I had thought there were no more ways for Grant to become a stranger.
Claire proved me wrong.
“Sixteen years?” I repeated.
She nodded.
“You told me you worked with him six years ago.”
“I did.”
“You made it sound like that was when the affair started.”
“I know.”
“Why lie?”
“Because I thought if you knew everything at once, you would walk away.”
“I should have.”
“Yes.”
Detective Ellis did not interrupt. Her attention remained on Claire with a stillness that felt much sharper than anger.
“How old was Grant when Emily was born?” I asked.
“Twenty-two.”
“And you?”
“Nineteen.”
Grant had told me almost nothing about that period of his life. He described his early twenties as chaotic: working two jobs, finishing business school, trying to help his mother. We met when he was twenty-eight.
“Did he know Emily was his?”
“Yes.”
“Did he ever support her?”
“Sometimes.”
“Did he see her?”
“When she was younger.”
My stomach turned.
“So Lucy wasn’t his only daughter.”
“No.”
“He had Emily. Then Sophie. Then Lucy.”
“Yes.”
“And he hid two of them from me.”
Claire looked down.
Detective Ellis spoke.
“Why would Emily go to Little Pines?”
“I don’t know that she did.”
“Could she have?”
Claire rubbed her hands together.
“She knew where it was.”
“How?”
“She saw Grant’s calendar on my laptop.”
My voice sharpened.
“You kept stalking him with your teenage daughter in the house?”
“She didn’t know everything.”
“She knew enough.”
Claire flinched.
“What was your argument Monday night?” Ellis asked.
“Emily said I had spent her whole life making Grant into some monster because he wouldn’t choose me.”
“Was she right?”
Claire’s eyes filled but she did not answer.
“She wanted to contact him?”
“She already had.”
A chill ran over me.
“When?”
“For months.”
“What did Grant tell her?”
“I don’t know.”
Detective Ellis leaned forward.
“You said they knew each other.”
“They started meeting secretly.”
“How secretly?”
Claire’s lips tightened.
“He gave her money.”
“For what?”
“I don’t know.”
My patience snapped.
“You seem to know very little about the people you spend your life following.”
Claire absorbed that without protest.
Detective Ellis asked, “Do you have a photograph of Emily?”
Claire opened her phone.
The image showed a slender girl with dark hair cut just below her shoulders. She wore a navy school cardigan.
Dark blue.
My stomach clenched.
“That sweater,” I said.
Claire looked at me.
“The fiber.”
Her face whitened.
“No.”
Detective Ellis took the phone.
“Was Emily wearing this Monday?”
“Yes.”
“Did she have access to a vehicle?”
“She can drive. She doesn’t own one.”
“Friends?”
“Yes.”
The detective stood.
“I need her phone number.”
Claire recited it.
Ellis left the room.
I sat very still.
Across from me, Claire stared at the table.
“Did Emily know about Lucy’s allergy?”
“I don’t know.”
“Think.”
“She might.”
“How?”
“Grant talked about you sometimes.”
“About me?”
“He blamed you for things.”
“What things?”
“The marriage. Money. Not seeing Emily.”
A bitter laugh escaped me.
“He hid your daughter from me and blamed me for not letting him see her?”
“I didn’t say it made sense.”
“What exactly did he tell Emily?”
“I only saw a few messages.”
“Show me.”
Claire unlocked her phone and opened photographs of conversations she had apparently taken from Emily’s device.
One message from Grant read:
Natalie would never understand.
Another:
Lucy is too young to understand any of this.
Then:
When things settle down, we can be a real family.
I stared at that one.
“Which family?”
“I don’t know.”
“That seems to be everyone’s favorite answer.”
Claire lowered her eyes.
I scrolled farther.
Emily: Does Vanessa know about me?
Grant: She knows enough.
Emily: Does Lucy?
Grant: She won’t matter much longer.
My hand froze.
Claire whispered, “That’s the message that started our argument.”
“You saw this Monday?”
“Yes.”
“And you still didn’t call me.”
“I thought he meant custody.”
“You keep saying that.”
“I know.”
“He told Vanessa he would deal with Lucy. He told Emily Lucy wouldn’t matter much longer. How many ways did he need to say it?”
Claire started crying silently.
I pushed the phone away.
Detective Ellis returned with another officer.
“We located Emily’s phone.”
Claire stood.
“Where?”
“It’s currently active near a motel on Route Nine.”
“Is she there?”
“We don’t know yet.”
“Take me.”
“You’re staying here.”
“She’s my daughter.”
“And this is an active investigation.”
Claire sank back into the chair.
The waiting became unbearable.
Twenty-three minutes later, Detective Ellis received a call.
She listened without speaking.
Then she looked at me.
“They found Emily.”
“Is she okay?”
“She’s alive.”
Claire covered her mouth.
“Can we see her?”
“Not yet.”
“Why?”
“She’s being transported here.”
“What did she say?”
“She asked for an attorney.”
Claire stared.
“My daughter?”
“Yes.”
The girl arrived forty minutes later.
I saw her only through the glass wall at the end of the corridor.
She wore jeans and a gray sweatshirt.
No navy cardigan.
Her resemblance to Grant was undeniable once I knew to look for it.
The eyes.
