Chapter 4: The Woman Who Disappeared

Tasha stared at the photograph on my phone, then slowly looked at me.

“Naomi, tell me you recognize that man.””

I zoomed in until the image blurred. The man stood outside a bank entrance, wearing a dark jacket and holding a folded newspaper beneath one arm. His face was turned away, but something about his posture felt familiar.

I couldn't explain why.

“I don't know who he is,” I whispered.

Tasha pointed at the message beneath the photograph.

“Then who's the other Brooks?””

I looked down at the silver key in my palm.

Ask about Rebecca.

My mother's name.

The pawnshop owner had already closed the door behind us, but he was still visible through the window, watching with the uneasy expression of someone who knew he had become part of a story he didn't understand.

I slipped the key and paper into my pocket.

“We need to go home,” I said.

Tasha grabbed my arm.

“Are you serious? Your stepmother practically threatened you, and some stranger is sending you pictures of mysterious men.””

“I need to find out what Rebecca disappeared with.””

“You mean your mother?””

“Yes.””

Tasha looked at the violin case.

“Then we do this carefully. Together.””

We walked to the bus stop, keeping the case between us. The afternoon sun reflected off the parked cars, and children shouted across a nearby playground. Everything looked painfully ordinary.

My phone buzzed again.

This time, the message came from Celeste.

*Where are you? Brianna is coming home, and we need to talk as a family.*

I read it twice.

Then I typed, I'm on my way.

I didn't mention the key.

I didn't mention the photograph.

And I certainly didn't tell her about the messages.

When we arrived home, Brianna's white SUV was parked in the driveway. My stepsister stood in the living room wearing expensive sunglasses and carrying a shopping bag from a department store.

She looked at the violin case.

Then she looked at me.

“Seriously? You went and bought that thing back?””

“I didn't buy it. Celeste sold it without asking me.””

Brianna removed her sunglasses.

“Naomi, please don't start.””

“Don't start what?””

“The whole victim thing. Mom said she explained why she needed the money.””

I set the violin case on the floor.

“Did you know she was selling it?””

Brianna glanced toward the kitchen.

“I knew she needed money.””

“That isn't what I asked.””

She sighed and dropped her shopping bag onto the sofa.

“Look, my tuition deposit is due tomorrow. If I lose my place at that school, I'm not going to spend the next four years listening to everyone tell me I should have worked harder.””

“So you let her sell my mother's violin?””

“I didn't tell her to sell it!””

“But you took the money?””

Brianna's mouth opened, then closed.

That hesitation told me more than an argument would have.

Before I could ask another question, Celeste emerged from the kitchen.

“That's enough.””

She wore the same cream blouse, but her hair was now pulled tightly into a bun. Her expression was controlled, almost rehearsed.

“Brianna, go upstairs.””

“Mom—”

“Now.””

Brianna picked up her bag and disappeared up the staircase.

Celeste turned to Tasha.

“This is a private family matter.””

Tasha straightened.

“Naomi asked me to come with her.””

“And I didn't invite you.””

“Celeste,” I interrupted, “I found something inside the violin.””

Her face went still.

I watched her eyes move toward the case.

“What did you find?””

I could have told her about the music sheet. I could have shown her the account number and demanded an explanation.

Instead, I remembered the unknown caller's warning.

“Nothing important,” I said.

Celeste took one slow step toward me.

“Don't lie to me.””

“You told me not to touch the case. I got the violin back. That's all.””

Her jaw tightened.

“Give me the case.””

“No.””

“Naomi, I am not asking again.””

I planted my feet.

“Why do you care so much about what's inside?””

For the first time, Celeste looked genuinely frightened.

It lasted only a second.

Then she reached for the handle.

I pulled the case away.

“Don't touch it!””

Her hand stopped in midair.

Tasha moved between us.

“Maybe everyone needs to calm down.””

Celeste looked at her with cold disgust.

“You should leave before I call your parents.””

Tasha didn't move.

I took the violin case and headed upstairs before Celeste could stop me.

In my bedroom, I locked the door.

My hands shook as I removed the silver key from my pocket. The paper strip still clung to it.

Ask about Rebecca.

I opened the bottom drawer of my desk and pulled out the small wooden box where I kept my mother's belongings. There were three photographs, a birthday card written in her handwriting, and a faded envelope containing the only letter she had ever addressed to me.

I had read that letter hundreds of times.

It contained simple instructions about being kind, working hard, and never letting anyone convince me that my dreams were too small.

But I had never noticed anything unusual about the envelope.

Until now.

A tiny metal lock was hidden beneath the flap.

I tried the silver key.

It fit.

The lock clicked.

Inside the envelope, behind the folded letter, was a second sheet of paper.

This one contained a handwritten address.

And beneath it, in my mother's unmistakable handwriting, were six words.

*If Isaiah is gone, find Marcus Reed.*

My heart hammered.

Detective Marcus Reed.

The officer whose name appeared in the old newspaper article about my father's disappearance.

I photographed the paper and sent it to Tasha.

A moment later, she replied.

*Naomi. Look at the back.*

I turned the sheet over.

There was a small notation beneath the address.

*October 14. The night everything changed.*

Then I heard footsteps outside my bedroom.

The doorknob turned.

“Naomi?”” Celeste called.

I quickly folded the paper and slipped it into my pocket.

“Open the door.””

“I'm changing.””

“Don't make me repeat myself.””

I heard something slide across the floor beneath the door.

When the footsteps finally receded, I opened it.

An envelope lay on the carpet.

Inside was a printed bank statement.

The account number matched the one hidden in my mother's violin.

But the name at the top wasn't Isaiah Brooks.

It was Rebecca Brooks.

And beside the account balance, someone had circled a figure in red ink.

*$847,250.00.*

At the bottom of the page, a handwritten message made my stomach turn.

Your mother didn't leave you nothing, Naomi.

I looked toward the staircase.

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Celeste was standing at the bottom, watching me.

And she was holding my bedroom key.