Chapter 4: No One in the House Could Be Trusted
The message stayed on Grant’s screen long after the SUV disappeared.
*Don’t trust anyone in your house.*
He read it again.
Then again.
Behind him, Leo whimpered.
“Daddy?””
Grant turned.
Clara was standing beneath the barn doorway, holding Leo against her chest. The boy’s face was tucked into her shoulder, one small hand gripping the fabric of her blouse.
Grant walked toward them.
“Take Leo upstairs,” he said.
Clara looked at him carefully.
“Where?””
“The guest room.””
“Why the guest room?””
“Because I don't know who I can trust.””
Clara’s expression tightened.
“You mean me?””
Grant shook his head.
“I mean everyone.””
He looked toward the main house.
The massive stone building sat across the lawn beneath the evening sky, every window glowing warm and golden.
It had always felt safe.
Tonight, it looked like a trap.
Clara carried Leo toward the house.
Grant followed several steps behind.
Neither of them noticed the upstairs curtain move.
Someone was watching.
The moment they entered the kitchen, Clara stopped.
The room looked untouched.
A pot of soup sat on the stove.
Three plates were arranged on the island.
A basket of fresh bread waited beside a cutting board.
Everything looked normal.
Almost painfully normal.
Leo looked at the food.
“I'm hungry.””
Clara crouched.
“We'll get you something.””
Grant stepped toward the stove.
He lifted the lid.
Steam rolled upward.
He frowned.
“When was this made?””
Clara looked at the clock.
“Probably an hour ago.””
“By who?””
“Mrs. Dalton.””
The housekeeper.
Grant’s eyes narrowed.
“Where is she?””
“She went home at five.””
Grant looked at the clock again.
7:18 PM.
He turned the burner off.
“Throw this away.””
Clara hesitated.
“Why?””
“Because nobody is eating anything in this house until I know what's happening.””
Leo looked alarmed.
“Did someone poison it?””
Grant immediately knelt.
“No.””
He forced a smile.
“Nobody's poisoning dinner.””
Leo stared at him.
“Then why can't we eat?””
Grant didn't answer.
Clara did.
“Because your dad is being careful.””
Leo nodded slowly.
Grant looked at Clara.
“Thank you.””
A sound came from the hallway.
Three soft footsteps.
Clara looked up.
“Mrs. Dalton?””
No answer.
Grant walked into the corridor.
“Hello?””
Silence.
Then a woman stepped around the corner.
Mrs. Dalton.
The fifty-eight-year-old housekeeper wore a cardigan over her work uniform and carried a folded stack of towels.
She looked surprised to see everyone there.
“Mr. Ashford?””
Grant stared at her.
“Where have you been?””
“I went home.””
“You just came back?””
Her eyebrows lifted.
“No.””
She looked confused.
“I've been home since five.””
Grant glanced at Clara.
Clara shook her head slightly.
Something was wrong.
Grant approached Mrs. Dalton.
“Did you prepare dinner?””
“Yes.””
“What time?””
“A little after four.””
“And after that?””
“I cleaned the east wing and left.””
“Did you see Leo?””
Mrs. Dalton frowned.
“No.””
“Did you see Vanessa?””
Her expression became uncertain.
“Yes.””
“When?””
“Around four-thirty.””
“What did she tell you?””
Mrs. Dalton tightened her grip on the towels.
“She asked me to leave the upstairs hall.””
Grant's voice dropped.
“Why?””
“She said she needed privacy with Leo.””
Clara stared at her.
“What did you hear?””
Mrs. Dalton looked frightened.
“Nothing.””
Grant didn't believe her.
“Mrs. Dalton.””
The older woman looked at Leo.
Then at Grant.
“I heard him crying.””
Leo grabbed Clara's hand.
Mrs. Dalton's eyes filled.
“I thought he was playing outside. Then I heard Mrs. Ashford tell him to stop.””
Grant's face hardened.
“What exactly did she say?””
Mrs. Dalton whispered, “She said, ‘Your father will never forgive you if you tell him.’”
Grant's jaw clenched.
“Why didn't you intervene?””
“I was afraid I'd lose my job.””
Clara stepped closer.
“You should have told someone.””
Mrs. Dalton nodded.
“I know.””
Grant looked toward the stairs.
“Did anyone else see Vanessa with Leo?””
Mrs. Dalton shook her head.
“Not that I know of.””
“Was Daniel here today?””
She froze.
It was barely a second.
But Grant saw it.
“Mrs. Dalton?””
Her eyes dropped.
“Yes.””
Clara looked at Grant.
“When?””
Mrs. Dalton swallowed.
“About noon.””
Grant took another step.
“Why was my brother here?””
