Chapter 3 - The Body on the Dock
The gunshot was still echoing across the lake when someone began pounding on the boathouse door.
“Clara!”
Marcus.
Sienna had both hands over her mouth. Her eyes were fixed on the door as if she expected the bullet to come through it next.
“Clara, stay inside!”
That was the first useful thing Marcus had said.
I pulled Sienna behind the workbench and crouched beside her.
“Did you see anyone when you came down here?”
She shook her head rapidly.
“No.”
“Any cars?”
“No. Clara, Grandma was outside.”
“I heard her.”
“She’s dead.”
“I know.”
“You saw her body.”
“I know.”
“You went to the funeral.”
“I know, Sienna.”
Another sound came from the dock.
Not a gunshot.
A groan.
Then Marcus shouted, “Don't move!”
I grabbed my phone.
No service.
That wasn't normal.
The lakeside property occasionally had weak reception during storms, but never nothing. More importantly, my encrypted task-force application had lost access minutes earlier.
Someone wasn't merely following us.
They were controlling communications around the property.
Sienna whispered, “We need to call the police.”
“I can't.”
“Use mine.”
She pulled out her phone.
No signal.
Her face changed.
“Someone jammed us?”
“Probably.”
“Who?”
“That list is getting long.”
The doorknob rattled again.
“Clara,” Marcus called, quieter this time. “I need you to listen carefully.”
I moved closer without opening it.
“I'm listening.”
“The shooter is gone.”
“How do you know?”
“I heard a vehicle leave.”
“Who was shot?”
Silence.
“Marcus.”
“Eleanor.”
Sienna made a broken sound beside me.
My hand tightened around the wrench.
“Is she alive?”
“Yes.”
Relief hit me harder than I expected.
Then suspicion followed.
“How bad?”
“Shoulder. Maybe upper chest. There's a lot of blood.”
“Where's your weapon?”
Another pause.
“Gone.”
That answer made no sense.
“Gone where?”
“The shooter took it.”
“You expect me to believe someone shot Grandma, disarmed you, and escaped in the ten seconds after the gunshot?”
“I don't care what you believe right now. Eleanor is bleeding.”
He was right about one thing.
If Grandma was actually outside, every second mattered.
But Marcus had deliberately given me the duress version of our authentication phrase.
Someone had forced him to approach that door.
The question was whether that person had truly left.
I looked at Sienna.
“Stay here.”
“Absolutely not.”
“Then stay behind me.”
I moved toward the door.
“Marcus, step back.”
“Clara—”
“Ten feet. Hands visible.”
A pause.
Then footsteps retreated.
I unlocked the door but didn't open it immediately.
My hand remained on the handle.
“Sienna.”
“Yes?”
“If I tell you to run, go through the rear window and get into the lake.”
“What?”
“Swim toward the north shore.”
“In this storm?”
“Would you rather stay with whoever has the gun?”
She said nothing.
I opened the door.
Rain struck my face.
Marcus Vale stood about twelve feet away with his hands raised.
He was forty-two, broad-shouldered, usually immaculate even after twenty-hour operations.
Tonight, his white shirt was covered in blood.
Grandma lay beside him.
Alive.
Actually alive.
My mind rejected the sight even while my eyes confirmed it.
“Grandma.”
Her eyelids moved.
“Clara?”
I ran to her.
The bullet had entered high in her left shoulder. Blood soaked her blouse, but I couldn't immediately see an exit wound.
“Pressure,” I told Marcus.
He dropped beside me.
I removed my scarf, folded it, and pressed it against the wound.
Grandma gasped.
Her hand caught mine.
Cold fingers.
Real fingers.
“You're alive.”
A strange smile touched her face.
“Apparently not very convincingly.”
Even wounded, Eleanor Sterling sounded like Eleanor Sterling.
I almost laughed.
Instead tears burned behind my eyes.
Six weeks of grief arrived all at once.
I forced it down.
Later.
If there was a later.
“Who shot you?”
“I didn't see.”
I looked at Marcus.
“Who was with you when you gave the duress phrase?”
He glanced toward Grandma.
“No.”
“Don't look at her. Look at me.”
His jaw tightened.
“I can't tell you.”
“Can't or won't?”
“Can't.”
Sienna came through the doorway.
Grandma saw her.
Something in Eleanor's expression changed.
Not relief.
Fear.
“Sienna.”
My sister stopped.
“Grandma?”
Eleanor tried to sit up.
“Don't come closer.”
Sienna looked as though she had been slapped.
“What?”
“Grandma,” I said, “she's with me.”
Eleanor stared at her.
“Are you sure?”
Sienna's face crumpled.
“I thought you were dead.”
“So did many people.”
“You let us bury you.”
Grandma closed her eyes.
“Yes.”
“We cried for you.”
“I know.”
“You watched us?”
No answer.
