Chapter 6 - The Mother I Buried Twice
I had watched Mara die of cancer.
I had been there when the doctor removed the oxygen tube.
So Gabriel’s words made no sense.
“Mara wasn’t murdered.”
“I didn’t say she was.”
“You said asking about my mother got her killed.”
Gabriel walked to the window and checked the boatyard outside.
“She started asking questions three months before her diagnosis.”
“That doesn’t mean anything.”
“She had no cancer six months earlier.”
I stared at him.
“That happens.”
“It does.”
He turned back.
“But the oncologist who treated her was Dr. Malcolm Reed.”
The doctor who signed my death certificate.
My skin went cold.
Gabriel handed me another page.
A list of dates.
Mara had met with Reed twice before she told me she was sick.
The third appointment had been marked PRIVATE.
“What are you saying?”
“I’m saying Reed has spent thirty years solving problems for the Carter family.”
I wanted to call him paranoid.
Then someone hit the repair shop door from outside.
Gabriel killed the lights.
“Back room.”
“What?”
“Now.”
The door slammed again.
A man shouted, “Mr. Mercer, police!”
Gabriel whispered, “They’re not police.”
“How do you know?”
“Because real police would know I haven’t been Mr. Mercer for fifteen years.”
The front lock snapped.
Gabriel shoved the binder into my hands and pointed toward a rear hatch.
“Take the alley to Harbor Street.”
“What about you?”
“They came for me, not you.”
“They sent me your name.”
His eyes narrowed.
That realization frightened both of us.
Someone had guided me here.
The door burst inward.
Gabriel pushed me through the hatch.
I ran.
Behind me, men shouted.
I reached my rental car and drove until the boatyard disappeared.
Gabriel did not answer his phone.
Ten minutes later, a text arrived from his number.
DON’T TRUST EVELYN.
Then another.
DON’T TRUST JULIAN.
I waited.
A third message appeared.
AND WHATEVER YOU DO, DON’T OPEN MARA’S CARDIGAN.
I stared at it.
The brown cardigan.
The one Mara had wrapped around me after pulling me from the ocean.
I still had it.
It had been folded in a cedar chest for twenty-three years.
I returned to my hotel, locked the door, and placed the cardigan on the bed.
The fabric was fragile now.
I checked every pocket.
Nothing.
Then I noticed one side of the lining had been sewn by hand.
Mara’s stitches.
I cut them open.
A thin waterproof sleeve slid out.
Inside was a photograph of my mother holding me as a baby.
And behind the photograph was a handwritten note.
I recognized my father’s handwriting.
SARAH IS ALIVE.
DO NOT LET EMILY KNOW UNTIL SHE REMEMBERS WHAT SHE SAW ON THE YACHT.
I read the sentence twice.
Then I realized something worse.
Everyone had been trying to tell me what happened that day.
But no one had asked what I remembered before my father threw me overboard.
---
The next chapters are on the left side of your screen.
If you enjoyed the story, bookmark my site: https://vibe.treeiq.biz
May you like
New stories are posted daily, so check back for updates.
