Chapter 3
Investigator Reyes did not accuse my mother immediately.
That almost made it worse.
He did not raise his voice.
Did not rush.
Did not perform suspicion for the firefighters or the neighbors watching from behind umbrellas.
He simply stepped between Margaret and me, keeping the evidence bag lifted.
“Ma’am, please stay behind the tape.”
Margaret looked offended.
“I am her mother.”
Reyes said, “Then you can answer some questions.”
Her mouth tightened.
“I came because Claire is clearly unstable.”
There it was.
Not worried.
Not injured.
Unstable.
She had used that word against me since I was sixteen.
Unstable when I cried after my parents forgot my birthday.
Unstable when I moved out.
Unstable when I divorced a man she liked more than she liked me.
Unstable when I asked why my father’s signature looked different on three estate documents.
I stared at her.
“You told me it wasn’t your problem.”
Margaret’s eyes flashed.
“I was upset.”
“You sounded bored.”
A firefighter nearby turned his head.
Margaret noticed and softened her expression.
That was her talent.
She could change faces faster than weather.
“Claire, sweetheart, you are in shock.”
“Don’t.”
The word came out sharper than I expected.
Reyes watched both of us.
Then he asked Margaret, “Did you have a key to Ms. Whitaker’s apartment?”
Margaret blinked.
“Years ago.”
I said, “Last week.”
Her eyes cut to me.
I continued.
“You had the spare key last week.”
“I returned it.”
“No, you returned a key.”
The sentence seemed to surprise both of us.
Because until that moment, I had not understood it either.
Reyes lowered his gaze to the evidence bag.
“The original spare has a purple tag?”
“Yes.”
“Who put the tag on it?”
“I did.”
“When?”
“Two years ago.”
He looked at Margaret.
“This duplicate was made six days ago.”
Margaret folded her arms.
“That is absurd.”
Reyes asked, “Where were you last night between eight and ten?”
“At home.”
“Can anyone confirm that?”
“My husband.”
I laughed once.
It came out hollow.
“My father is dead.”
Margaret shot me a look so cold it almost felt familiar.
“My second husband, Claire.”
Right.
Elliot.
The man who married my mother four months after my father’s funeral and called me “sensitive” at Thanksgiving.
Reyes wrote something down.
Margaret noticed.
For the first time, her confidence cracked.
“Am I being accused of something?”
Reyes did not answer directly.
He turned the evidence bag slightly.
May you like
“Not yet.”
Read the full story 👉 Margaret tried to call Claire unstable, but the investigator’s questions made her realize the burned key had already made her part of the case.