That hurt Sienna more than any answer could have.
She stepped backward.
“You're all insane.”
Then headlights appeared between the trees.
A vehicle was coming down the service road.
Marcus stood.
“We need to move.”
“Police?” Sienna asked.
“No.”
“How do you know?”
“Because I didn't call them.”
The vehicle stopped behind the trees.
Engine running.
No doors opened.
I looked at Marcus.
“Where did you park?”
“North road.”
“Grandma?”
“With me.”
“Then whose car is that?”
“No idea.”
Grandma gripped my sleeve.
“The tunnel.”
I looked down.
“What?”
“Under the workbench.”
I stared at her.
“There is no tunnel.”
“Your grandfather built one.”
Of course he had.
Apparently my family had spent generations constructing secret compartments and forgetting to mention them.
“Where does it lead?”
“The old pump house.”
Marcus looked toward the trees.
“Move.”
We carried Grandma inside.
Sienna locked the door behind us.
The headlights remained visible through the windows.
Still no movement.
That frightened me more than an immediate attack would have.
Whoever was out there was waiting.
I pulled the workbench away from the wall.
Nothing.
“Grandma?”
“Floor.”
I searched the boards.
One had two small brass screws instead of nails.
I removed them with Grandpa's screwdriver.
A recessed metal handle appeared.
Marcus helped me lift the panel.
Cold air rose from darkness.
A narrow staircase descended beneath the boathouse.
Sienna stared at Grandma.
“You knew about this?”
“Your grandfather was a cautious man.”
“Was he investigating Harbor Glass?”
Grandma's eyes moved to me.
“You found the notebook.”
“Yes.”
“Where?”
“On me.”
“Keep it there.”
Marcus looked outside.
“We're out of time.”
We descended.
Marcus carried Grandma.
Sienna followed.
I went last and pulled the hatch closed above us.
Darkness.
I used my phone flashlight.
The tunnel was narrow, built from concrete and old brick. Water dripped from overhead pipes.
We moved quickly.
Grandma's breathing became more labored.
“We need a hospital,” I said.
“No hospital.”
“You've been shot.”
“Then find me a doctor who doesn't file paperwork.”
“Grandma—”
“If I appear in a hospital system, Richard will know I'm alive.”
“Dad already knows.”
She stopped breathing for a second.
Not medically.
Emotionally.
“What?”
“You think he doesn't?”
“I know he doesn't.”
“You're wrong.”
She looked at me.
“How?”
“He recognized Grandpa's key.”
That frightened her.
“Show me.”
I removed it.
Grandma touched the brass surface.
“This isn't Charles's key.”
I stared at her.
“You told me it was.”
“No. I gave you a key that looked like his.”
“What does mine open?”
“I don't know.”
“Grandma.”
“I mean that literally. Charles made three identical keys.”
Sienna gave a humorless laugh.
“Of course he did.”
“Each opened something different,” Grandma continued. “I had one. Richard found another after Charles died.”
“And the third?”
“Disappeared.”
The photograph on my phone flashed through my mind.
Grandma wearing a second key.
“You had one three days ago.”
Her eyes narrowed.
“How do you know that?”
“Someone photographed you with Renner.”
Marcus turned.
“What photograph?”
I showed them.
Grandma stared at the screen.
“That wasn't three days ago.”
“The timestamp says it was.”
“It was taken five weeks ago.”
“Then someone changed the metadata.”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“I don't know.”
That phrase was becoming the family motto.
We reached the end of the tunnel.
A steel ladder led upward.
Marcus climbed first.
He pushed open another hatch.
Cold air entered.
“All clear.”
The pump house was small and abandoned, almost half a mile from the mansion.
An old maintenance truck sat outside beneath a collapsed shelter.
Grandma leaned against the wall.
Her face had become gray.
“We need to stop the bleeding.”
Marcus examined the wound.
“Bullet may still be inside.”
“I know a trauma surgeon,” I said. “Twenty minutes away.”
“No phones,” Marcus replied.
“I can drive there.”
“Not in your car.”
“The truck?”
“If it starts.”
Sienna crouched beside Grandma.
“Why did you fake your death?”
Eleanor looked at her.
“To stay alive.”
“From whom?”
Grandma's eyes shifted toward me.
“Originally? Your father.”
The words hung in the cold air.
Sienna stood.
“No.”
“I’m sorry.”
“No. You don't get to do that.”
“Sienna—”
“You let me believe Clara murdered you for money.”
“I never said that.”
“You didn't have to!”
Grandma flinched.
Sienna's anger became tears.
“Dad said Clara manipulated you. Renner showed me documents. Mom wouldn't talk about anything. Then you died. What was I supposed to believe?”
“That is exactly what they wanted you to believe,” Grandma said.
“Who is they?”
Grandma looked at Marcus.
He didn't meet her eyes.
I noticed.
