Part 2: What Richard Was Hiding For several seconds, nobody moved. The clock above the kitchen doorway ticked so loudly that it seemed to fill the entire room. Tick. Tick. Tick. Mom was still staring into Richard’s open briefcase. I stood beside her, afraid to reach inside.
Chloe remained near the door, her face pale and streaked with tears. Her jacket was half-zipped, and there was dirt along one sleeve, as if she had fallen somewhere. “What is it?” I finally asked. Mom didn’t answer. She simply reached into the briefcase with trembling fingers and pulled out a thick manila envelope.
There was no name on it.
No address. Only a date written across the front.
August 23.
Tonight’s date.
My stomach tightened.
“Why would Richard have something dated today?” I whispered.
Chloe shook her head.
“I don’t know.”
Mom slowly opened the envelope.
Inside were photographs.
Dozens of them.
The first photograph showed Richard standing outside a small brick building.
The second showed him carrying several cardboard boxes through a side entrance.
The third made Mom gasp.
It was a photograph of an elderly woman sitting in a wheelchair.
She looked frail, perhaps in her late eighties, with silver hair and a blue blanket over her knees.
I looked at Mom.
“Do you know her?”
Mom’s eyes narrowed.
“No.”
Chloe immediately said, “Keep looking.”
Mom turned over another photograph.
Then another.
Each one showed the same woman.
Sometimes she was sitting in the wheelchair.
Sometimes she was asleep.
Sometimes Richard was beside her.
But there was something strange about every photograph.
He never smiled.
And neither did the woman.
“What is this?” Mom whispered.
Chloe swallowed.
“I saw him take the photographs tonight.”
“You followed him?”
She nodded.
“When he left here, I waited about two minutes. Then I took my bike and followed his car.”
Mom’s face hardened.
“Chloe, you could have been hurt.”
“I know.”
“You should never have followed an adult man by yourself.”
“I know, Grandma.”
“But I did.”
The room fell silent.
Chloe looked at the briefcase.
“And I’m glad I did.”
She pulled out another item.
A small plastic keycard.
There was a number printed on it.
217.
“What does that mean?” I asked.
“I don’t know,” Chloe said. “But I saw Richard use it.”
Mom looked confused.
“Use it where?”
Chloe stared at her grandmother.
“At the building where that woman lives.”
Mom’s expression changed.
“What building?”
“A nursing home.”
I felt a strange sense of relief.
For one brief second, I thought we had found the answer.
Perhaps Richard was secretly caring for an elderly relative.
Perhaps there was a perfectly innocent explanation.
But Chloe’s next words destroyed that possibility.
“He didn’t go through the front entrance.”
She lowered her voice.
“He went around the back.”
Mom sat down.
“Why?”
“I don’t know.”
“What happened after that?”
Chloe hesitated.
“I followed him inside.”
“Chloe!”
“I stayed far behind him.”
“That’s not the point.”
“I know.”
She wiped her cheeks.
“He went down a hallway. Then he entered a room.”
“Room 217?”
Chloe nodded.
