Chapter 12 - Carol's Return
"We need to call the police," Megan said. Her voice wasn't shaking, which terrified me more than if she had been screaming. She sat at the kitchen table, the Polaroid lying between us under the warm light of the hanging lamp. Lily was asleep upstairs, her yellow-starred blue blanket tucked around her shoulders.
"I already called Detective Miller," I replied, rubbing my temples. "The detective who handled my mother’s trial. He’s looking into the postmark. But since it’s an anonymous letter with no direct threat of physical violence, he said there isn't much they can do immediately besides increase patrols in our neighborhood."
"Not much they can do?" Megan’s voice cracked, a spark of the old, defensive anger igniting in her eyes. "David, someone stood across the street from our home, took a picture of our door, and circled the lock. They know we used the recovered money to buy this house. Who else knew about that money?"
"Only the attorneys, the court, and..." I trailed off.
"Carol," Megan finished the sentence for me. Her face hardened. "Your aunt. She knew how much was recovered. She knew we didn't give her a single dime of it after the estate was settled."
Aunt Carol had been the silent enabler of my mother’s madness for decades. While my mother controlled, Carol turned a blind eye, reaping the financial benefits of my family’s old wealth. When the police finally arrested my mother, Carol had vanished into the background, claiming she was a victim of deception too. We hadn't spoken to her in two years.
The next morning, I didn't go to work. I drove to the affluent suburb of Hinsdale, where Aunt Carol lived in a sprawling, pristine colonial home that felt more like a museum than a residence.
I didn't ring the bell. I knocked, hard, against the heavy oak door.
When she opened it, she didn't look surprised. Aunt Carol was in her late fifties, her blonde hair perfectly coiffed, wearing a beige cashmere sweater. She looked at me with a cold, analytical gaze.
"David," she said, her voice smooth and devoid of warmth. "I didn't expect to see you on my doorstep. I assume you aren't here to invite me to Thanksgiving."
"Who did you give our address to, Carol?" I demanded, stepping forward, forcing her to take a step back into her grand foyer.
"I have no idea what you're talking about," she said, crossing her arms. "And I suggest you lower your voice. The neighbors have very little tolerance for scenes."
I pulled the Polaroid from my coat pocket and thrust it in front of her face. "This was sent to my house. Postmarked from Joliet, but the handwriting isn't my mother's. It's someone on the outside. Someone who knows about the down payment on our house. Someone who thinks we owe them."
Carol looked at the photograph. For a fraction of a second, her eyes widened, a tiny flicker of fear or recognition crossing her face before she masked it with a sneer.
"Your mother has friends, David. People she met during her... legal troubles. People who feel she was treated unfairly by her own son." Carol leaned in, her voice dropping to a harsh whisper. "Did you really think you could just lock her away, take the family money, and live happily ever after in your little suburban fantasy? You ruined this family's name."
"She tried to destroy my wife, Carol! She nearly killed our daughter!" I shouted, the anger roaring in my ears.
"And now she is sick," Carol snapped back, her eyes flashing. "She has stage-four ovarian cancer. She has months to live, David. She petitioned for compassionate release last week. Did your detective friend mention that to you? Or were you too busy playing happy family to care that your mother is dying in a prison ward?"
The hallway seemed to tilt.
Dying.
My mother was dying, and she was trying to get out.
May you like
"If she gets released," I whispered, my heart hammering against my ribs, "I will be waiting. And if you have anything to do with this," I pointed at the photo, "I will ensure you join her in a cell."
Carol laughed, a dry, bitter sound. "Go home, David. Protect your little yellow door. Because when Eleanor wants something, she always finds a way to get it. Even from a hospital bed."
