PART 3

I had seen it there before I went to bed.

I looked toward the hallway.

Her bedroom door was still closed.

For a few seconds, I simply stared at my computer screen.

Then my phone rang.

It was my neighbor, Mr. Harris.

“Did you see it?” he asked.

“I did.”

“I have more footage.”

My heart began pounding.

“How much more?”

“About thirty minutes before that.”

I sat up straight.

“Can you send everything?”

“I already did. Check your email.”

I opened my inbox.

Three video files.

My hands trembled as I downloaded them.

The first showed my driveway at 11:34.

The Civic was parked exactly where it should have been.

The second showed the street at 11:58.

Nothing.

The third showed the driveway at 12:03.

That was when I saw it.

The Civic’s headlights came on.

I froze.

Someone had walked into my driveway.

Someone had opened the driver’s door.

Someone had gotten inside my daughter’s car.

And they had not come from the street.

They had come from behind my house.

From the direction of the narrow walking path that led toward my parents’ neighborhood.

I replayed it.

Again.

And again.

Then I saw something else.

The person stopped beside the driver’s door for several seconds before getting in.

They looked directly toward the camera.

Not accidentally.

Deliberately.

As if they knew exactly where it was.

My stomach dropped.

Whoever had taken the car knew about the security camera.

And they had still driven directly past it.

That meant one of two things.

They were careless.

Or they wanted to be seen.

My phone buzzed.

A message from my attorney.

Do not speak to police without me. Preserve every recording. Do not contact witnesses yourself.

I stared at the words.

Then another message arrived.

This one was from my mother.

We need to talk. Come to the house. Alone.

I read it twice.

Then a third time.

My mother knew about the crash.

She knew the police had spoken to me.

And she knew Lily had been accused.

But she didn’t say, Is Lily okay?

She didn’t say, What happened?

She said:

Come to the house. Alone.

That was the moment something inside me shifted.

I called her.

She answered on the first ring.

“Mom.”

Silence.

Then she said, “You shouldn’t have gotten the police involved.”

I felt every muscle in my body tighten.

“What?”

“You heard me.”

“The police came to my house.”

“They wouldn’t have come if Lily hadn’t taken the car.”

“She didn’t.”

Another silence.

Then my mother sighed.

“You need to stop protecting her.”

My mouth went dry.

“Protecting her from what?”

“She knows what she did.”

I looked toward the hallway.

Lily was still in her room.

She couldn’t hear me.

“Mom,” I said carefully, “what exactly are you accusing my daughter of?”

“Come here.”

“No.”

“What?”

“You heard me. I’m not bringing Lily anywhere. And I’m not coming to your house until I understand what is happening.”

Her voice became quieter.

“Your daughter was seen at my house.”

“By whom?”

“You know who.”

“No, Mom. I don’t.”

Another pause.

Then she said something that made the hairs rise on the back of my neck.

“Your father.”

I stopped breathing for a second.

“Dad identified her?”

“He saw her.”

“Where?”

“At the house.”

“When?”

She didn’t answer.

“Mom?”

“She was there.”

“My daughter was asleep in her bedroom.”

“You can’t know that.”

“Yes, I can. I saw her.”

“Maybe she left after you went to bed.”

“No.”

“How can you be so certain?”

“Because I checked on her.”

That was when my mother went silent.

I realized something.

She had not expected me to say that.

I had checked on Lily at 11:41.

I’d walked past her bedroom.

The door had been slightly open.

She had been asleep.

Her phone was charging on the desk.

Her shoes were beside the bed.

Her window was locked.

And the Civic was still in my driveway.

I had seen all of it.

So whoever drove that car at 12:03 could not have been Lily.

“Mom,” I said, “who was actually driving?”

“I already told you.”

“No.”

My voice was calmer now.

“Who was driving?”

She hung up.

I stared at the phone.

Then I looked at the security footage again.

I enlarged the driver’s wrist.

White bracelet.

Dark sleeve.

Something else caught my attention.

A ring.

Silver.

A large oval stone.

I knew that ring.

My mother wore it every day.

I grabbed my coat.

Lily appeared at the end of the hallway.

“Where are you going?”

“To talk to Grandma.”

“Can I come?”

“No.”

Her expression changed immediately.

“Why?”

“Because I need you to stay here.”

“Mom—”

“Lily.”

She stopped.

I walked toward her and held her shoulders.

“I believe you. But something very strange is happening, and I don’t want you anywhere near it.”

“What strange thing?”

I hesitated.

Then I remembered my attorney’s message.

Do not contact witnesses.

Do not interfere.

Preserve evidence.

So I did something different.

I called him.

Ten minutes later, he arrived at my house.

His name was Daniel Price.

He was older, calm, and the kind of man who seemed impossible to intimidate.

I showed him the footage.

He watched silently.

Then he watched it again.

“Do you recognize the bracelet?” he asked.

“Yes.”

“Whose?”

“My daughter’s.”

“Are you certain?”

I shook my head.

“No. Not anymore.”

He looked at me.

“Good answer.”

“What does that mean?”

“It means whoever did this may have intentionally created evidence pointing toward Lily.”

He paused the video.

“Look at the jacket.”

I leaned closer.

“What about it?”

“There’s a tear here.”

He pointed at the shoulder.

A tiny white thread was sticking out.

Daniel enlarged the image.

“Does Lily own this jacket?”

“No.”

“Your parents?”

“I don’t know.”

“Your father?”

“I’ve never seen him wear it.”

“Your mother?”

I stared at the screen.

“I’ve seen that jacket before.”

“Where?”

I couldn’t remember.

Then suddenly I did.

My mother’s garage.

Hanging beside the back door.

A dark navy jacket.

But my mother was a small woman.

The person in the video appeared taller.

Much taller.

“Could it be your father?” Daniel asked.

“No.”

“Why not?”

“Because my father walks with a cane.”

Daniel looked back at the footage.

The person walked normally.

No limp.

No cane.

“Then we need to know who else had access to your parents’ house.”

I felt a chill.

“My brother.”

Daniel looked at me.

“You have a brother?”

“Yes.”

“Name?”

“Evan.”

“And where was Evan last night?”

I didn’t know.

I hadn’t spoken to my brother in nearly three weeks.

The last time I saw him was at my parents’ house.

He had been arguing with my father.

About money.

I suddenly remembered something else.

A sentence my father had said that night.

If you think I’m going to give you another dollar, you’re mistaken.

Evan had slammed his hand on the table.

Then he’d looked at me.

“You always get everything.”

I had laughed because I thought he was angry.

Now I wasn’t laughing.

Daniel noticed my expression.

“What?”

“My brother.”

“What about him?”

“He has a key to my parents’ house.”

“Does he have a key to yours?”

I shook my head.

“No.”

“Could he have taken the car without breaking into your house?”

I thought about it.

Then my stomach twisted.

“The spare key.”

Daniel looked at me.

“What spare key?”