The shape of the jaw.
The same way they held their shoulders when frightened.
Emily saw Claire and immediately looked away.
Then her gaze found me.
She stopped walking.
For several seconds we stared at each other.
She knew who I was.
I could see it.
An officer guided her into another room.
Detective Ellis returned nearly an hour later.
“Emily’s attorney has agreed to let her answer limited questions.”
“Can I be there?”
“No.”
“What did she say?”
“I can’t share everything.”
“Something.”
Ellis hesitated.
“Emily admits going to Little Pines Tuesday.”
Claire made a broken sound.
“Why?” I asked.
“She says Grant told her to.”
The room shifted around me.
“What for?”
“To retrieve something from Lucy’s cubby.”
“What?”
“A note.”
Claire looked up sharply.
“My note.”
Ellis nodded.
“Emily says Grant knew you had left something for Lucy.”
“How?”
“According to Emily, he had been monitoring you.”
Claire laughed bitterly.
“So while I was following him, he was following me.”
“What happened inside Little Pines?” I asked.
“Emily entered through an employee door that had not latched properly.”
“Did she see Lucy?”
“Yes.”
My hands went cold.
“What happened?”
“She found Lucy near the hallway bathroom.”
“Was she already reacting?”
“No.”
I gripped the table edge.
“Did Emily give her anything?”
“Emily says no.”
“Do you believe her?”
“I’m telling you what she said.”
“What did they talk about?”
Ellis glanced toward Claire.
“Lucy recognized her.”
“How?”
“Grant had introduced them previously.”
Claire went rigid.
“When?”
“Emily says Grant brought Lucy to meet her twice.”
I shut my eyes.
Every secret seemed to contain another secret.
“What did Lucy call her?”
“Her big sister.”
Claire began crying again.
That detail hurt more than it should have.
Lucy had always wanted a sibling.
We had tried for another child for almost two years before eventually stopping. She used to ask strangers’ babies if they wanted to come home with us.
Grant had known.
And somewhere in the city he had introduced her to a sister without telling me.
“What did Emily do Tuesday?”
“She asked Lucy for the note Claire left.”
“Did Lucy give it to her?”
“No.”
“Why?”
“She had hidden it.”
“Where?”
“Inside her stuffed rabbit.”
My eyes went instantly to the rabbit sitting beside Lucy’s urn.
I stared at it.
Paige had given it back to us after the hospital.
I grabbed it.
The seam along one ear looked slightly uneven.
I had repaired that rabbit dozens of times, enough to recognize my stitches.
These were not mine.
Detective Ellis put on gloves.
“May I?”
I handed it over.
She examined the ear.
Then she used scissors from an evidence kit to open two stitches.
A folded scrap of paper emerged from inside the stuffing.
My breath caught.
Claire leaned forward.
“That’s mine.”
Ellis unfolded it carefully.
The writing was simple.
LUCY — IF SOMEONE GIVES YOU FOOD YOU DON’T KNOW, FIND MISS PAIGE. DON’T EAT IT. TELL YOUR MOMMY EVERYTHING.
Below it, Claire had written a phone number.
Mine.
I looked at her.
“You had my number.”
Claire seemed confused.
“No. That isn’t your number.”
I leaned closer.
It was my old mobile number.
A number disconnected nearly four years earlier.
“How did you get this?”
“From Grant’s old records.”
That explained why Claire’s attempts to reach me had failed.
But another question mattered more.
“Did Emily take the note?”
“No,” Ellis said. “Lucy refused. Emily says Lucy told her she was going to show you that night.”
That night.
Lucy never reached it.
“What happened next?”
“Emily says she left.”
“Before Lucy reacted?”
“Yes.”
“And the blue fiber?”
“She remembers Lucy grabbing her sleeve when Emily tried to take the rabbit.”
My throat tightened.
“So the thread came from Emily.”
“Possibly.”
One mystery solved.
A worse one remained.
“Then who gave Lucy the allergen?”
Ellis said nothing.
“Emily saw something,” I said.
The detective’s expression changed slightly.
“What?”
“She saw Vanessa.”
My stomach tightened.
“Where?”
“In the hallway.”
“Before she left?”
“Yes.”
“What was Vanessa doing?”
“Carrying a child’s drinking cup.”
I closed my eyes.
Lucy’s pink cup.
No.
That cup was at home.
“What kind of cup?”
“A yellow insulated bottle from the daycare kitchen.”
“What was inside?”
“Emily doesn’t know.”
“Did she see Vanessa give it to Lucy?”
“No.”
“Then why does it matter?”
“Because Vanessa wasn’t supposed to be in the building.”
I stood.
“Where is she?”
“We’re locating her.”
My phone vibrated.
A text from Vanessa.
Please don’t believe Grant.
I stared.
Another appeared.
I didn’t know what he put in Lucy’s drink until it was too late.
I handed the phone to Detective Ellis.
Before she could read it aloud, another message arrived.
I saved the bottle.
Click here to continue reading: PART 8: Vanessa Brought the Bottle Lucy Drank From, but the Test Results Exposed a Plan That Began Long Before Her Final Morning
Five Days After Lucy’s Funeral, One Detail From Her Final Morning Refused to Stay Buried With Her
Part 7 of 15
