She Was Hired to Finish the Book—But the Last Chapter Was a Confession
CHAPTER 2
Mara didn’t sleep.
At breakfast, she placed the manuscript beside her coffee.
Ethan glanced at it.
For the first time since they met, his expression cracked.
“Where did you find that?”
“In the study.”
“I told you not to enter that room.”
“You told me it was locked.”
“It was.”
Mara studied him.
“Then how did it open?”
Ethan didn’t answer.
Noah entered the kitchen.
The boy stopped when he saw the manuscript.
His face went pale.
“Where did you get that?”
Mara looked at him.
“You know what it is?”
Noah hesitated.
“My mother wrote it.”
Ethan stood.
“Noah.”
The boy immediately looked down.
Mara noticed.
Fear.
Not obedience.
Fear.
Ethan took the manuscript.
“This isn’t part of the books you’re here to finish.”
“What is it?”
“Nothing.”
Mara smiled faintly.
“That’s what people say when something is definitely something.”
Ethan’s jaw tightened.
He walked away.
Noah remained.
After a moment, he whispered:
“My mother didn’t fall.”
Mara looked at him.
“What?”
Noah glanced toward the hallway.
“She was pushed.”
Mara’s heart began pounding.
“Who pushed her?”
The boy shook his head.
“I don’t know.”
“You saw something?”
“No.”
“Then how do you know?”
Noah stared at the floor.
“Because she told me.”
Before Mara could ask anything else, Margaret called him away.
Later that afternoon, Mara returned to Celia’s study.
She examined the shelves.
Hundreds of books.
Dozens of notebooks.
Awards.
Photographs.
Nothing unusual.
Then she noticed the floor.
One wooden panel was newer than the others.
She knelt.
There were scratches around the edges.
Someone had opened it repeatedly.
Mara found a small metal key hidden underneath a loose floorboard.
It fit the locked cabinet behind Celia’s desk.
Inside were dozens of notebooks.
Most were dated.
Some went back ten years.
Mara opened the newest one.
The first entry was written seven months before Celia’s accident.
Ethan doesn’t know what I found.
The next page:
If something happens to me, the children cannot be left alone with him.
Mara’s hands trembled.
She turned the page.
June did not die by accident.
Mara stopped.
June.
The girl in the photograph.
She kept reading.
And I know who killed her.
A floorboard creaked behind Mara.
She turned.
Nobody.
Then she heard the study door close.
The lock clicked.
Someone had locked her inside.
