She pulled into her driveway and switched off the engine, leaning her head against the steering wheel to collect her thoughts before going into the house to face the inevitable barrage of questions from her mother. She’d intended to grill Ray and get some answers, but instead she’d returned from the hospital with more questions than ever. There must be some way to get to the bottom of it all. She couldn’t in good conscience hand Henry back over to Ray until she knew the child was safe. If Ray was lying, he was frighteningly good at it—which made him a dangerous sociopath.
Glancing across at his house, she made a split-second decision to head back over there and take a closer look around. Buried somewhere in his belongings, there had to be a photograph of his wife—some record of her existence. The other question Sonia was desperate to resolve was what role Ray had played in his father’s sudden death. Had there actually been a heart attack? The fragmented images could be the dregs of a guilty conscience whirling around in Ray’s damaged brain. Celia had scores of old file boxes in the garage. Her husband’s death certificate had to be in there somewhere.
Her mind made up, she climbed out of her car and tromped over the back lawn to Ray’s house. After letting herself in, she sent her mother a quick text to let her know she was picking up some clothes for Ray. The last thing she needed was Evelyn calling the cops after spotting a light on in the house. Slipping her phone into the back pocket of her jeans, Sonia swept her gaze around the disused kitchen. It had taken on an ominous aura in Celia’s absence. There were too many fossilized secrets in this house, too much unfinished business, and at the heart of it all was a little boy Sonia had made an impromptu promise to protect. Mustering her resolve, she headed out to the garage to begin her search for answers.
After retrieving a half-rotten wooden ladder she found buried under a pile of junk at the back of the garage, she balanced on the bottom rung and began weeding through the cardboard boxes and plastic tubs piled haphazardly on the sagging particle board shelves. Most of the boxes were filled with old household items, chipped ornaments, miscellaneous painting supplies, stacks of women’s magazines, and similarly worthless items.
Fighting to keep her face free of the cobwebs dangling above her head, Sonia ascended the second rung and reached for another cardboard box falling apart at the seams. Grunting under the weight of her precarious load, she gingerly descended the ladder and pulled open the flaps. Beneath the crumpled newspaper on top, lay a silver picture frame. She flipped it over and examined the couple in the wedding photo. She recognized Celia immediately—slim and pretty, in a long-sleeved satin gown. Next to her stood a stocky, unsmiling man with a slick side part, dressed in a black suit. A small group of family members were positioned on either side of the couple.
Sonia rubbed the smudged glass with her sleeve. This had to be Ray’s father, although it didn’t look much like him. Ray definitely took after Celia’s side of the family. She set the photo on a shelf and dug deeper in the box. Tossing aside several framed baby pictures, she stumbled upon a moldy file folder full of documents in plastic sleeves, including a marriage certificate, a death certificate, and two birth certificates. She perused the birth certificates first, surprised to discover that Ray was only eleven months older than his younger brother, Tom. Next, she pulled out the death certificate and confirmed that Rupert John Jenkins had died of congestive heart failure. There was no mention of any injuries or suspicious circumstances. Whatever memory Ray was wrestling with, apparently, he hadn’t murdered his father, which provided Sonia with some small measure of relief.
She returned the box to the shelf and was about to reach for the one next to it when she heard her mother’s voice drifting her way. “Sonia! Are you out there?”
Biting back her frustration, she scooted back down the ladder and leaned it against the wall. “Coming!” she called, pushing open the door into the kitchen while attempting to brush the dust from her clothes.
Evelyn ran a critical eye over her. “There you are. I was worried. I saw your car in the driveway, but I couldn’t find you.”
“I texted you,” Sonia said with a wry grin.
“You did?” Evelyn patted her pockets in a flustered fashion. “I must have set my phone down.”
“We should head back to the house,” Sonia said. “I don’t like leaving the kids alone, even if we are just next door.”
Evelyn flapped a hand dismissively. “Mary’s watching them. She stopped by with a lemon meringue pie. What are you doing here anyway?”
“I was … looking for some clothes for Ray. They’re discharging him tomorrow.”
“He keeps his clothes in the garage?” Evelyn peered around dubiously.
“He thought he put a tub with some sweats in it out here,” Sonia answered with a careless shrug. “I couldn’t find them. He’s probably confused.”
“You weren’t rifling through Celia’s things, were you?” Evelyn asked, narrowing her eyes.
Sonia let out a defeated sigh. “I might have peeked in a couple of boxes. I was looking for a photo of Ray’s wife—if she even exists. I have to make sure he’s telling us the truth before he’s discharged. If he’s dangerous, he shouldn’t have access to Henry.”
Her mother puckered her lips. “Did you find Henry’s birth certificate?”
“No. I can’t find any paperwork for him, or any trace of Ray’s wife. I did find a wedding photo of Celia and her husband though. He gives me the creeps, something about the cold way he’s staring into the camera.” A shudder ran across her shoulders. “Come on, let’s get out of here.”
The
