Chapter 4 - The Spare Key
"She didn't have a key," I said.
James enlarged the image.
Lauren held a brass key between two fingers. Behind her stood Mom.
The timestamp was 1:14 p.m. on a Tuesday.
I remembered that Tuesday.
I had taken Emma to a pediatric appointment, then stopped at the pharmacy.
"How long were they inside?" I asked.
James scrolled.
Forty-seven minutes.
There was no footage of them leaving through the front door because our camera had gone offline at 1:19.
It came back at 2:03.
"Somebody unplugged the router," James said.
My throat tightened.
When we got home, he checked the drawer where we kept copies of insurance papers, passports, and his deployment records.
The folders looked normal.
Too normal.
James pulled them out one by one.
"My orders packet is missing."
"What was in it?"
"Copies of my ID. Signature pages. Emergency contact forms."
I sat down hard at the kitchen table.
Emma was asleep against my chest now, one tiny fist tucked beneath her chin.
James opened the safe.
Inside were our birth certificates, marriage license, and Emma's Social Security card.
He stared at the empty plastic sleeve beside it.
"Her card was copied."
"How do you know?"
"Because I put it facing down. It's facing up."
It sounded like nothing.
After eleven years with him, I knew it wasn't.
My phone buzzed.
A text from Mom.
PLEASE DON'T INVOLVE POLICE. LAUREN MADE A MISTAKE. WE CAN FIX THIS AS A FAMILY.
James read it over my shoulder.
Then another message arrived.
This one was from a number I didn't recognize.
A photograph loaded.
It showed Emma's daycare entrance.
May you like
Underneath were six words.
YOU SHOULD HAVE LET THANKSGIVING END.
