Chapter 5: The Secret Inside the Garage
The police found the container behind an old wooden cabinet.
It was covered in dust and wrapped in a black plastic sheet.
Detective Harris showed me a photograph on his phone.
The red paint had peeled away in several places.
A white label was still visible.
*GASOLINE — FLAMMABLE.*
I stared at it.
“Is that the same container?””
“We believe so,” he replied.
“The forensic team will examine it.””
Dad stood several feet away, speaking with an attorney who had arrived at the property.
His face looked older.
His expensive suit was wrinkled, and his watch had slipped down his wrist.
For the first time, he looked less like the man who owned half the businesses in our town and more like someone who had run out of places to hide.
Sloane sat on a garden chair.
She hadn't spoken in nearly twenty minutes.
Caleb stayed beside me.
His fingers were wrapped around mine.
“You okay?”” I whispered.
He nodded.
“Are you?””
I looked down at my arm.
The grafted skin was beginning to ache beneath the cool evening air.
“I don't know.””
He leaned against my side.
“I'm sorry.””
I turned toward him.
“For what?””
“For not telling you sooner.””
I knelt in front of him.
“Caleb, you were eleven. You were scared.””
“I remembered things.””
“That's not your fault.””
He looked down.
“Dad told me you'd go away if I talked.””
My heart tightened.
“What?””
“He said you might get sent somewhere because you caused the fire. He said if I told anyone what I saw, the police would take you away.””
I pulled him into my arms.
“Oh, sweetheart.””
He began crying.
“I didn't want to lose you.””
I held him tighter.
“You were never going to lose me.””
He buried his face against my shoulder.
For months, I had believed my little brother was simply recovering from the fire.
I hadn't realized he had been carrying the truth alone.
Across the garden, Detective Harris was speaking with the forensic officer.
Then he approached me.
“June, may I ask you a few questions?””
I nodded.
“Do you remember seeing your father that night?””
I closed my eyes.
“I remember hearing him.””
“What did he say?””
I thought about the bedroom door.
The smoke.
The handle refusing to turn.
“I heard him outside my room.””
“Do you remember anything specific?””
I swallowed.
“He said, 'Stay where you are. Don't come out.''”
The detective wrote it down.
“Did you hear anyone else?””
“Yes.””
“Who?””
“Sloane.””
“What did she say?””
I remembered her voice through the smoke.
I remembered coughing.
I remembered trying to reach the door.
“She was crying.””
“What was she saying?””
I opened my eyes.
“She kept saying, 'I didn't mean for this to happen.''”
Detective Harris nodded slowly.
“Did you hear your father respond?””
I looked toward him.
“Yes.””
“What did he say?””
I took a breath.
“He said, 'Then you shouldn't have touched it.''”
The detective's expression hardened.
He thanked me and walked away.
A few minutes later, he returned with a sealed evidence bag.
Inside was a small metal key.
I recognized it immediately.
It was the key Dad had used to lock my bedroom door.
“Where did you find that?”” I asked.
“In the red container.””
I stared at it.
Detective Harris explained that the key would be examined alongside the other evidence.
Then he asked me something unexpected.
“Have you ever heard your father mention an insurance policy connected to the lake cottage?””
I shook my head.
“No.””
He exchanged a glance with the officer beside him.
“Your father filed an insurance claim after the fire.””
I frowned.
“Of course he did. The cottage was damaged.””
“Yes. But the claim was unusually large.””
“How large?””
“Several million dollars.””
I stared at him.
“Why?””
“The property had recently been insured for a substantially higher amount.””
I felt cold.
“What does that have to do with me?””
The detective paused.
“Your father told the insurance company that the fire was caused by reckless behavior inside the cottage. He identified you as the person responsible.””
My throat tightened.
“He blamed me?””
“Yes.””
“And he collected the money?””
“We're still examining the financial records.””
I looked across the garden.
Dad was now speaking urgently to his attorney.
The attorney kept shaking his head.
I felt something click into place.
The oversized clothes.
The photographs.
The way my parents had insisted that I hide my scars.
