“Mrs. Parker?”
“Yes.”
“Can I ask you something?”
“Of course.”
“Did Kaylee leave something at your house?”
“What?”
“Something small. A little metal key.”
I looked at Marissa.
She looked at me.
Neither of us spoke.
Greg continued.
“She told me she gave it to Mia.”
I looked toward the stairs.
“Mia?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
Greg’s voice cracked.
“Because she said Tasha told her if she ever got scared, she should give it to someone she trusted.”
I felt the room go cold.
“What does the key open?”
“I don’t know.”
Then Greg whispered:
“But I think I know where it came from.”
“Where?”
He took a breath.
“The basement.”
Marissa immediately stood.
“What basement?”
I put the phone on speaker.
Greg answered:
“Our house has a storage room under the basement stairs.”
Marissa leaned toward the phone.
“What’s inside?”
“I’ve never been allowed to go in.”
“Why?”
“Tasha says it’s full of her mother’s things.”
Silence.
Then Greg said:
“But tonight I found something.”
“What?”
“A second pair of pink sneakers.”
My heart stopped.
“Greg…”
“They’re the same size.”
He swallowed.
“Only they’re covered in dried blood.”
And then the call ended.
I looked at Marissa.
She was already reaching for her coat.
“Where does he live?”
I gave her the address.
She looked at the clock.
Then at me.
“Mrs. Parker, I need you to stay here with Mia.”
“Why?”
“Because whatever is in that basement, we don’t know yet.”
She opened the door.
“And I don’t want anyone else getting hurt.”
As she stepped outside, I looked at the grocery bag on my kitchen table.
The pink sneakers were still inside.
For the first time since Kaylee arrived at our house, I understood something.
She hadn’t brought those shoes because she wanted to hide her injuries.
She had brought them because they were evidence.
And somehow, without knowing it, an eight-year-old girl had been trying to leave a trail for someone to find.
Now we just had to find out where that trail ended.
PART 4
For the next forty minutes, I sat at my kitchen table with Mia beside me, listening to the clock.
Tick.
Tick.
Tick.
Every sound seemed too loud.
The refrigerator humming.
A car passing outside.
The pipes knocking somewhere inside the walls.
Mia had fallen asleep with her head against my shoulder, but I couldn’t sleep.
I kept thinking about what Greg had said.
A second pair of pink sneakers.
The basement.
The key.
Blood.
At 9:03, headlights swept across our front windows.
I stood so quickly my chair scraped the floor.
It was Marissa.
Behind her were two police officers.
Greg was with them.
Tasha wasn’t.
I opened the door.
Marissa stepped inside.
“Where’s Mia?”
“Asleep.”
“Keep her upstairs.”
I nodded.
“What happened?”
Marissa looked at Greg.
“Tell her.”
Greg looked ten years older than he had that morning.
“I went home.”
He rubbed his hands together.
“I didn’t know what else to do. Tasha wasn’t answering her phone.”
“Where was she?”
“She left.”
“When?”
“About twenty minutes after you all went to the hospital.”
I frowned.
“She just left?”
“She said she needed to get clothes.”
Greg’s voice became quieter.
“But she never came back.”
Marissa interrupted.
“Before she left, Greg went into the basement.”
He nodded.
“I found the door.”
“What door?”
“The storage room.”
He looked at me.
“I’d lived in that house for four years and never noticed the lock was different.”
“Did you open it?”
“Yes.”
“What was inside?”
Greg swallowed.
“Boxes.”
“What kind?”
“Clothes. School supplies. Shoes.”
My stomach tightened.
“How many?”
“Too many.”
Marissa said, “We found photographs.”
I stared at her.
“Of Kaylee?”
“Yes.”
“How many?”
“Dozens.”
Greg looked down.
“Some were taken when she was sleeping.”
I felt sick.
“Why?”
“We don’t know yet.”
“Was there anything else?”
Marissa nodded.
“Medical supplies. Bandages. Cleaning products. Several notebooks.”
“Whose?”
“We’re still examining them.”
Greg looked at me.
“But there was one thing that frightened me.”
“What?”
He pulled a folded piece of paper from his jacket.
He didn’t hand it to me.
He gave it to Marissa.
She opened it.
It was a handwritten list.
Names.
Dates.
Measurements.
At the top was one word:
KAYLEE.
Below it were dates.
Some were from months ago.
Some were from last year.
And beside each date were short notes.
“Left heel.”
“Right ankle.”
“Upper arm.”
“Back.”
“Bruising.”
“Did not tell.”
My hands went cold.
“Who wrote that?”
“We don’t know yet.”
Greg stared at the floor.
“I think Tasha did.”
Marissa folded the paper.
“We’re going to determine that.”
I looked at Greg.
“How could you not know?”
He closed his eyes.
“I thought she was controlling.”
His voice broke.
“I thought she was strict.”
He shook his head.
“I never thought…”
He couldn’t finish.
I didn’t say anything.
Because there are moments when anger is easier than pity.
But I wasn’t sure what I felt toward Greg.
He hadn’t necessarily caused what happened.
But he had been the adult who should have noticed.
And he hadn’t.
At 10:18, another officer arrived with a sealed evidence bag.
Inside was the key.
The same little metal key Greg had asked about.
“You said Kaylee gave it to Mia?” Marissa asked.
“Yes.”
I called Mia downstairs.
She was still half asleep.
“Sweetheart, do you have something Kaylee gave you?”
Mia nodded.
She ran upstairs.
A minute later, she returned with a tiny purple jewelry box.
She opened it.
Inside was the key.
“I put it here because I thought it was special.”
Marissa crouched beside her.
“Did Kaylee tell you what it was for?”
Mia nodded.
“She said it opens something.”
“What?”
“A door.”
“Which door?”
Mia frowned.
“She didn’t know.”
Then she looked at me.
“But she said Tasha told her never to lose it.”
Marissa carefully took the key.
“Thank you.”
Mia looked worried.
“Is Kaylee okay?”
“She’s safe.”
“Is Tasha going to hurt her?”
Nobody answered immediately.
Finally Marissa said:
“Kaylee is with people who are protecting her.”
Mia nodded.
Then she asked:
“Can I make her a card?”
Marissa smiled.
“Yes.”
Mia ran upstairs again.
I watched her go.
Eight years old.
Still worried about whether her friend had someone to comfort her.
I wondered when adults had forgotten how simple kindness could be.
