I did not call Doug immediately.
That was my first instinct.
Then I stopped myself.
Doug had access to my house.
He knew where I kept the keys.
So did the cleaning woman who came twice a month.
So had Ray, obviously, though Ray had been dead three years.
A locksmith had once repaired that drawer because it stuck during winter.
Bentley had been in my kitchen countless times.
Amber had borrowed things.
There were explanations.
Still, one fact remained.
The Collins key in my drawer looked newly cut.
At six the next morning, I placed it in a plastic sandwich bag.
Bentley watched from the table.
“Why are you putting the key in there?”
“Because I don't want to touch it more than necessary.”
“Like evidence?”
I looked at him.
“You watch too much television.”
He shrugged.
“Probably.”
Maddie was eating cereal one piece at a time.
Every third piece went to Bunny.
I took the bag to Detective Harris.
He met me outside the station rather than making me bring the children inside.
“Could Travis have copied this?” I asked.
“If he had access.”
“He shouldn't have.”
Harris examined the bag.
“When did you last use it?”
“Months ago.”
“Anyone else know where you keep it?”
“My son.”
“Doug?”
“Yes.”
He wrote that down.
I immediately disliked seeing Doug’s name in a police notebook.
“Don't jump to conclusions.”
“I’m not.”
“Good.”
“Was anyone doing maintenance in your house recently?”
I thought.
“Doug replaced my garbage disposal in July.”
“Anyone else?”
“A plumber.”
“Name?”
I gave it to him.
“A locksmith?”
“Last winter.”
“Cleaning service?”
“Yes.”
He continued writing.
I folded my arms.
“Now it sounds like half the county is a suspect.”
“That's why we don't guess.”
Fair enough.
Then he asked, “Did Amber ever mention documents Travis wanted?”
“No.”
His expression changed.
“What documents?”
He closed his notebook.
“You should ask her.”
That was not an answer.
“What documents?”
“She told Indianapolis investigators there may be something inside the apartment he was looking for.”
“Such as?”
“She wasn't specific.”
“Then why ask me?”
“Because Travis didn't just assault Amber.”
“I know.”
“He searched the apartment afterward.”
Bentley had never mentioned that.
“While she was hurt?”
“Yes.”
“What was he looking for?”
Harris shook his head.
“Talk to Amber.”
I did.
That afternoon, the hospital allowed a short video call.
Doug connected the laptop because I would have spent forty minutes arguing with passwords.
Amber appeared on the screen propped against white pillows.
I nearly did not recognize her.
Her face was thinner.
Bruising colored one side of her jaw.
A tube ran beneath her nose.
Bentley froze.
“Mama?”
Amber smiled.
It was weak, but real.
“Hey, baby.”
Bentley covered his mouth.
Maddie climbed onto the chair.
“Mama!”
Amber started crying.
So did Maddie.
Bentley did not.
He held himself together with visible effort.
Amber looked at him.
“You don't have to be brave for me anymore.”
That did it.
He folded forward.
I put one hand on his back.
For the next several minutes, they talked about ordinary things.
School.
Maddie’s rabbit.
Mrs. Alvarez.
The cabinet Doug had fixed.
Bentley told Amber he had finished half of Charlotte’s Web.
Amber laughed softly.
“Without me?”
“You were taking too long.”
“That is incredibly rude.”
For a moment they were simply a family.
Then the nurse warned us the call had to end soon.
I leaned toward the screen.
“Amber, Detective Harris asked about documents.”
Her face changed immediately.
Bentley noticed.
“What documents?”
Amber looked toward the nurse.
Then back.
“Bentley, take Maddie to pick a snack.”
“I can stay.”
“Please.”
He knew something was being hidden.
I hated that.
But he obeyed.
When they were gone, Amber spoke quietly.
“There's an envelope in my apartment.”
“Where?”
“Bedroom closet.”
“What kind of envelope?”
“Brown. Legal size.”
“What is in it?”
She closed her eyes.
“Proof.”
“Of what?”
“Travis.”
That was not enough.
“Proof of what?”
She took a slow breath.
“Money he stole.”
I stared at her.
Years earlier, when Amber was still married to Travis, they ran a small home-renovation business.
Travis handled accounts.
Amber handled scheduling and clients.
After they separated, Amber discovered invoices that did not match deposits.
Checks had been diverted.
Customer payments disappeared.
Subcontractors complained they had never been paid.
“How much?”
“I don't know exactly.”
“Tens of thousands?”
“More.”
“How much more?”
“Maybe two hundred thousand.”
I sat back.
Doug stopped pretending not to listen.
Amber continued.
“I copied bank records before I left.”
“Why didn't you go to police?”
“I did.”
“What happened?”
“Nothing at first.”
She had lacked complete documentation.
Travis denied everything.
The business collapsed.
Customers sued.
Amber, whose name appeared on company records, found herself blamed for debts she had not created.
She spent years rebuilding her finances.
“That’s why the rent—”
“Yes.”
