Chapter 3 - The Shape of a Lie
By the next afternoon, Amy knew three things for certain.
Henry was calling everyone but her. Darlene Carter—his mother—had already told relatives Amy was “milking the recovery” and keeping Emily away out of spite. And somebody had moved very quickly to hide money.
Eric came back to the hospital with a reusable grocery bag full of unopened mail, a spiral notebook Emily had left on the kitchen counter, and the old family iPad in a pink foam case. He set it on Amy’s blanket like evidence.
“The house is a mess,” he said. “And Darlene’s SUV was in Henry’s garage.”
Amy looked up. “Why does that matter?”
“It’s a dark blue Buick Enclave, right?”
She nodded.
Eric pulled off his glasses and cleaned them with the edge of his shirt. “Passenger-side headlight looked new. Bumper had fresh buffing compound on it.”
Kathleen went still. The nurse checking Amy’s vitals pretended not to hear.
Amy picked up the certified credit union letter again. Henry had told her for months they were a little behind because cabinet orders were slow at his small remodeling business. He had sold the truck she liked. He had postponed replacing Emily’s cracked glasses. He had snapped when Amy asked why the property tax bill was late.
Now there was a home equity application with her forged future attached to it.
The iPad chimed when Eric plugged it in. Emily’s spelling app opened first. Then a line of message previews dropped across the top of the screen, synced from Henry’s phone.
Mom won’t sign.
Need it done before Friday.
Amy’s throat tightened.
Kathleen saw it too. “Can you open those?”
Amy tried. The newest messages were gone. Deleted.
A detective from the Columbus suburb where the accident had happened had already spoken to Amy once, politely, in broad strokes. She had told him she remembered groceries, brakes, and then nothing clear. Now she asked the nurse for her phone.
When Detective Clay Mercer answered, Amy kept her voice steady. “I think the driver might not have been a stranger.”
There was a pause on the line.
May you like
“What changed?” he asked.
Amy looked at the iPad, then at the marks Henry had left on her arm. “I’m starting to understand why my husband wanted me quiet.”
