Chapter 8 - The Wrong Kind of Blood
I was halfway to the door when Nora stopped me.
"That jacket doesn't prove Jamie is dead. We don't even know whose blood it is."
"So what are we supposed to do? Sit around and collect clues?"
"We're supposed to bring him home. The fastest way isn't always the straightest."
She took the ledger to the state crime lab. I went to see an attorney she recommended, Evelyn Price, a sharp-eyed woman who had represented whistleblowers against county officials. She read the trust agreement, then called the proposed property sale what it was: an attempt to empty the children's inheritance before Lucía could demand records.
"They've stolen from you for years," Evelyn said. "But the trust documents also give us a legal reason to freeze the sale. I can file an emergency petition today."
"Will it help Jamie?"
"It takes away something your father wants. That may make him more dangerous. You should know that before I move."
I thought of our mother, who'd tried to protect us by keeping records, and Lucía, who'd nearly been buried for finding them. "File it."
At the hospital, Lucía was furious I hadn't told her first. "It's my name on that forged consent!"
"You were asleep."
"Being hurt doesn't mean you get to make my choices."
She was right. I hated how easily fear had turned me into another person speaking for her. I apologized, and this time I didn't add an excuse.
We reviewed the mill photos together. In one, a brown boot appeared at the edge of the frame. The heel had a metal plate attached with two crooked screws.
Lucía grabbed my phone. "That's the clicking shoe."
I recognized it from the funeral. Pike, the director, had walked with a slight uneven step. I'd heard the click on the chapel's tile floor.
May you like
Nora called while we were still looking. Testing had matched the jacket's blood to Celia, not Jamie. It was a small amount, possibly from a cut.
Evelyn texted a photo from outside the courthouse: Pike stood across the street, holding a phone and watching her. The message beneath it read: HE JUST SAID YOUR SISTER'S ROOM NUMBER.
