Chapter 3 - The Woman in the Red Dress
I left the church before Emily’s casket did.
That decision would haunt me for months.
Part of me felt as though I were abandoning my daughter on the final journey I was supposed to make beside her. But Michael had looked directly at me after sending the message, and something in his face told me Emily had expected me to understand.
So I slipped through the side entrance while Detective Martinez questioned Ethan and Vanessa near the altar.
My sister Ruth followed me.
“Margaret, where are you going?”
“I need your car.”
She stared at me.
“What?”
“Please.”
Ruth had known me for sixty-one years.
She knew when not to ask questions.
Ten minutes later, I was driving toward Emily’s house.
Her house.
I had to remind myself of that.
Ethan always called it our house, and lately he had begun calling it my house.
But Emily had purchased the property two years before marrying him, using money from an investment account my late husband had created for her.
At least that was what I believed.
The house stood at the end of a quiet cul-de-sac outside Cincinnati, surrounded by maple trees and expensive landscaping Ethan never bothered to maintain himself.
I parked around the corner.
Michael had texted one additional instruction.
Use the kitchen door. Code is Emily’s birthday backward.
The lock clicked.
The house smelled exactly as it had the last time Emily invited me for coffee.
Vanilla candle.
Laundry detergent.
And Ethan’s expensive cedar cologne.
I almost turned around.
Every room contained her.
Her yellow mug beside the coffee maker.
Her shoes near the mudroom.
The cardigan she always wore during pregnancy folded over a dining chair.
Then I saw the staircase.
My daughter had supposedly fallen there.
I gripped the kitchen counter until the dizziness passed.
“Not yet,” I whispered to myself.
The nursery was upstairs.
Ethan had hated the room.
Emily had painted it pale green instead of the blue he wanted.
Tiny wooden animals decorated one wall. An unfinished crib sat beneath the window. On the dresser was the stuffed rabbit I had purchased the afternoon Emily told me I was going to become a grandmother.
I ran my fingers over one of its ears.
“Where did you put it, sweetheart?”
Nothing obvious.
I opened drawers.
Baby clothes.
Blankets.
Diapers.
A tiny pair of socks.
Then I remembered something Michael had said once when helping Emily update her estate documents.
Emily had insisted that certain sentimental objects remain with me.
One was an antique music box my husband had given her when she was eight.
I looked around.
The music box sat on a high shelf.
I pulled it down.
Empty.
Then I noticed the shelf was slightly separated from the wall.
My heart began pounding.
I pushed.
Nothing.
I pulled.
The entire wooden panel shifted forward.
Behind it was a narrow cavity.
Inside rested a black smartphone wrapped in a plastic freezer bag.
I nearly dropped it.
There was also a charger.
And a handwritten note.
Mom—if you found this, Michael kept his promise.
I sat on the nursery floor.
My hands shook so badly I could barely unlock the phone.
The passcode was my wedding anniversary.
There were hundreds of files.
Photographs of bruises.
Screenshots.
Bank transfers.
Audio recordings.
Videos.
One folder was labeled:
IF I DIE.
My throat closed.
Inside were six files.
The first was a video recorded three months earlier.
Emily appeared on screen.
She was sitting exactly where I was sitting.
Pregnant.
Terrified.
But looking directly into the camera.
“If you’re watching this,” she said, “something happened to me.”
I began crying immediately.
Emily swallowed hard.
“I don’t know how much time I have.”
She glanced toward the nursery door.
“Ethan has been moving money from accounts he thinks I don’t know about. At first I thought it was because of gambling or Vanessa.”
She paused.
“It isn’t.”
I leaned closer.
“He needs control of my estate before the baby is born.”
My blood went cold.
Emily continued.
“There is something Ethan doesn’t understand about the trust Dad created.”
I frowned.
My husband had died seven years earlier.
I knew about Emily’s investment trust.
At least I thought I did.
“If my child is born alive, even for one minute, Ethan cannot inherit the primary assets.”
I stopped breathing.
Emily wiped her eyes.
“Everything transfers into a protected trust for the baby.”
A floorboard creaked downstairs.
I froze.
Someone was inside the house.
I paused the video.
Another sound.
The kitchen door.
Then a man’s voice.
“Margaret?”
Ethan.
My entire body went cold.
He should still have been at the church.
I grabbed the phone.
There was nowhere to hide.
The nursery had one door.
The closet.
I stepped inside and pulled it almost closed.
Heavy footsteps climbed the staircase.
Ethan entered the nursery.
Through the narrow gap, I watched him look around.
His breathing was fast.
He went directly to the shelf.
My stomach turned.
He knew.
He pulled the music box down.
Then the wooden panel.
Empty.
For several seconds he simply stared.
Then he whispered one word.
“Emily.”
He pulled out his phone.
I expected him to call Vanessa.
He didn’t.
“Mom,” he said when someone answered.
I felt the blood drain from my face.
Ethan’s mother.
I had met Eleanor Caldwell perhaps twenty times during the marriage. Elegant. Controlled. Wealthy. A woman who could make an insult sound like etiquette.
“I think Margaret has the phone.”
Silence.
Then Ethan listened.
“No. Martinez kept me there another fifteen minutes.”
Another pause.
“I know what you told me.”
He paced.
“But if Emily recorded the staircase—”
He stopped.
My pulse thundered in my ears.
Then he said something I would remember forever.
“No, Mother. Vanessa still thinks I was the one who moved the body.”
My knees almost gave out.
Moved the body.
Emily had not simply fallen.
Ethan walked toward the hallway.
Then stopped again.
“What do you mean the nurse called?”
Silence.
His face changed.
“What nurse?”
He turned away.
I slipped one hand into my purse and found my phone.
I texted Michael.
Ethan is here. He said “moved the body.” Send police.
Ethan walked out.
I waited.
Five seconds.
Ten.
Then another voice came from the hallway.
A woman.
“You should never have brought me to that funeral.”
Vanessa.
I covered my mouth.
She had followed him.
Ethan snapped, “Keep your voice down.”
“You told me Emily died immediately.”
“She did.”
“No. Your mother said something about a nurse.”
“Vanessa—”
“What nurse?”
Silence.
Then Vanessa spoke again, more quietly.
“Was Emily still alive when you found her?”
Ethan didn’t answer.
Vanessa’s voice broke.
“Oh my God.”
She began backing away.
“You lied to me.”
“Stop.”
“You told me it was already done.”
“Vanessa.”
“You said your mother handled everything.”
Ethan grabbed her.
I heard the impact against the wall.
“Lower your voice.”
Vanessa began crying.
“What did Eleanor do?”
I couldn’t remain hidden much longer.
Then, in my hand, Emily’s second phone lit up.
An alarm appeared.
3:15 PM — SEND AUTOMATIC FILE
Underneath it:
TO: DETECTIVE MARTINEZ
May you like
Emily had programmed the phone to send something.
And there were only eleven seconds left on the countdown.