Some debt still followed her.
Some months she stayed ahead.
Some months she did not.
“Why keep the papers?”
“Because later I found something else.”
“What?”
“His ledger.”
Doug looked up.
I leaned closer to the screen.
“Ledger?”
“Names. Payments. Jobs. Cash he hid.”
“And you have it?”
“Copies.”
“Where?”
“The envelope.”
That explained Travis’s desperation.
“Does he know?”
“I think so.”
“How?”
“I made a mistake.”
Months earlier, Amber had contacted an attorney.
She wanted to know whether enough evidence existed to reopen the fraud allegations.
A letter was mailed to her.
Travis somehow learned.
Then the surveillance began.
“Why didn't you tell me?”
“I was embarrassed.”
“That word is becoming illegal in this family.”
She almost smiled.
Then coughed.
I waited.
“Does Bentley know about the envelope?”
“No.”
“Good.”
“Miss Arlene, don't go looking for it alone.”
“I'm seventy, not stupid.”
Doug made a sound.
I glared at him.
“I heard that.”
After the call ended, Doug said, “Police should search the apartment.”
“They need permission.”
“Amber just gave it.”
“To me.”
“That's not how search warrants work.”
“I know.”
“You do?”
“Stop being surprised when I understand things.”
He rubbed his jaw.
“What if Travis comes back?”
“Then he meets police.”
Doug looked toward the shared wall.
“Or us.”
“No.”
He frowned.
“What?”
“No heroics.”
“You stood on the porch in front of him yesterday.”
“And I discovered that was idiotic.”
“You don't regret it.”
“I can regret something and still be glad it worked.”
That evening, Harris arrived with Amber’s written authorization transmitted from the hospital.
He and Reynolds entered the apartment.
I stayed with the children.
Twenty minutes passed.
Then thirty.
Finally Harris came back.
“Envelope's gone.”
I stared at him.
“Gone?”
“The closet has been searched.”
“How do you know?”
“Boxes overturned. Clothing moved.”
“But nobody has been inside since the assault.”
“Someone has.”
My heart sank.
“When?”
“We'll need to determine that.”
Bentley appeared behind me.
“What happened?”
“Nothing.”
He looked at Harris.
Then me.
“You're lying.”
I sighed.
“Yes.”
He folded his arms.
“What’s missing?”
Harris looked at me.
I answered.
“An envelope your mother kept.”
Bentley stared at the floor.
“What color?”
“Brown.”
His face changed.
“Bentley?”
He did not answer.
“What?”
He whispered, “I moved it.”
Every adult in the room froze.
“You what?”
“After Mom went away.”
“Why?”
“Because he was looking for it.”
I knelt.
“You saw him searching?”
Bentley nodded.
“Before he left.”
“Where did you put the envelope?”
His eyes moved toward the backyard.
“In Dad’s box.”
I stared.
“Whose box?”
“Not my dad.”
He pointed through the wall toward my side of the duplex.
“Mr. Ray’s.”
For several seconds I could not speak.
Ray had built a cedar storage chest under the back porch years before he died.
I had not opened it since his funeral.
Bentley had known about it because Ray once kept gardening tools there.
“Bentley, how did you get it open?”
“The key hangs behind the drainpipe.”
Of course it did.
Ray believed hiding keys in places nobody would check was a form of genius.
Doug muttered, “Dad.”
We went outside.
The cedar chest sat beneath the porch exactly where it always had.
Dust coated the lid.
Harris put on gloves.
Bentley showed him the key.
The lock opened.
Inside were old gloves, a rusted hand trowel, three empty seed packets and Ray’s faded green kneeling pad.
Beneath the kneeling pad lay a brown legal envelope.
Amber’s name was written across the front.
Harris lifted it carefully.
“You saved this?”
Bentley shrugged.
“He wanted it.”
“How did you know?”
“He kept saying, ‘Where is it?’”
“Did he know you took it?”
“No.”
Harris looked at me.
For the first time, I saw something close to admiration in his expression.
Then Bentley said, “There’s another thing.”
Of course there was.
“What?”
“I put something else in there.”
He reached toward the chest.
Harris stopped him.
“What?”
Bentley pointed.
Beneath Ray’s kneeling pad was a black object no larger than my thumb.
Harris bent closer.
A USB drive.
“Where did you get that?”
“Mom’s room.”
“When?”
“The day after she went to the hospital.”
“Why hide it?”
Bentley swallowed.
“Because Mom told me once that if anything happened, the little black drive mattered more than money.”
Harris stared at it.
“So you hid it too?”
Bentley nodded.
And suddenly the envelope was no longer the most important thing Travis had failed to find.
Click here to continue reading: PART 7: The Hidden Drive Contained More Than Financial Records, and One Video Forced Bentley to Admit Why Travis Truly Terrified Him
The Boy Next Door Knocked at 7:10 Every Morning, and His Careful Excuse Began to Stop Making Sense
Part 6 of 35
