Chapter 5
The hotel room felt too clean.
White sheets.
One chair.
A tiny desk.
A coffee machine with two paper cups.
Nothing smelled like home.
Because home was gone.
I sat on the edge of the bed and opened the plastic bag a firefighter had given me.
Recovered items.
A water-damaged photo of my father and me at Cannon Beach.
A cracked ceramic mug.
One burned corner of my divorce decree.
And the metal lockbox from under my bed.
My hands froze.
The lockbox was blackened, but intact.
I had forgotten it was fireproof.
Or maybe I had not wanted to hope.
Inside were copies of my father’s papers.
Not all of them.
But enough.
The lake account statements.
The trust amendments.
The letter.
And one document I had not finished reading before the fire.
A handwritten note from my father dated three weeks before he died.
Margaret has been moving funds again.
Claire must not sign anything without Daniel Ross or another attorney present.
If she asks about the cabin transfer, tell her the truth.
I read the last line three times.
The cabin transfer.
My grandmother’s cabin near Mount Hood had supposedly been sold to pay medical bills years ago.
I had cried when I heard because that cabin held my happiest childhood memories.
Dad teaching me to split kindling.
Mom before bitterness made a home in her mouth.
Snow at the windows.
Blue mugs of cocoa.
A loft where I wrote my first terrible poems.
Sold, Margaret told me.
Gone.
But my father’s note suggested it had not been sold.
Transferred.
To whom?
My phone rang.
Unknown number.
I answered.
“Claire Whitaker?”
“Yes.”
“This is Reyes.”
I sat straighter.
“We found an accelerant pattern near the desk area.”
My throat closed.
“My desk?”
“Yes.”
“Specifically, the lower drawers.”
The room seemed to tilt.
The fire had not started by accident.
It had started where my father’s papers were kept.
Reyes continued.
“There is something else.”
I gripped the phone.
“The duplicate key was made at a hardware kiosk downtown.”
“When?”
“Six days ago at 2:14 p.m.”
I closed my eyes.
That was during the dinner.
Margaret had disappeared from the table for twenty minutes.
She said she was taking a call.
She had taken my key.
Copied it.
Returned a different one.
Then set my life on fire.
Reyes said quietly, “Claire?”
I opened my eyes.
May you like
“I know where to look next.”
Read the full story 👉 The recovered lockbox proved Claire’s mother may have burned the apartment to destroy documents about a hidden cabin transfer.
