt him more than anything Martha could have done.
“You hid this from me for nineteen years.”
“You were a child.”
“I stopped being a child a long time ago.”
“I wanted you to remember your mother without attaching fear to her.”
“I don’t remember her at all!”
The words cracked through the room.
Richard stared.
Lily’s eyes filled.
“That’s the problem. I have photographs. Stories. A necklace. A jewelry box. That’s it. You were the person who knew her, and every time I asked, you shut down.”
“I was trying to protect you.”
“No. You were protecting yourself.”
Richard didn’t deny it.
Lily wiped her face.
“What was in the safe?”
“I don’t know.”
“You had nineteen years.”
“Catherine specifically told me not to open it.”
Lily looked at him.
“And for once you listened?”
He accepted the blow.
“Yes.”
“Where’s the red folder?”
“In the basement with police.”
“And the recorder?”
Richard frowned.
“What recorder?”
“There was a digital recorder in the safe. Martha took it.”
Richard turned toward the officers.
Minutes later, they searched Martha.
No recorder.
They searched the SUV.
Nothing.
The service corridor.
Nothing.
Richard felt dread rise again.
“Did she drop it?”
“I didn’t see.”
An officer walked into the living room holding an evidence bag.
“We found this near the service door.”
Inside was the brass key.
Lily shook her head.
“That’s not it.”
Richard looked toward the patrol car outside.
Martha sat behind the glass.
Watching the house.
Even from a distance, Lily could see the smile on her face.
“She still has it,” Lily said.
Richard walked outside before anyone could stop him.
An officer intercepted him near the car.
“Mr. Bennett—”
“I need sixty seconds.”
Martha watched through the closed window.
Richard stood outside.
“Where is the recorder?”
She smiled.
He leaned closer.
“You’re done, Marcy.”
The name erased her smile.
Richard continued.
“Police have Catherine’s statement.”
“You think a page proves murder?”
“I think kidnapping my daughter guarantees you’ll have plenty of time to explain.”
Martha leaned toward the glass.
Her voice was muffled but understandable.
“You still don’t know what’s on that recording.”
Richard’s jaw tightened.
“What is?”
Martha smiled again.
“Catherine didn’t make it for the police.”
“Who was it for?”
Martha looked past him toward the house.
Toward Lily.
“For her.”
Richard’s blood went cold.
Then Martha said something he could not hear through the glass.
He moved closer.
“What?”
She repeated it.
Richard read her lips.
The recording is already gone.
At that exact moment, Lily’s dead phone inside the house suddenly powered on.
Its shattered screen glowed.
One notification appeared.
A file had been uploaded automatically to the family cloud account.
May you like
Its title was:
FOR LILY — PLAY ONLY IF I’M DEAD.
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