Amanda had entered her own house thousands of times.
That morning, the front door felt like the entrance to a stranger’s life.
Detective Reynolds stood beside her on the porch while two uniformed officers waited several steps behind. The September air was already warming, carrying the smell of damp pavement and cut grass. Somewhere down the block, a lawn mower started.
Everything looked offensively normal.
Barbara’s birthday decorations were visible through the front window.
Gold paper lanterns hung over the dining room.
A white florist’s box sat near the entryway.
Thirty people were supposedly expected there in a few hours.
Amanda stared at the door.
“What if he’s inside?”
“One of the patrol units checked,” Reynolds said. “Andrew’s car isn’t here.”
“That doesn’t mean he isn’t here.”
“No.”
Amanda looked at him.
He gave a small nod toward the officers.
“That’s why you’re not going in first.”
One officer unlocked the door using Amanda’s key.
It worked.
Barbara had not changed the locks.
Not yet.
The officer entered, announced himself, and moved through the lower floor with his partner.
Amanda remained outside with Reynolds.
Her mind insisted on supplying images.
Andrew behind the office door.
Andrew at the top of the stairs.
Andrew smiling at Katie beside a crosswalk.
After several minutes, an officer returned.
“Clear.”
Amanda stepped inside.
The smell hit her first.
Garlic.
Rosemary.
Something sweet from the bakery boxes stacked on the kitchen counter.
Barbara had apparently continued preparing for the party after Amanda refused to leave the hospital.
A ridiculous anger rose inside her.
Katie had spent the night unconscious while someone arranged pastries.
Amanda walked farther into the entryway.
Then stopped.
Andrew’s jacket hung from the second hook beside the door.
Dark charcoal.
Exactly as Katie had described.
Amanda stared at it.
“That’s his.”
Reynolds did not touch it.
“You’re sure he wore it yesterday?”
“I saw him in it before Katie left.”
The detective pulled on gloves.
Amanda watched him inspect the jacket without moving it from the hook.
“Anything unusual about it?”
“Not normally.”
Reynolds leaned closer to the right sleeve.
Then he stopped.
“What?”
He did not answer immediately.
Using forceps from a small evidence kit, he lifted something from the area near the cuff.
A thread.
Blue.
Amanda felt her stomach tighten.
Reynolds held it against a white evidence card.
The thread was short, no longer than a fingernail.
But Amanda knew the color.
Katie’s cardigan had been blue.
The torn cardigan currently sat in an evidence bag at the hospital.
“That could be from anything,” Amanda said.
Reynolds looked at her.
“Yes.”
She was surprised he agreed so quickly.
“You expected me to say it proves something?”
“I don’t know.”
“It doesn’t. Not by itself.”
He sealed the thread carefully.
“But it gives us something to compare.”
Amanda nodded.
Part of her hated his caution.
Another part depended on it.
If Andrew was innocent, she wanted facts.
If he was guilty, she wanted evidence strong enough that nobody could dismiss Katie as a confused injured child.
They moved into the living room.
Amanda noticed a half-empty tumbler on a side table.
Another glass sat near the sink.
A whiskey bottle stood uncapped in the kitchen.
“Was that there yesterday?” Reynolds asked.
“I don’t know.”
“Does Andrew drink?”
“Sometimes.”
“How much?”
“Not usually enough to leave bottles open.”
Reynolds photographed the kitchen.
Amanda leaned against the counter.
She remembered Barbara’s threat.
Don’t expect your key to work tomorrow.
At the time, it had seemed like another performance of control.
But Katie had mentioned papers.
And Barbara had spoken as though removing Amanda from the house were already possible.
Amanda turned.
“The office.”
Reynolds looked at her.
“What about it?”
“I want to see the papers.”
“We’ll get there.”
“What are we waiting for?”
“A warrant may be necessary depending on what we’re accessing.”
“It’s my house.”
“That doesn’t automatically make everything in Andrew’s private storage ours to search without legal questions later.”
Amanda almost snapped at him.
Then she understood what he was doing.
Protecting the case.
Not Andrew.
They continued upstairs.
The bedroom looked untouched except for one thing on Andrew’s nightstand.
A movie ticket.
Amanda picked it up before Reynolds could stop her.
Then she immediately regretted it.
“Sorry.”
“Set it down.”
She did.
Reynolds put on fresh gloves and lifted the ticket.
The printed date was yesterday.
The movie started at 5:20 p.m.
Amanda stared.
“That’s when Katie was walking to gymnastics.”
“What theater?”
She named the shopping center after reading the ticket.
“How far from the crosswalk?”
“Ten minutes by car. Maybe less.”
Reynolds examined the paper.
“Did Andrew tell you he went to a movie?”
“No.”
“Did he ever mention this?”
“No.”
“Does he often keep tickets?”
Amanda shook her head.
“He buys everything digitally.”
Reynolds looked at her.
“Everything?”
“Movie tickets. Concerts. Parking. He hates paper receipts.”
The detective placed the ticket into an evidence sleeve.
Amanda stared at the empty space on the nightstand.
The placement bothered her.
Perfectly straight.
Centered.
Obvious.
If Andrew hated paper, why had he saved this particular ticket?
“It looks like he wanted someone to see it.”
Reynolds did not answer.
Amanda followed him downstairs.
The house seemed to contain two versions of reality now.
In one, Andrew had gone to a movie while Katie was injured by a hit-and-run driver.
In the other, he had obtained a ticket so he could later claim he had been somewhere else.
Reynolds stopped near the kitchen.
“When Andrew called you last night, where did he say he was?”
“Here.”
“Was Barbara here?”
“Yes.”
“Anyone else?”
“I don’t know.”
“Did you hear anything in the background?”
Amanda remembered.
Barbara’s voice.
