Chapter 5: What the Neighbors Saw
The notepad being gone told him everything he needed to know about what came next.
He didn't mention it.
He made coffee, said good morning, and watched Vivian move through the kitchen with the careful ease of someone who believed they had just solved a problem.
She had taken the list.
She thought that was the list.
He had three more photographs on his phone.
He had the email he'd sent himself.
He had Gerald Fitch.
And that morning, while Vivian was in the shower, he called his mother's neighbor.
Her name was Dot.
She was seventy-three, sharp as a tack, and had lived next door to Margaret for nineteen years.
She was also, as Daniel well knew, the kind of woman who noticed things.
"Daniel," she said warmly.
"I was hoping you'd ring."
"Dot, I need to ask you something.
Has Vivian been coming to see my mother regularly?"
"Oh, regularly is one word for it." A pause.
"She was here last Tuesday, like I said to your mother.
But she was also here the Thursday before that.
And the week before — twice.
Once in the afternoon and once in the evening, quite late."
"Did she ever come when my mother wasn't home?"
Silence.
"Dot."
"Once," she said carefully.
"About a month ago.
Margaret was at her GP appointment — I'd driven her myself.
When I came back, Vivian's car was in the drive.
I thought it was strange.
I nearly knocked on the door, but then she came out carrying something.
A folder, I think.
Dark blue."
Daniel's grip tightened on the phone.
"Did she see you?"
"I don't think so.
She was in a hurry."
"Dot, would you be willing to write that down?
Just what you saw, with the dates as best you can remember them?"
"Of course I would," she said.
"Your mother is my oldest friend.
Whatever is happening, I want it stopped."
He thanked her and hung up.
He arrived at his office and sat at his desk without turning on his computer.
He thought about the dark blue folder.
He thought about what might have been inside it — documents, account statements, his mother's personal papers.
He thought about the fact that Vivian had been inside his mother's house alone.
At noon, Vivian texted him: *Dinner out tonight?
I think we need to reset.*
He typed back: *Sure.*
He needed her calm.
He needed her to believe the notepad had worked.
At the restaurant that evening, she was warm and attentive in a way she hadn't been in months.
She touched his hand across the table.
She talked about a holiday they'd discussed two years ago and never taken.
She said she'd been under a lot of stress and knew she hadn't been easy to live with.
"I love you," she said.
"I just want us to be secure.
That's all this was ever about."
"I know," he said.
She smiled.
It was a beautiful smile.
He had fallen in love with that smile.
"I think we should have my mother over for dinner this weekend," he said.
"Just the three of us."
The smile stayed in place.
"Of course.
That would be lovely."
But her hand, resting on top of his, pressed down just slightly.
Just for a second.
The way a person presses down when they are steadying themselves.
May you like
He drove home thinking about the dark blue folder.
And about what else might be missing from his mother's house that he hadn't thought to look for yet.
