Chapter 2 - Nobody Goes Upstairs
The first officer through the door was Sergeant Mara Collins.
She was forty something, calm, and immediately unimpressed by the wealthier relatives who started explaining the situation before she asked.
I liked her for that.
“My wife died while I was away,” I said. “I was told it was an accidental fall. My daughter says family members kept Clara upstairs and took her phone.”
Collins looked at Lily.
Then at the coffin.
“Was law enforcement called at the time of death?”
Derek answered:
“Ambulance.”
“That’s not what I asked.”
Beatrice said:
“The medical response was handled.”
Collins turned.
“Who are you?”
“Beatrice Shaw. Funeral director.”
“Were you present when Mrs. Carter died?”
“No.”
“Then let me speak to those who were.”
Teresa crossed her arms.
“This is unnecessary.”
Collins’s face did not change.
“Ma’am, your daughter in law is dead, her husband says he was not notified properly, and a child has made an allegation about confinement. I’ll decide what’s necessary for my investigation.”
My mother went silent.
Another officer secured the staircase.
Nobody went upstairs.
That sentence became literal.
Collins asked for the death certificate.
Beatrice produced a folder.
Cause listed as complications from accidental fall with suspected head injury.
The certification was preliminary, signed after emergency department review because Clara had been transported unresponsive and pronounced shortly after arrival.
Collins frowned.
“Why was the body released so quickly?”
Beatrice stiffened.
“The family requested prompt services.”
“Medical examiner notified?”
“Yes.”
“Did they decline jurisdiction?”
Beatrice hesitated.
“I believe so.”
“You believe?”
“I would need to check.”
Collins made a note.
That was the first time Beatrice looked truly afraid.
I held Arthur’s phone.
Collins asked:
“May I see it?”
I gave it to her.
Arthur started tapping.
Three.
Two.
One.
Lily whispered:
“Three, two, one.”
“What does it mean?” I asked.
She looked toward stairs.
“Mommy and Grandpa made a game.”
My mother snapped:
“Lily, stop.”
Collins raised one hand.
“Mrs. Carter, please do not interrupt the child.”
Lily pointed upstairs.
“Three steps from Mommy’s room. Two pictures. One box.”
My breathing stopped.
Arthur nodded so hard his wheelchair shifted.
Collins looked at me.
“Do you know what she means?”
“No.”
She assigned an officer to preserve the upstairs area.
I did not go with them.
That was hard.
It was also right.
My wife’s bedroom had become a possible scene.
I stayed downstairs with Lily.
A child specialist officer sat nearby.
Nobody questioned Lily in detail.
Collins asked only immediate safety facts.
“Did anyone hurt you?”
“No.”
“Did anyone stop you leaving a room?”
“Grandma closed the door.”
“Was it locked?”
Lily thought.
“I don’t know.”
“Did you try to open it?”
“Yes.”
“Could you?”
“No.”
“Okay.”
No pressure.
No leading.
Then she asked:
“Where did Mommy keep her phone?”
“On her bed.”
“What happened to it?”
“Uncle Derek took it.”
“Did you see him?”
“Yes.”
Derek’s attorney had not arrived yet.
Collins separated everyone.
My mother in dining room.
Derek kitchen.
Beatrice porch.
Arthur with me but out of earshot of others.
At 7:28, an officer came downstairs holding an evidence bag.
Inside:
A small metal cashbox.
Found behind the second framed photograph three floorboards from Clara’s bedroom threshold.
Three.
Two.
One.
Arthur’s code.
The box was locked.
Lily said:
“Doll.”
Everyone looked at her.
She held the cracked doll against her chest.
“Mommy said the doll keeps the little key safe.”
I stared.
“When?”
“The last night.”
My mother stood abruptly from the dining room.
“No.”
Collins turned.
“What?”
Teresa’s face changed.
“Nothing.”
That was not nothing.
Collins asked gently:
“Lily, where is the key?”
My daughter turned the doll over.
There was a tiny zipper sewn into the fabric beneath its dress.
Inside:
A brass key.
Clara had hidden it in Lily’s doll.
My hands began shaking.
Collins took custody carefully.
The box opened.
Inside were four items.
A USB drive.
Three printed freight invoices.
A handwritten page in Clara’s writing.
And a company badge.
Not mine.
Everett Vance.
My CEO.
The man my mother said had refused to interrupt my business trip.
Across the room, Derek made a low sound.
Collins looked at him.
“You recognize something?”
“No.”
I picked up nothing.
Touched nothing.
But I could read the top of Clara’s handwritten page through the evidence sleeve.
ALEX, IF YOU ARE READING THIS, I COULDN’T REACH YOU.
Below that:
DO NOT TRUST DEREK’S STORY.
May you like
My brother stared at the floor.
Then Clara’s missing phone rang somewhere upstairs.
