Page 56 of The Perfect Son
“They’ll ask what’s been taken. We should take a quick look first.”
“Of course.” I nod and swallow the mounting fear.
We wander through the downstairs together, looking for anything missing. I’m looking for anything different too. Did I leave the cushion fallen on the sofa like that? Did I leave the dining room chair pulled out?
It’s only when we reach the top of the stairs and turn onto the landing that I’m certain. Your study door is wide open, adding a chill to the upstairs. I can see all the way to the window and Jamie’s tree house in the garden. I always shut that door.
“I didn’t leave that door open either,” I whisper. “The radiator is broken. I always shut the door or the whole of the upstairs gets cold.”
My heartbeat hammers in my chest and I want to run and wait for the police, but Shelley pulls me forward.
The room looks like it always does. The boxes are stacked neatly against the wall by the door, the phone balanced on top of the first box. The bookshelves are still bare. Dust is floating in the room like a miniature snowstorm.
“Has anything been taken?” Shelley asks.
“I... I don’t think so.” My eyes are fixed on the boxes. Something isn’t right. They are pushed up against the wall, just as they were thelast time I came in here, but something is different. Then I see it—the writing isn’t there. Where is your swirling handwriting that readsMark’s study?
“The boxes,” I cry out. “They’ve been moved.”
“Are you sure?”
“Yes.”
“OK. Take a look through them and see what’s missing. I just need to call my client to tell him I’m running late, then we’ll call the police.”
I nod and sink to my knees.
I pull at the lid of the first box and realize how futile this is. How can I tell what’s missing when I don’t have the first clue what was in them to start with?
The box is filled with papers and programming manuals. It’s a mess. Everything is jumbled up and it looks like a recycling bin, but maybe you left it that way. Right on top of the pile, lying there like it’s waiting to be discovered, is a glossy yellow folder. The wordsLife Insurance Policyare printed in blue across the front.
Ian’s words ring in my ears.“I know there’s a death benefit from Mark’s job, and a life insurance policy. He declared it all when you made your wills.”
I back out of the room and shut the door, breathing hard and wishing I hadn’t opened the box. I know you’re not coming back, Mark, but the policy makes it too final somehow. I’m not ready.
The walls of the hallway push toward me. My breath catches in my throat in short suffocating gasps. A dizziness spins in my head. I can’t lose it again. I can’t. I race down the main stairs to find Shelley. But she’s not in the house. She’s outside the side door, standing in the porch.
Her back is to me and she’s talking on the phone. I’m about to step away and let her finish when she speaks.
“What did you think you were doing?” Shelley says, her voice hissing into the phone. “Are you purposefully trying to mess this up? Because if you are, then well done, you’re doing a great job.”
I’ve never heard her speak like this before. Her tone is sharp, each word punching the air.
Who is she talking to? Not a client, surely.
“Stay away from her. Do you understand?... I can’t talk about it now.”
Shelley ends the call and I back away from the door, tripping on the shopping bags and sending an apple rolling across the kitchen tiles.
“Was anything missing?” Shelley asks as I’m collecting the spilled fruit. There’s a residue of the anger to her voice and I spin around, feeling guilty for listening, but curious too. Her porcelain skin is flushed a pale pink.
Who was she talking to? And who was she talking about?
“Huh? Oh, I... I couldn’t tell. I’m sorry to mess your plans up this afternoon. Was your client OK about the delay?” I ask, hoping my question will prompt Shelley to explain the phone call I overheard.
“Oh, I couldn’t get through, so I’ve sent a text, but it’s fine, Tess,” she says, her voice softening. “Come sit down for a second.” Shelley points to a chair, and I do as I’m told. She takes my hand and looks right at me with her green eyes.
“When we walked through the house,” she says, “I checked the front door and all of the windows and they were all shut and locked. Was the side door definitely locked when you came in?”
