Chapter 8 - THE VETERINARIAN
Peter Lang died in his garage.
Carbon monoxide poisoning.
Police initially thought suicide.
Then they found his back door open.
His computer was gone.
So was his phone.
Suddenly, nobody was calling it suicide.
My mother remained in custody for violating the temporary protective order and damaging Linda’s property.
Sabrina disappeared.
Police went to her apartment.
Empty.
Her car was gone.
Her closet looked half-packed.
Connor sat at Linda’s kitchen table staring at his cereal.
“Mom left me.”
I sat beside him.
“She’s scared.”
“Because she did bad things.”
“Yes.”
He nodded quietly.
Then he asked the question I dreaded.
“Are they going to put me in foster care?”
“No.”
“But Mom’s gone.”
“You’re staying with me.”
His eyes snapped toward mine.
“Can I?”
“As long as they let me.”
He hugged me so suddenly I almost fell out of the chair.
Grace climbed into the hug too.
For the first time in days, I felt something close to hope.
Then my phone rang.
Evan.
I answered.
“What?”
“Can we meet?”
“No.”
“Rachel.”
“You helped them.”
“I know.”
“Then talk to police.”
“I already did.”
That surprised me.
“What?”
“I gave them everything.”
“What is everything?”
“Messages from Diane.”
“Send them to me.”
“I can’t.”
“Why?”
“They took my phone.”
I rubbed my forehead.
“What do you want?”
“To tell you something before Diane does.”
I almost laughed.
“She’s in jail.”
“That has never stopped your mother from controlling people.”
He was right.
“What?”
He hesitated.
“Sabrina contacted me yesterday.”
My pulse quickened.
“What did she want?”
“Money.”
“For what?”
“To leave the state.”
“Where?”
“She didn’t say.”
“Did you give her any?”
“No.”
“Good.”
“But she told me where the amendment might be.”
I stood.
“Where?”
“Your father’s old storage unit.”
I frowned.
“That unit was cleared years ago.”
“Not according to Sabrina.”
“How would she know?”
“Diane kept paying for it.”
My skin prickled.
“Where is it?”
“Westbrook Storage. Unit 218.”
I wrote it down.
Then Evan added:
“Rachel…”
“What?”
“Don’t go alone.”
Of course I didn’t.
Martinez met me there.
So did a financial-crimes detective named Hannah Cole.
Unit 218 had been paid through the end of the year.
The manager opened it with a master key after reviewing the warrant.
The metal door rolled upward.
Dust filled the air.
Boxes.
Old furniture.
My father’s workbench.
A bicycle I remembered riding when I was nine.
I stepped inside and nearly cried.
It smelled like him.
Wood.
Machine oil.
Old paper.
Detective Cole began photographing everything.
I found a metal lockbox under the workbench.
Locked.
Martinez called for a technician.
I noticed something scratched into the side.
R.C.
My initials.
Rachel Carter.
The lock was eventually drilled open.
Inside were documents.
Property deeds.
Insurance records.
Letters.
And an envelope.
FOR RACHEL.
My hands shook as I opened it.
Inside was my father’s handwriting.
Rachel,
If you are reading this, something happened before I could fix what I allowed to go wrong.
Your mother has been taking money.
Sabrina knows more than she admits.
Do not sign anything Diane puts in front of you.
Trust Linda.
And most importantly, protect Grace—
I stopped.
Grace hadn’t even been born when my father died.
I stared at the sentence.
That was impossible.
Then I looked closer.
The final paragraph had been added later.
Different ink.
Different handwriting.
Not my father’s.
Someone had tampered with the letter.
Detective Cole noticed too.
“We’ll test it.”
I pulled another paper from the lockbox.
A photograph slipped out.
My father stood beside a younger Peter Lang.
Behind them was a sign.
MORGAN EQUINE CLINIC.
On the back was a handwritten date.
Two days before my father died.
And beneath it:
ASK PETER WHAT DIANE BOUGHT.
I looked at Martinez.
“What did she buy?”
He stared at the photograph.
Then his phone rang.
He listened for only a few seconds.
When he hung up, his expression was grim.
“Sabrina’s car was found.”
“Where?”
“Near the river.”
“Was she inside?”
“No.”
May you like
He paused.
“But there was blood on the driver’s seat.”
