Chapter 12 - The Blue Wool
The bag was inside a locked storage unit rented under Martin’s company.
Investigators recovered it the next morning.
Grace wasn’t there.
She learned about the search from Ortiz after the evidence was secured.
A man’s dark shirt.
A damaged phone.
Blue wool.
Grace sat down on the floor.
The scarf was no longer just something missing.
It was something someone had hidden.
“Is it hers?”
“The stitched star is consistent with your description. We still need the examinations.”
Grace pressed her palm against her eyes.
“I made that star crooked.”
“I remember.”
“She said it looked drunk.”
Ortiz let the silence stay.
For a moment, Grace could see Nora at sixteen, wrapped in that scarf, laughing so hard she had to lean against the kitchen counter.
Then the kitchen was gone.
The phone was still in Grace’s hand.
And Nora was still dead.
By afternoon, the search had reached the news.
Reporters gathered outside the estate.
The foundation suspended Adrian.
Two board members announced they had always been concerned.
Grace watched one of them on television.
He had toasted Adrian less than a week earlier.
She switched it off.
Celia came by with a bag of Owen’s clothes collected through attorneys.
She also brought Nora’s framed photograph.
“I found it in the things marked for storage.”
Grace took it carefully.
“Thank you.”
Celia looked toward the living room, where Owen was building a crooked tower out of blocks.
“Can I say goodbye?”
Grace studied her.
“Let me ask him.”
Owen agreed.
Celia sat on the floor, leaving space between them.
“I’m going to stay with my sister for a while,” she said.
“Are you marrying Dad?”
“No.”
“Because of me?”
Her eyes filled.
“No. Because I learned things I should have paid attention to sooner.”
He placed another block.
“Did you like my mom?”
Celia breathed in.
“I never really knew her.”
Owen nodded as if that explained something important.
Grace walked Celia to the door.
“I should have asked more questions,” Celia said.
“Yes.”
“I’m sorry.”
“I know.”
There was no hug.
There might be one someday.
An hour later, Ruth checked the porch for a grocery delivery.
An envelope lay beneath the mat.
No stamp.
No name.
Inside was a printed photograph of Owen walking into the advocacy center.
May you like
On the back, someone had written six words.
HE STILL HAS TO COME HOME.
