CHAPTER 2 THE INJURY I COULDN’T REMEMBER
For several seconds, no one spoke.
The fluorescent lights above my hospital bed hummed softly, but the sound seemed impossibly loud. My mother’s fingers tightened around mine. Dr. Andrew Keller stood at the foot of the bed with my MRI images glowing behind him.
“What do you mean someone injured her before last night?” my mother asked.
Dr. Keller pulled a chair closer.
“There are two separate patterns of trauma,” he explained. “The swelling and concussion are consistent with the fall at the engagement party. But there is also a healing fracture near the base of Paige’s skull and damage to two cervical vertebrae. Those injuries are approximately ten to fourteen days old.”
My mouth went dry.
“That’s impossible.”
“Have you been in a car accident recently?”
“No.”
“Have you fallen?”
“No.”
“Have you been struck in the head?”
“I would remember that.”
His expression remained gentle, but something in his eyes told me he did not agree.
“Not necessarily.”
My mother turned toward him. “What does that mean?”
“We found traces of a sedative in Paige’s blood. The level is low now, but the metabolites suggest repeated exposure over the past several weeks.”
A cold sensation moved through my body that had nothing to do with the hospital air.
“I don’t take sedatives.”
“I know,” Dr. Keller said. “That’s why I called law enforcement.”
Two officers entered the room ten minutes later. Detective Lena Ortiz was in her early forties, with dark hair pulled into a low ponytail and the calm, watchful expression of someone who noticed everything. Her partner, Detective Marcus Reed, remained near the door.
Ortiz sat beside me.
“I know you’re injured, Paige, so we’ll take this slowly. Think back over the last two weeks. Were there any periods of missing time? Waking up somewhere unexpectedly? Unexplained bruises?”
I wanted to say no.
Then I remembered the morning after my grandmother’s memorial dinner.
Twelve days earlier, our family had gathered at Aunt Marjorie’s house to mark one year since Grandmother Evelyn Hartwell’s death. Vanessa had insisted on making a toast. She poured everyone wine, but she brought me a glass of sparkling cider because she knew I rarely drank.
I remembered taking two sips.
After that, my memory broke apart.
“I woke up on my aunt’s guest-room couch,” I whispered.
My mother stared at me. “You told me you were tired and stayed over.”
“That’s what Vanessa said happened.”
“What do you remember?”
“Vanessa handing me the drink. Brent asking if I still had Grandmother’s old brass key. Then… nothing.”
Detective Ortiz’s pen stopped.
“What key?”
I closed my eyes.
Grandmother Evelyn had given me a small brass key three weeks before she died. She had been in hospice care, thin and weak but still perfectly clear-minded.
“Keep this somewhere safe,” she had told me. “And don’t let Marjorie or Vanessa know you have it.”
I had asked what it opened.
Grandmother had smiled faintly.
“When the time comes, you’ll understand.”
After her funeral, I placed the key inside a velvet jewelry box in my bedroom closet. I had not thought about it for months.
Until now.
“I need my phone,” I said.
My mother handed it to me. My fingers trembled as I opened the security application connected to the camera inside my condo. I had installed it after a string of package thefts in my building.
The recordings automatically deleted after thirty days.
I scrolled back twelve days.
At 11:47 p.m., my condo door opened.
Vanessa entered first.
Brent followed her.
My breath stopped.
On the tiny screen, Vanessa moved through my dark living room with the confidence of someone who knew I would not be coming home. She switched on a lamp and pointed toward the hallway.
Brent carried a leather bag.
They went directly to my bedroom.
My mother covered her mouth.
Detective Ortiz took the phone carefully.
“Can you enlarge the footage?”
I cast the recording onto the television mounted across from my hospital bed.
At 11:52 p.m., Brent returned to the living room holding my velvet jewelry box. Vanessa snatched it from him and opened it.
Even without sound, I could see her fury when she discovered the box was empty.
Because the key was no longer there.
