Chapter 8 - The Bottle
Dad had been blaming his blood pressure medication.
Afternoon dizziness.
Heavy sleep.
Moments he could not remember clearly.
Karen called it aging.
I called his doctor.
Susan called the police.
Megan called our aunt, because somebody had to remember normal things like feeding people while the rest of us fell apart.
Police searched the house with Dad’s permission.
They found a small amber bottle behind Karen’s spices.
No label.
Drops missing.
The officer sealed it.
Dad stared at the evidence bag.
“She put that in my food?”
“We don’t know yet,” Susan said.
He laughed once.
The next morning, results showed a sedating antihistamine in his system at a level higher than expected from normal use.
Not poison.
Enough to make memory fuzzy.
Susan asked Dad, “Did Karen ever give you sleep medicine?”
“Tea.”
“What tea?”
He looked at me.
Karen had not only manipulated emotions.
That afternoon, I received a text from an unknown number.
I ignored it.
Another came.
KAREN TOOK CARE OF HIM WHEN YOU DIDN’T.
Then a photo.
Me carrying Lily into Dad’s house.
Taken from across the street.
I called police.
The number was prepaid.
Susan told me to document everything.
At five, Lily asked if Grandpa was mad at her.
I sat beside her.
“No.”
“Did Grandma Karen leave because of me?”
“No.”
Not rage.
Grief.
Karen had planted fear in places I could not see.
I said, “Listen to me. Adults are responsible for adult choices. You are never responsible for someone being cruel.”
Lily nodded.
“What box?”
“In Grandpa’s office.”
“What color?”
“Red.”
Dad and I looked at each other.
“Where did she keep it?”
Lily pointed toward the built-in bookshelf.
“Behind the fake books.”
We went downstairs.
Behind a decorative row of hollow encyclopedias sat a red metal cash box.
Locked.
Dad found the key taped under his desk.
Inside were copies of forged checks.
The trust documents.
May you like
Three burner phones.
And a photograph of my late mother’s will.
