Chapter 7
Police reached Diane’s house in six minutes.
Ryan was gone.
Diane was found in the kitchen with a broken lamp beside her.
She wasn’t badly injured.
But she was terrified.
For the first time, she stopped protecting her son.
By evening, Diane was sitting in the same police station where she had spent Christmas blaming me.
Now she asked to speak with me.
I almost refused.
Detective Morgan said it was my choice.
I went in.
Diane looked twenty years older.
No makeup.
No jewelry.
No expensive dress.
Just a gray sweater and shaking hands.
“I hated you,” she said.
I sat across from her.
“I noticed.”
She lowered her eyes.
“You made Ryan different.”
“No. I made excuses for him.”
“He listened to you sometimes. He never listened to me.”
“So you punished me for that?”
“Yes.”
The answer was so simple that it hurt.
“Why did you protect him?”
“He’s my son.”
“So was that enough? No matter what he did?”
Diane began crying.
“I kept thinking I could fix it.”
“You helped him hide it.”
“Yes.”
“Did Ryan cause my mother’s crash?”
She looked at me.
“I don’t know.”
“Don’t lie.”
“I’m not.”
“Then tell me what you know.”
Diane wiped her face.
“Your mother called me the afternoon she died.”
I froze.
“She said she had records proving Ryan had opened credit accounts using your information.”
I stared at her.
“She wanted me to convince him to confess.”
“What did you do?”
“I called Ryan.”
Of course.
Diane continued.
“He panicked. He said your mother was trying to destroy your marriage.”
“She was trying to protect me.”
“I know that now.”
“No. You knew it then too.”
Diane looked away.
That was answer enough.
“What happened at the gas station?”
“Ryan asked her to meet him.”
“Were you there?”
“No.”
“Then how do you know?”
“He called me afterward.”
My heartbeat increased.
“What did he say?”
“He said she refused to give him the documents.”
“And?”
“He said she drove away.”
“That’s it?”
Diane shook her head.
“He was furious.”
“What did you tell him?”
“I told him to come home.”
“Did he?”
“Not immediately.”
“How long?”
“Almost two hours.”
My mother died during those two hours.
I wanted to scream.
Instead, I asked one more question.
“What did he say when he came back?”
Diane looked terrified.
“He told me there had been an accident.”
“Before the police contacted anyone?”
“Yes.”
Everything inside me went still.
“How did he know?”
“He said he heard it on the radio.”
Detective Morgan, watching through the glass, immediately entered.
“That accident wasn’t broadcast until after midnight.”
Diane covered her mouth.
Morgan sat down.
“Mrs. Hayes, did your son ever tell you he followed Emily’s mother?”
“No.”
“Did he damage her vehicle?”
“No.”
“Did he force her off the road?”
“I don’t know!”
Morgan leaned closer.
“But he knew she crashed.”
Diane nodded.
Then she whispered, “There was something else.”
“What?”
“His SUV was damaged when he came home.”
My hands went cold.
“Where?”
“Front passenger side.”
“What did Ryan say happened?”
“He hit a mailbox.”
Morgan stood immediately.
“We need records from the body shop.”
Diane shook her head.
“He didn’t take it to one.”
“Then who repaired it?”
Diane looked at Thomas through the observation window.
“Thomas’s brother.”
Thomas entered moments later.
His face was white.
“My brother repaired Ryan’s SUV?”
Diane nodded.
“You knew?”
“No.”
“He asked your brother not to tell you.”
Thomas took out his phone.
His brother was still in the hospital.
He called anyway.
A weak voice answered.
Thomas put the phone on speaker.
“Henry, three years ago, did you repair Ryan’s black SUV?”
Silence.
Then Henry whispered, “I wondered when you’d ask.”
Thomas gripped the table.
“What happened to it?”
“Paint transfer. Crushed headlight. Bent bumper.”
Morgan asked, “What color was the paint transfer?”
Henry answered.
May you like
“Silver.”
My mother’s car had been silver.