I had moved it two months earlier after a strange feeling convinced me someone had searched my closet. I had hidden it in the lining of an old nursing-school backpack stored in my condo’s basement locker.
Vanessa hurled the empty box against the wall.
Then she turned toward the camera.
Her eyes landed directly on the small black lens above the bookshelf.
For one terrible second, she stared into it.
Brent noticed too.
He walked toward the camera.
The screen went black.
“That footage establishes unlawful entry,” Detective Reed said. “But it doesn’t prove they caused the earlier injury.”
“No,” Ortiz replied. “It proves they were looking for something they believed Paige possessed.”
My mother stood abruptly. “I’m calling Marjorie.”
Detective Ortiz stopped her.
“Don’t.”
“My sister needs to know what her daughter has done.”
“Your sister may already know.”
The room seemed to shrink around us.
My mother’s face changed. “Marjorie would never hurt Paige.”
“Maybe not,” Ortiz said. “But someone drugged your daughter during a gathering at Marjorie’s home. Someone then accessed Paige’s condo using either her keys or a copy. Until we understand everyone’s involvement, you should not warn anyone.”
My phone began vibrating on the bed.
The name on the screen made my stomach turn.
VANESSA.
Detective Ortiz nodded for me to answer and placed the phone on speaker.
“Hello?”
Vanessa’s voice was bright and falsely concerned.
“Paige! Oh my God, I’ve been worried sick. Mom said you went to the hospital. Are you being dramatic again, or did you actually hurt yourself?”
My mother’s face flushed with anger.
I forced my voice to remain weak.
“The doctors are still running tests.”
A pause.
“What kind of tests?”
“Just scans.”
Another pause, longer this time.
“Did they find anything unusual?”
Detective Ortiz watched me carefully.
“A concussion,” I said. “Some bruising.”
Vanessa released a breath.
“I knew you were fine. Listen, everyone agrees last night got out of control, but you slipped. Brent saw it. The bridesmaids saw it. You don’t want to ruin my wedding over an accident.”
“You pushed me.”
“You were dizzy.”
“I don’t drink.”
“Maybe you should ask yourself why you’re always creating problems for this family.”
My grip tightened around the phone.
Then Vanessa lowered her voice.
“And Paige? If Grandmother gave you anything before she died, now would be a good time to stop hiding it.”
The call ended.
Detective Ortiz immediately stood.
“That sounded like a threat.”
“It was,” I whispered.
My mother looked at me. “Where is the key?”
“In my building’s basement.”
Ortiz exchanged a glance with Reed.
“We’ll retrieve it.”
Two hours later, Detective Reed returned with a sealed evidence bag. Inside it was the brass key.
But he was not alone.
A gray-haired man in a navy suit walked behind him carrying an old leather document case. I recognized him vaguely from Grandmother’s funeral.
“Paige,” he said, “my name is Samuel Whitaker. I was your grandmother’s attorney.”
My mother rose slowly.
Mr. Whitaker looked at the key through the plastic bag.
“I’ve been waiting almost a year for you to contact me.”
“I didn’t know I was supposed to.”
“That key opens a private deposit box your grandmother placed under your name.”
My pulse accelerated.
“What’s inside it?”
His expression became grave.
“Evidence.”
“Evidence of what?”
“Financial crimes committed against your grandmother during the final year of her life.”
My mother’s knees nearly buckled.
“By whom?”
The attorney looked directly at her.
“Your sister Marjorie, her daughter Vanessa, and a third person whose identity Evelyn was too afraid to write down.”
Before anyone could respond, Detective Ortiz’s phone rang.
She answered, listened, then turned toward me.
“Officers just arrived at your aunt’s house.”
“Why?”
“Because one of the engagement-party guests came forward. She recorded the moment Vanessa pushed you.”
Relief rushed through me.
But Ortiz did not look relieved.
“She also recorded what happened twenty minutes earlier.”
“What happened?”
May you like
The detective’s gaze hardened.
“Vanessa slipped something into your drink.”