Tell her the locks are being changed.
Nothing about guests.
Nothing about a movie.
“He didn’t say he’d gone anywhere.”
Reynolds wrote something down.
Amanda looked toward the office door.
It was closed.
Her pulse quickened.
“Katie said the drawer was open when she went inside.”
“What drawer?”
“She only said Andrew’s drawer.”
They entered the office.
The room looked exactly as Amanda remembered: dark wooden desk, bookcase, printer, computer, stacks of financial magazines Andrew rarely read.
The desk had three drawers.
Two opened easily.
The bottom one did not.
Amanda pulled harder.
Locked.
She looked at Reynolds.
“I didn’t know that locked.”
“Do you have a key?”
“No.”
“Does Andrew?”
“I assume so.”
One of the uniformed officers crouched near the desk.
“Detective.”
Reynolds looked over.
The officer was examining the underside.
“There’s something taped here.”
Amanda bent slightly.
A small silver key was fixed beneath the desk with a strip of black tape.
Reynolds photographed it before removing it.
Amanda felt her heartbeat change.
“You think that opens the drawer?”
“We’ll find out after we confirm what we can legally access.”
Amanda turned away in frustration.
Her gaze landed on a framed photograph of herself, Andrew, and Katie taken two Christmases earlier.
Andrew stood behind them with one arm around Amanda and one hand on Katie’s shoulder.
He looked like a patient husband.
A reliable stepfather.
A man anyone would trust to walk a child across a street.
Amanda wanted to tear the photograph from the shelf.
Instead she left it untouched.
Reynolds stepped into the hallway to speak by phone.
Amanda stayed with the officers.
Her own phone vibrated again.
Andrew.
This time he was calling.
Amanda stared at his name.
One officer looked toward Reynolds.
The detective returned.
“Answer if you normally would.”
Amanda hesitated.
“What do I say?”
“The truth where possible.”
“And Katie?”
“Do not tell him she’s awake.”
Amanda accepted the call.
“Hello?”
Andrew sounded irritated.
“Where are you?”
“At the house.”
There was a pause.
“You came home?”
“Yes.”
“Finally.”
Amanda gripped the edge of the desk.
“When are you getting here?”
“I’m with Mom. We had to pick up the cake because apparently nobody else can do anything today.”
His tone carried weary sarcasm.
Amanda looked at Detective Reynolds.
“When will you be back?”
“Soon. Are you going to start cooking?”
Amanda nearly laughed.
“No.”
Another pause.
“What are you doing there, then?”
She forced herself to answer calmly.
“I needed some things.”
“What things?”
“Clothes. Katie’s insurance information.”
Andrew became silent.
It lasted only a second.
Maybe two.
But Amanda heard the difference.
“Why do you need that?”
“The hospital asked for paperwork.”
“They already have her insurance.”
“Apparently they need something else.”
“From my office?”
Amanda’s fingers tightened.
She had never said office.
Reynolds noticed too.
Amanda kept her voice even.
“Why would I go into your office?”
Andrew recovered quickly.
“I’m just asking.”
“You sound nervous.”
“I’m dealing with thirty people arriving at my mother’s house because my wife decided to disappear.”
Amanda closed her eyes.
“My daughter is in intensive care.”
“Your daughter is stable.”
Again.
Stable.
As if someone had handed Barbara and Andrew a script.
Amanda looked at the locked drawer.
“Andrew?”
“What?”
“When did you buy a movie ticket yesterday?”
Silence.
Longer this time.
“What are you talking about?”
“There’s a ticket on your nightstand.”
“Oh. That.”
“Yes. That.”
“I went to a movie.”
Amanda looked at Reynolds.
“What movie?”
Andrew named one.
“Did you watch the whole thing?”
“Why are you interrogating me?”
“I asked what movie you saw.”
“I just told you.”
“What time did it start?”
“Around five.”
Amanda’s heartbeat pounded in her ears.
Katie had left home around five.
“You never mentioned going.”
“I didn’t realize I needed permission.”
“That isn’t what I said.”
“Then what exactly are you accusing me of?”
Amanda heard Barbara in the background.
“What’s she complaining about now?”
Andrew muffled the phone.
Amanda stared at the jacket visible through the office doorway.
The dark jacket.
Blue thread near the cuff.
The perfectly displayed movie ticket.
The locked drawer.
And the key taped beneath the desk.
Andrew came back on the line.
“I’ll be home soon.”
“Andrew—”
“Amanda, I am not doing this with you.”
His next words were quiet.
“Don’t go through my things.”
The call ended.
Amanda held the phone away from her ear.
Reynolds’s expression had changed.
“He knew exactly where you were.”
Amanda nodded.
The detective looked toward the locked drawer.
His phone rang.
He answered, listened, thanked whoever was speaking, and ended the call.
Then he turned to the officer holding the small silver key.
“We’re cleared.”
Amanda’s mouth went dry.
Reynolds returned to the desk.
He inserted the key.
It turned easily.
The lock released with a soft metallic click.
Inside was a gray folder thick enough that the drawer barely closed around it.
Amanda saw several documents inside.
Reynolds lifted the folder out and placed it on the desk.
Across the first page, in large printed letters, was Katie’s full legal name.
Below it was a number.
$250,000.
Amanda stopped breathing.
Detective Reynolds opened the folder.
And before he read a single line aloud, Amanda understood why Andrew had been so afraid of a ten-year-old girl seeing what was inside.
Click Here to continue read next: PART5: The Folder Named Katie as the Insured Child, but the Signature Beneath the Policy Forced Amanda to Question Barbara’s Role
Amanda Refused to Leave Her Daughter’s Hospital Bed, Never Guessing Why Her Family Needed Her Home Before Morning
Part 4 of 12
