Chapter 3 - What Was in the Trash
I called the police.
Not because I knew a crime had happened.
Because I didn't trust Margaret alone inside my house.
Two officers met Daniel there.
Margaret was furious.
Daniel video-called me from the driveway.
“She locked the door.”
“That's my house.”
“I know.”
“Did you give her a key?”
“No.”
Neither had I.
Then I remembered the spare key inside the garage.
Margaret knew where it was.
One officer knocked.
“Mrs. Whitmore?”
My mother's voice came through the door.
“This is a family matter.”
The officer looked directly at Daniel's phone.
I almost laughed.
Apparently Margaret believed locked doors changed property ownership.
I told the officer I wanted her removed.
Minutes later, Margaret opened the door.
She had changed clothes.
That bothered me.
The burgundy blouse was gone.
She wore a clean cream sweater.
Her hair had been fixed.
She looked like a respectable grandmother disturbed by unreasonable children.
Classic Margaret.
The officer entered.
Daniel followed.
I stayed on video.
“Go to the kitchen.”
Daniel did.
The trash can was empty.
Of course it was.
“Check outside.”
Margaret immediately spoke.
“This is ridiculous.”
Daniel went through the back door.
The outdoor trash bin was empty too.
Pickup wasn't until Monday.
It was Saturday.
“Where is the garbage?”
Margaret folded her arms.
“I cleaned.”
“Where did you put it?”
“A dumpster.”
“Where?”
“I don't remember.”
Daniel stared at her.
“You drove somewhere to throw away one bag of trash?”
“I wanted the house clean.”
My brother looked into the phone.
Even he didn't believe her anymore.
Then the officer called from the kitchen.
“Sir?”
Daniel walked back inside.
The officer stood near the sink.
Something was sticking out beneath the refrigerator.
A corner of plastic.
Daniel bent down.
He pulled out a small clear storage bag.
Inside was half a sandwich.
Across the plastic, written in black marker, were two words.
NOT YOURS.
Nobody spoke.
Daniel turned the bag over.
Another message was written on the back.
CONTROL YOURSELF.
My vision blurred with anger.
“Elena didn't write that.”
Daniel shook his head.
“I know.”
Margaret tried to take the bag.
The officer stopped her.
“Don't touch it.”
Her expression changed.
Only for a second.
But the camera caught it.
Fear.
The officer placed the bag on the counter.
“Whose handwriting is this?”
Margaret laughed.
“You can't possibly be serious.”
Daniel looked at her.
“Mom.”
She ignored him.
Then Daniel opened the refrigerator.
Almost nothing was inside.
A bottle of wine.
Condiments.
Leftovers from that night's dinner.
But taped to the inside shelf was a handwritten schedule.
6:00 A.M. — FEED LEO.
6:30 — KITCHEN.
7:00 — LAUNDRY.
8:00 — BREAKFAST FOR FAMILY.
8:30 — CLEAN BATHROOMS.
The schedule continued until 11:00 P.M.
At the bottom was another sentence.
NO NAPS UNTIL THE HOUSE IS PRESENTABLE.
Daniel stopped reading.
“Jesus.”
Margaret snapped.
“Don't use that language.”
My brother slowly turned toward her.
“You did this?”
“I gave her structure.”
“She just had a baby.”
“So did millions of women.”
Daniel looked sick.
The officer photographed the schedule.
Then something happened I hadn't expected.
My aunt Susan walked through the front door.
She had apparently been sitting in her car.
She looked terrified.
“Michael?”
“I’m here.”
She stared at Daniel's phone.
Then at Margaret.
“Susan,” Margaret warned.
My aunt flinched.
That was when I understood.
Susan knew something.
“What is it?”
She began crying.
“I should have stopped her.”
Margaret's voice became sharp.
“Stop talking.”
Susan ignored her.
“Michael, your mother didn't come to help Elena.”
My mouth went dry.
“Then why did she come?”
May you like
Susan wiped her face.
“Because she wanted to prove Elena was an unfit mother.”