“He said he had business with Mrs. Ashford.””
“What business?””
“I don't know.””
“Where did they meet?””
She hesitated.
“Library.””
Grant went still.
Daniel hadn't mentioned visiting the estate.
Neither had Vanessa.
He turned toward the library.
“Stay here.””
Clara caught his sleeve.
“Grant.””
He looked at her.
“Don't go alone.””
He almost smiled.
“That advice came too late.””
The library door was locked.
Grant stared at it.
He tried the handle again.
Nothing.
Clara stood behind him.
“I've never seen that door locked.””
Grant reached into his pocket.
“My key.””
He unlocked it.
The room smelled faintly of cedar and Vanessa's perfume.
The curtains were drawn.
A lamp was still on.
Grant walked inside.
Everything looked orderly.
Too orderly.
He crossed to the desk.
A crystal paperweight sat in the center.
Beside it was a half-empty glass of water.
Grant touched it.
Still cold.
Clara moved toward a side table.
“What's that?””
A single envelope lay beneath a book.
Grant picked it up.
No name.
No address.
He opened it.
Inside was a photograph.
It showed Emily.
Standing outside a hospital.
Alive.
The photo was dated six months ago.
Grant stared at it.
Clara whispered, “Someone knew.””
Grant turned the photograph over.
There was writing on the back.
*She never stopped looking for Leo.*
His hand tightened.
“Why would Vanessa have this?””
Clara shook her head.
“Maybe she didn't.””
Grant looked around the room.
“You think Daniel brought it?””
“Maybe.””
A floorboard creaked behind them.
Grant spun around.
Nobody.
Clara's breathing quickened.
“Did you hear that?””
“Yes.””
Grant moved toward the door.
“Stay behind me.””
A sound came from the hallway.
Metal hitting wood.
Then silence.
Grant opened the door.
The hallway was empty.
Except for a small brass key lying on the floor.
Clara bent down.
“Don't touch it.””
Grant picked it up using a handkerchief.
There was a tiny paper tag attached.
One word was written on it.
*Nursery.*
Clara looked toward the far end of the second floor.
“That room has been locked for years.””
Grant stared at the key.
“The nursery was Emily's.””
Leo's voice came faintly from downstairs.
“Daddy!””
Grant and Clara hurried back.
They found Leo sitting on the kitchen counter beside Mrs. Dalton.
His face was pale.
Grant crossed the room.
“What happened?””
Leo pointed toward the staircase.
“There was a man.””
Grant froze.
“What man?””
Leo looked terrified.
“He was upstairs.””
Mrs. Dalton shook her head.
“I didn't hear anyone.””
Grant knelt.
“Leo, did you see his face?””
The boy shook his head.
“He had a black coat.””
“Anything else?””
“He said my name.””
Grant's stomach twisted.
“What did he say?””
Leo whispered, “He said, ‘Your mother is coming.’”
Clara looked at Grant.
Mrs. Dalton stood slowly.
“Mr. Ashford…”
Grant didn't hear her.
He was staring at the staircase.
A soft sound came from above.
Click.
Like a door unlocking.
Then another.
Click.
Leo jumped.
Clara pulled him against her.
Grant slowly looked toward the ceiling.
The nursery key was still in his hand.
He started up the stairs.
“Grant, wait.””
“No.””
He reached the second floor.
The corridor was dark.
At the far end, the nursery door stood open.
He stopped.
He had not opened it.
No one should have been able to.
For years, that room had been sealed exactly as Emily had left it.
Grant walked closer.
The door creaked.
Inside, the curtains moved even though the windows were closed.
A child's wooden rocking horse sat in the corner.
On the floor was an old toy box.
Its lid was open.
Grant stepped inside.
Something caught his eye.
A tiny red shoe.
Leo's missing shoe.
He turned sharply.
“Leo!””
Clara called from the hallway.
“What?””
Grant pointed.
“How did his shoe get in here?””
Clara stared.
“I don't know.””
Grant crouched.
Beside the shoe was a folded piece of paper.
He picked it up.
His hands went cold before he even opened it.
There was a photograph inside.
Not of Emily.
Not of Leo.
Of Grant.
Standing beside Vanessa.
At their wedding.
On the back, someone had written:
*You married the woman who helped erase Emily.*
Grant stared at the photograph.
Then a voice spoke from behind him.
Very softly.
Very close.
“That's not the worst part.””
Grant turned.
The room was empty.
But the nursery window was open now.
And taped to the glass was another photograph.
This one showed Emily holding baby Leo.
On the bottom, written in black ink, were six words:
*She gave birth three days before she disappeared.*
Grant's phone vibrated.
May you like
A new message appeared.
*Ask Vanessa who the baby really belonged to.*
