Chapter 9 - The Wrong Side of the Door
I checked the peephole before opening. Two officers stood outside, and behind them was Claudia, wrapped in a beige coat, looking exhausted for their benefit.
"My husband and his brother are taking things from my mother-in-law's house," she said.
"She's our grandmother," Mateo corrected. "And this is her home."
The officers asked for identification and listened as Teresa explained our legal interest and the existing investigation. They did not take Claudia's accusation as a command to search. They also told us to leave the house undisturbed until authority to inspect disputed belongings was clarified.
"I'll make an inventory in front of everyone," Teresa offered.
Claudia watched while we photographed the dress and sealed the packet. Her eyes didn't leave the little key.
"That belongs to me," she said.
"Then you can explain your claim to the investigator," Teresa replied.
I almost smiled. Teresa could make a sentence sound like a locked gate.
After they left, Mateo admitted something he'd been holding back. Claudia had opened a separate bank account in his name. He'd seen transfers but had trusted her explanation that they were funds for household repairs.
"You knew about the account?" I asked.
"I knew there was an account. Not that she was borrowing against Abuela's house."
"We're going to tell Teresa everything. Even the parts that make us look stupid."
He nodded. Tears stayed in his eyes without falling. "I kept choosing the answer that let me go back to work."
At the hospital, Sara tried to sing a tune when I showed her the little key. She got through four notes, then stopped and said, "The music box has your mother's voice."
My mother died before smart phones, before voice messages lived in pockets. Her voice existed in my memory only as warmth, never as sound.
May you like
I leaned closer. "Where is it, Abuela?"
She glanced toward the open doorway and whispered, "Ask the man who came on Thursday. He took it."
