Chapter 7 - The Ledger in the Kitchen Wall
By dawn the agents had a warrant for the house.
They wouldn't let me inside, but Marsh let me sit in the passenger seat of his car across the street.
In the pale early light my mother's house looked completely ordinary. White brick. Green shutters. A ceramic goose by the front steps wearing a little Thanksgiving ribbon around its neck. The same house where I'd opened Christmas presents every year of my childhood. The same driveway where Ethan had learned to ride his scooter. The same kitchen where my mother used to slice apples with surgeon's precision and tell me I was far too emotional to ever be a good parent.
Now federal agents were walking through it in latex gloves, carrying out boxes and hard drives and plastic bags sealed with red tape.
At 9:43 a.m., Marsh came back and got in the car. His face told me before he opened his mouth.
"You found it," I said.
He nodded.
"Behind the painting?"
"Yes."
"What was it?"
He sat there with his hands on the wheel and didn't start the engine. "A ledger."
The word crawled over my skin. "Names?"
"Names. Dates. Payments. Initials."
I stared at my mother's front door. "Daniel?"
"His initials show up more than once."
"And my mother?"
He didn't answer. He didn't have to.
I laughed, and it came out as a sob. "She made pancakes in that kitchen. She cut them into dinosaur shapes for Ethan."
Marsh looked out his window. And for the first time since I'd met him, I saw something other than professional patience on his face.
Anger.
"There's something else," he said.
"What?"
"In the room under the shed. There was a hospital bracelet."
I braced. "A what?"
"An infant hospital bracelet. From the day Ethan was born. His name was on it. And yours."
The whole world shrank down to a single point of light.
"Why would that be down there?"
Marsh's phone buzzed. He read it, and his jaw set.
"What is it?"
He looked at me. "They've found Daniel."
My heart slammed against my ribs. "Alive?"
"Yes."
"Where?"
"About three miles from here. A motel off I-45."
I had the car door open before he finished the sentence. He caught my arm.
"Rachel. No."
"I need to see him."
May you like
"You don't."
"Yes," I said, and something in my voice made his hand come off my arm. "I do."