“So we’re back to Marcus,” I said.
He sighed.
“Clara.”
“Who forced you to use the duress phrase?”
“No one.”
“You deliberately reversed it.”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“To warn you not to open the door.”
“About Grandma?”
“No.”
“Then who?”
Marcus looked at Eleanor again.
This time I understood.
He wasn't asking permission.
He was checking whether she was conscious.
“Stop looking at her.”
His expression changed.
I stepped toward him.
“Marcus, who came with you?”
He said nothing.
I pulled Grandpa's notebook from my coat.
“Does this answer the question?”
His eyes dropped to it.
And there.
Recognition.
“You've seen this before.”
“No.”
“You're a terrible liar.”
“I haven't seen the notebook.”
“But you know what it is.”
Silence.
I opened it.
“Harbor Glass existed seventeen years ago.”
“Yes.”
Grandma whispered, “Clara.”
I turned.
She was staring at Marcus.
Not suspiciously.
Sadly.
“He knows because his father was part of it.”
Marcus closed his eyes.
I looked between them.
“Your father?”
“My father was a state prosecutor,” Marcus said.
“I know.”
“He was also Charles Sterling's confidential source.”
Everything shifted again.
“My grandfather recruited your father?”
“No.”
Marcus looked directly at me.
“My father recruited your grandfather.”
Before I could respond, Grandma's knees buckled.
We caught her.
Her pulse was fast.
Too fast.
She needed medical care immediately.
“Truck,” I said.
Marcus ran outside.
The engine coughed twice before starting.
I helped Sienna get Grandma into the passenger compartment.
Then my phone vibrated.
Signal had returned.
One bar.
Fourteen missed calls appeared at once.
Three from the task force.
Two from unknown numbers.
Nine from my mother.
A voicemail downloaded.
Evelyn.
I played it.
Her voice was shaking.
“Clara, don't come back to the house. Richard knows about the boathouse. I heard him talking to someone. He knows Eleanor is alive.”
Grandma stared at the phone.
“You said he didn't know,” I told her.
“He shouldn't.”
The voicemail continued.
“And Clara... there's something else. I found what they took from your grandmother's study.”
I stopped breathing.
My mother's voice became quieter.
“I hid it before Richard could get it.”
A noise sounded behind her.
Then she whispered:
“Oh God.”
The recording ended.
I immediately called back.
No answer.
Again.
Nothing.
“Sienna, call Mom.”
She did.
Straight to voicemail.
Marcus started driving.
“Where are we going?”
“My surgeon.”
“No,” Grandma said weakly.
“Yes.”
“You need to get Evelyn first.”
“Grandma, you've been shot.”
“And your mother may already be dead.”
Sienna began dialing again.
“Don't say that.”
Grandma closed her eyes.
“I know my son.”
That sentence decided it.
“Turn around,” I told Marcus.
He looked at me through the mirror.
“Clara—”
“Turn around.”
“We can't go back.”
“My mother is there.”
“So is whoever shot Eleanor.”
“Exactly.”
He slammed the brakes.
The truck stopped.
“Listen to me. If you walk back into that property, you're giving them everything they want.”
“What do they want?”
“You.”
“Why?”
“I don't know.”
“Stop lying!”
“Because I don't know!”
For once, I believed him.
My phone vibrated.
A new message.
From my mother's number.
One photograph.
Evelyn sat in Grandma's study.
Her wrists were tied to the chair.
Richard stood behind her.
He held a gun against her head.
Sienna screamed.
Then text appeared beneath the photograph.
BRING THE NOTEBOOK.
1:30 A.M.
COME ALONE.
Grandma stared at the image.
“No.”
I looked at the clock.
1:18.
Twelve minutes.
Then another message arrived.
This one was different.
An audio file.
I pressed play.
My father's voice came through clearly.
“Clara, I know you're listening. You have twelve minutes. Bring Charles's notebook and the brass key. If anyone from the task force comes with you, your mother dies.”
Pause.
Then:
“And don't believe Eleanor. Ask her whose body you buried.”
The recording ended.
Nobody spoke.
I turned slowly toward my grandmother.
Her face told me my father hadn't been bluffing.
“Grandma.”
She looked away.
“Whose body was in your coffin?”
No answer.
“Whose body did I identify?”
Eleanor's eyes filled with tears.
Sienna whispered, “Grandma?”
Finally, Eleanor looked at us.
“The woman you buried was named Margaret Vale.”
Marcus stopped breathing.
I turned toward him.
Vale.
The same surname.
“No,” he whispered.
Grandma closed her eyes.
“I'm sorry, Marcus.”
His face emptied.
“Margaret Vale was my mother.”
And suddenly I understood why Marcus had come to the boathouse.
He hadn't come only to rescue Eleanor.
He had come because six weeks ago, my family had buried his mother under my grandmother's name.