Chapter 2 - THE SIGNATURE
“David.”
Sarah said my husband’s name quietly, but it echoed against the tile walls of Mrs. Alvarez’s kitchen like a gunshot.
“David?” I repeated, my voice dropping to a whisper. “My husband?”
“He bought the apartment above the diner two months before my mother left,” Sarah said through the phone. Her breath hitched, sounding exhausted and frail. “Margaret, the deposit slip for the missing money… it has his signature on the back.”
The room titled. I looked down at Lucy, who was sitting at the small kitchen table, tracing the rim of a water glass. She was wearing the denim coat with the yellow tulip patch. My sister’s coat.
David and I had been married for almost thirty years. He had always told me he didn’t know my family well before we started dating in Columbus. He claimed he only met my father twice before the wedding.
“That’s impossible,” I said, though my hands were trembling. “David was a junior accountant in the city back then. He didn’t have the money to buy real estate in Dayton.”
“I have the slip right here,” Sarah insisted. “And a copy of the property ledger. Annie kept everything in a small metal lockbox.”
“I’m coming to the hospital,” I told her.
“Visiting hours end in ten minutes. They’re taking me for a scan.”
“Then I’ll be there first thing in the morning.” I looked at Mrs. Alvarez, who was watching me with dark, unreadable eyes. “I’m taking Lucy home with me tonight.”
“No,” Sarah said quickly. Too quickly. “Mrs. Alvarez is safe. Lucy stays there.”
I didn’t argue. I hung up the phone and knelt beside the table. Lucy looked at me, her young face drawn tight with worry. I promised her I would see her tomorrow, and I left my number with the neighbor.
When I drove home, the streets of Columbus blurred through the windshield. I pulled into our driveway. The porch light was on. David’s car was in the garage.
I walked through the front door, the silence of the house suddenly feeling heavy, suffocating. David was in the living room, sitting in his leather recliner, reading a quarterly tax report. He looked up, adjusting his reading glasses.
“You’re late,” he said gently. “Laundry took a while?”
I looked at the man I had shared a bed with for three decades. The silver in his hair, the familiar crease between his brows.
“I ran into someone,” I said.
“Oh? Anyone I know?”
“A little girl. She had a coat with a yellow tulip patch on it.”
David’s hand froze. The crisp white paper of the tax report crinkled beneath his thumb. It was a microscopic reaction, but after thirty years, I knew his tells.
“A tulip?” he asked, his voice entirely too casual. “Sounds nice.”
“It was Annie’s coat, David.”
He carefully set the paperwork down on the side table. He didn’t look at me. “Margaret, we’ve talked about this. Bringing up your sister only hurts you. She made her choices.”
“Her daughter is in the hospital across town,” I said, my voice rising. “And she has a bank deposit slip from the day the diner was robbed. It has your name on it.”
David finally looked at me. The color had completely drained from his face.
Before he could speak, I walked over to the hallway coat rack. I reached into the deep pocket of David’s heavy winter trench coat—the one he’d worn to my father’s funeral.
I had felt something heavy in there last week when I moved it. I hadn’t thought anything of it.
I pulled it out.
It was a heavy, silver pocket watch. The glass face was cracked.
“Where did you get this?” I asked.
May you like
David stood up slowly. “Margaret, put that down.”
“This is my father’s watch,” I said, running my thumb over the engraved initials on the back. “The one he told the police Annie stole the night she ran away.”