It hadn't simply been embarrassment.
They had been trying to control the story.
If people believed I had caused the fire, nobody would question why my father had received the insurance money.
And if people saw my scars, they might ask how I had survived.
They might ask why my brother had been rescued.
They might ask what had happened inside that cottage.
Sloane suddenly stood.
“June.””
I turned.
She approached slowly.
Her mascara had run down her cheeks.
“Can we talk?””
I looked at Caleb.
“Stay with Aunt Meredith.””
Then I followed Sloane toward the far end of the garden.
She stopped beside the flower arrangements.
For several seconds, neither of us spoke.
Finally, she whispered, “I didn't know Dad was going to lock you in.””
I stared at her.
“But you knew about the bottle.””
She nodded.
“I thought it would only scare you.””
“You could have killed Caleb.””
Her eyes filled.
“I know.””
“You could have killed me.””
“I know.””
I shook my head.
“Why?””
She looked toward the house.
“Because Dad told me you were going to ruin everything.””
I frowned.
“What was I going to ruin?””
She hesitated.
Then she said something that made my blood run cold.
“The insurance money wasn't supposed to go to Dad.””
I stared at her.
“What?””
Sloane wiped her cheeks.
“He told me the cottage was going to be sold. He said the insurance money would pay off the debts and leave enough for us to start over.””
“That still doesn't explain why he needed a fire.””
She looked at me.
“Because the cottage wasn't worth what he owed.””
I felt my stomach twist.
“What are you saying?””
Sloane lowered her voice.
“Dad had borrowed money from people he couldn't pay back. He was desperate. He said the fire would solve everything.””
I stared at her.
“Did he tell you to start it?””
She began shaking her head.
“No. He said he wanted to scare you. He said if you got blamed for the accident, nobody would look at the money.””
I stepped backward.
“And you believed him?””
She cried harder.
“I was stupid.””
“No. You made a choice.””
She looked at me.
For a moment, I saw the little girl who used to climb into my bed during thunderstorms.
The girl who had shared my birthday cake.
The girl who had held my hand before our first day of school.
Then I remembered her grip around my wrist beside the pool.
Her voice demanding that I expose my scars.
And I realized she had known exactly how to hurt me.
“June, please,” she whispered.
“We're twins.””
I looked at her.
“That doesn't make what you did disappear.””
Before she could respond, Detective Harris called us back.
He was holding a document.
“Miss Hayes, there's something else.””
I approached him.
“What?””
He showed me the first page.
It was a copy of the original insurance policy.
My father's signature appeared at the bottom.
But beneath it was another name.
Mine.
I stared at the document.
“That's impossible.””
Detective Harris nodded.
“That's what we thought.””
I looked closer.
The signature was supposed to be mine.
But I had never signed it.
The detective turned the page.
It contained a handwritten statement claiming that I had accidentally started the fire while experimenting with a portable camping stove.
My name appeared at the bottom.
Along with a date.
A date when I was still recovering in the hospital.
I felt sick.
“Who signed this?””
The detective looked at me.
“That's what we're trying to establish.””
I stared at the forged signature.
Then I noticed something else.
The document had been witnessed by two people.
One was my father.
The other was my mother.
My chest tightened.
“They both signed?””
Detective Harris nodded.
“Yes.””
I couldn't speak.
Behind us, Sloane suddenly made a strange sound.
A small gasp.
I turned.
She was staring at the document.
Then she looked toward Dad.
And whispered:
“He told me he burned that one.””
The detective immediately turned toward her.
“Miss Hayes, what did you just say?””
Sloane's face went white.
She took one step backward.
“I…”
“What did your father burn?””
She looked at me.
Then at the document.
And finally, she said:
“The original confession.””
Detective Harris moved closer.
“What confession?””
Sloane began trembling.
“The one June signed before the fire.””
I stared at her.
“I never signed anything.””
Sloane shook her head.
“Not you.””
She swallowed.
“Dad made someone else sign it.””
The detective's expression changed.
“Who?””
Sloane looked directly at my mother.
May you like
And whispered:
“Caleb.””
