Chapter 2: The Secret Inside the Blue Cabinet
Vanessa held out her hand.
"Give me the letter.""
I backed toward the washing machine.
"It's mine.""
"Don't test me, Emily.""
"Mom wrote my name on it.""
Vanessa glanced toward the house before stepping closer.
"Your mother was very sick when she wrote those things. She wasn't thinking clearly.""
I stared at her.
"You just said she had no right to leave it to me.""
For a second, Vanessa didn't answer.
Then she forced a smile.
"You're twisting my words. I'm trying to protect you from getting confused.""
She reached for the envelope.
I shoved it inside my sweatshirt.
"Please leave me alone.""
Her smile disappeared.
"You've become incredibly ungrateful.""
She walked toward the door, then stopped.
"Breakfast is over. And don't go wandering around the house today. Brittany has friends coming over.""
The door closed.
I waited until I heard her footsteps disappear before pulling the letter out again.
My mother's handwriting looked slightly uneven. She had probably been tired when she wrote it.
I pressed the paper against my chest.
For three years, I'd convinced myself that losing Mom meant losing the person who made me feel safe.
But she'd somehow left me something that might help me now.
I looked toward the small window above the washing machine.
The study was on the other side of the house.
If Vanessa was frightened of that letter, there had to be a reason.
I waited until afternoon.
Brittany's friends arrived around two. Their laughter traveled through the house, followed by music and the occasional thud of furniture being moved.
At three, Vanessa drove away.
I saw her car disappear through the garage window.
That was my chance.
I slipped through the side door and hurried toward the study.
The house smelled of freshly baked cookies and the floral cleaner Vanessa used on the floors.
I passed the staircase.
My mother's photographs were still there, although Vanessa had already removed several from the hallway.
When I reached the study, I turned the handle.
Locked.
I tried again.
Nothing.
Dad had always kept the study locked whenever he traveled. He said important business documents were inside.
I was about to leave when I remembered something.
When I was little, Mom used to hide spare keys inside the ceramic bird on the bookshelf.
I walked back to the living room.
The bird was gone.
In its place sat a silver decorative horse.
I checked the surrounding shelves, then opened the drawer beneath the television.
Nothing.
Finally, I spotted the ceramic bird inside a cardboard box near the dining room.
I carefully lifted it.
A small brass key lay underneath.
My heart started pounding.
I hurried back to the study and inserted it into the lock.
Click.
The door opened.
Dad's study smelled like leather, old books, and his familiar aftershave.
Everything was exactly where he'd left it.
His desk faced the large window overlooking the backyard. A framed photograph of Mom and me sat beside his computer.
I touched the glass.
"Hi, Mom," I whispered.
Then I remembered the letter.
The blue cabinet.
It stood against the far wall, partially hidden behind a large bookcase.
I approached it.
The cabinet had three drawers and a small combination lock.
I pulled each drawer.
The first contained old tax documents.
The second held photographs and property paperwork.
The third was locked.
On the cabinet door was a small brass plaque.
L.M. and M.H. — Family Records.
I tried the key.
It didn't fit.
I looked at the combination lock.
Three numbers.
My mother had always loved birthdays.
I tried my birthday.
Nothing.
Then Dad's.
Nothing.
Finally, I entered Mom's birthday.
The lock clicked open.
Inside the drawer were several folders, a small flash drive, and a sealed envelope.
The envelope had my name on it.
I opened it with trembling fingers.
There was a legal document attached to a letter.
I didn't understand all the language, but one sentence stood out.
The property known as 18 Willow Creek Drive shall remain protected for the benefit and residential security of Emily Harper.
I read it again.
The house.
This house.
There were signatures at the bottom.
My father's.
My mother's.
And the signature of an attorney.
I heard a car door slam outside.
My heart stopped.
Vanessa.
I quickly returned the documents to the drawer, but I couldn't resist taking a photograph of the first page with my old digital camera.
I closed the cabinet and hurried toward the door.
Then I heard voices.
"Michael, you should have told me you were coming home early!""
Dad.
My father was home.
I stepped into the hallway.
"Emily?""
His voice came from the entrance.
I ran toward him.
"Dad!""
He dropped his suitcase when he saw me.
For a moment, neither of us moved.
Then he noticed my clothes, my unwashed hair, and the dirt on my sleeves.
"Sweetheart, what happened?""
I started crying.
"Dad, I didn't go to a friend's house.""
His expression changed.
"What?""
"I've been sleeping in the garage.""
He stared at me.
Behind him, Vanessa appeared.
"Michael, she's exaggerating.""
Dad turned slowly.
"What did she just say?""
Vanessa gave a nervous laugh.
"Emily has been having another difficult week. I thought a little discipline might help.""
"She's sleeping in the garage?""
"Only temporarily. Brittany needed the bedroom.""
Dad looked at the staircase.
Then at me.
"Where's your mattress?""
"In the garage.""
His jaw tightened.
"Why?""
Vanessa stepped forward.
"Michael, please. You don't understand the situation.""
Dad raised his hand.
"No. I want to hear it from Emily.""
I told him everything.
The bedroom.
The photographs.
The phone.
The freezing garage.
The pancakes.
I told him how Vanessa had said I was staying with a friend.
Dad's face grew paler with every sentence.
Finally, he turned toward Vanessa.
"Did you take her phone?""
Vanessa folded her arms.
"She was being disrespectful.""
"Did you lock her in the garage?""
"Michael, don't make this sound worse than it was.""
He looked at me again.
"Where is your mother's jewelry box?""
My stomach dropped.
"I don't know. It was on the nightstand.""
Dad immediately walked upstairs.
Vanessa followed him.
Brittany emerged from the bedroom wearing pink pajamas.
"Dad! You're home!""
She smiled and rushed toward him.
But Dad didn't hug her.
He stopped at the bedroom door.
My bedroom.
The walls were already being painted pale pink. Mom's photographs were stacked against the wall, and her dresser had been moved into the hallway.
Dad stared at the room.
Then he turned toward Vanessa.
"Who gave you permission to do this?""
Vanessa's voice trembled.
"We discussed it.""
"No, we didn't.""
"I thought you would agree.""
Dad looked at the empty nightstand.
"Where's Laura's jewelry box?""
Vanessa glanced toward Brittany.
Brittany shrugged.
"I put it in the trash. It was old and ugly.""
The silence that followed was unbearable.
Dad closed his eyes.
Then he looked at me.
"Emily, go get your coat. You're coming with me.""
Vanessa stepped forward.
"Michael, we need to talk about this privately.""
He turned.
"We will.""
Then he added something that made her face lose all color.
"But first, I'm calling the attorney who helped your wife prepare the property agreement.""
Vanessa froze.
"What property agreement?""
May you like
Dad looked at her.
And for the first time, he seemed to realize she knew nothing about the documents in the blue cabinet.
