CHAPTER 17 THE GIRL WHO KNEW RACHEL
Nora refused to speak to the police.
She refused medical attention.
She would not even step inside Rachel House until Claire approached her alone.
“You’re safe here,” Claire said.
Nora looked at the broken window.
“Not anymore.”
Her answer made Ortiz glance toward the officers surrounding the building.
Claire lowered her voice.
“Did Rachel give you the blanket?”
“No.”
“Then who did?”
“I don’t know.”
Nora held one hand over her stomach.
She was visibly exhausted. Her shoes were wet, and the sleeves of her sweatshirt were several inches too long.
Claire guided her into a private consultation room.
I remained near the door while Ortiz stood outside.
Nora watched me carefully.
“You look like her.”
My throat tightened.
“You knew my sister?”
She reached into her bag and removed a faded photograph.
Rachel stood in front of a small cabin.
She looked older than she did in the photographs we kept at home.
Her hair was shorter.
A scar crossed the left side of her forehead.
In her arms, she held a baby wrapped in a yellow blanket.
The date printed along the bottom was nearly one year after her funeral.
Claire took the photograph.
“Where did you get this?”
“From the woman who raised me.”
Nora’s voice became quieter.
“She died three weeks ago.”
“Was Rachel the woman who raised you?” I asked.
“No. Her name was Margaret Hale.”
Nora looked at the matching bracelet on her wrist.
“She said Rachel brought me to her when I was an infant. She said people were looking for me.”
Claire sat across from her.
“Why?”
“I don’t know.”
“Did you ever meet Rachel?”
“Once.”
My heart stopped.
“When?”
“Six years ago.”
Nora described a woman who had arrived at Margaret Hale’s home after midnight.
She had worn a baseball cap and carried no identification.
She stayed less than twenty minutes.
“She asked if I was happy,” Nora said. “She asked if Margaret treated me well. Then she gave me the bracelet.”
“What did she call herself?” I asked.
“She didn’t give me a name.”
“Then how do you know it was Rachel?”
Nora looked directly at me.
“Because Margaret showed me her photograph after she left.”
She opened her bag again and removed a small tape recorder.
A strip of masking tape had been placed across the back.
My name was written on it.
“This arrived two days after Margaret died,” Nora said. “It came with a bus ticket to Portland and the address of Rachel House.”
“Who sent it?”
“There was no return address.”
Claire studied the recorder.
“Have you listened to it?”
Nora shook her head.
“Margaret said I should only play it in front of Rachel’s brother.”
Ortiz entered after we called her inside.
She examined the recorder before placing it on the table.
“This could contain a tracking device or explosive component.”
Nora’s face lost color.
Ortiz’s technicians checked it.
Ten minutes later, they returned it.
“No transmitter,” Ortiz said. “No hidden components.”
I pressed the play button.
Static filled the room.
Then a woman inhaled.
The first words were nearly inaudible.
“If you are hearing this, Diane has finally lost control.”
Claire grabbed my hand.
I knew that voice.
I had heard it in old family videos.
In forgotten birthday recordings.
In dreams I rarely admitted having.
Rachel continued.
“My brother has been told that I died. He has been told that our father abandoned us. He has been told that Diane acted alone.”
A pause followed.
Then Rachel spoke again.
“All three statements are lies.”
Nora covered her mouth.
The recording crackled.
“Do not trust the official report about the fire. Do not trust the body Diane identified.”
Rachel’s breathing became faster.
“And whatever you do, do not let Nora return to Harbor House.”
The tape stopped.
Ortiz stared at the recorder.
Nora’s chair scraped backward.
“I’ve never heard of Harbor House.”
A loud bang came from the hallway.
Every light in Rachel House went dark.
May you like
Then the emergency locks activated.
From somewhere inside the building, a woman began to scream.
