Chapter 4 - THE DEAD WOMAN’S PHONE
Serena’s phone had never been recovered from the crash.
Or so I believed.
Police records said:
No primary mobile device located.
Three days after the accident, Rhea gave me Serena’s backup phone.
“She left this at my place.”
I barely turned it on.
Most data synced to cloud storage.
Photos.
Messages.
Voice notes.
Eventually I put it in a box.
Now Detective Ellis wanted it.
The device still powered on.
Digital forensics found something I never noticed.
A deletion window.
Twenty-seven messages removed after the crash but before Rhea returned the device.
“How do you know?”
Metadata.
Not contents.
Cloud fragments preserved portions.
One sender:
RHEA.
One sender:
UNKNOWN NUMBER.
One draft written by Serena the morning of the crash:
Kiernan, if Rhea talks to you before I do, don’t believe—
The message ended there.
My hands shook.
“Don’t believe what?”
No answer.
Another recovered fragment from Rhea to Serena:
You are not walking away after everything I covered for you.
Covered what?
Unknown.
Another:
If Kiernan learns about White Harbor—
The message was dated before the crash.
White Harbor existed in their lives before Serena supposedly needed neurological rehabilitation.
That changed everything.
“What was White Harbor then?” I asked.
Detective Ellis said:
“Could be unrelated treatment. We need records.”
Medical privacy again.
Legal process.
Correct.
I hated correctness.
Perrin meanwhile stayed with me.
I canceled every work trip.
Not forever.
For now.
He slept beside me for six nights.
On the seventh, he tried his room.
At 2:00 a.m., he came back carrying the stuffed dog.
“Wall moving.”
“No wall is moving.”
“I know.”
He climbed beside me.
Fear does not care what you know.
The hidden panel remained sealed by investigators.
I wanted it ripped out.
Detective Ellis said:
“After evidence release.”
Fine.
Rhea’s belongings were removed from my home under supervision.
She asked for the engagement ring.
Of course.
It was hers legally as a conditional engagement gift depending on local law? Complicated.
Naomi handled it.
I did not need jewelry becoming symbolism.
Then someone delivered a storage-unit notice addressed to Rhea.
The mail-forwarding system had missed it.
Unit delinquent.
Facility:
North Ridge Storage.
Same county as Serena’s crash.
Police obtained a warrant based on the developing case.
Inside:
Boxes.
Old clothes.
Financial files.
A broken suitcase.
And Serena’s wedding photograph.
Not a copy.
The framed photograph that disappeared from our house two months after the funeral.
I thought I had moved it during grief.
Rhea had taken it.
Behind the photograph:
A small digital recorder.
One surviving audio file.
Serena’s voice.
Weak.
Confused.
“Where’s Kiernan?”
Then Rhea:
“Not yet.”
Serena again:
“My baby?”
Rhea:
“You need to get stronger first.”
Serena:
“Perrin?”
The recording ended.
No date embedded accurately.
But device purchase records placed it after the crash.
My wife had survived long enough to ask for me.
May you like
Someone had answered.
Not yet.
