Chapter 12 - My Mother's Locked Studio
The studio occupied the upper floor of a small stone cottage behind the Mercer estate. Mom had painted there every Saturday, even during hospital board meetings and fundraisers. After her death, Dad locked it because the smell of her turpentine made him cry. I'd spent a decade believing the room had been left untouched.
We arrived after sunset with police positioned along the driveway. No vehicles were visible. The cottage door stood partly open.
"Adrian's here," Ruth said, examining fresh tire tracks in the wet grass. "But he's not the only one."
Inside, canvases leaned against the wall under dusty sheets. An unfinished landscape sat on the easel. A crane-shaped brass plate was mounted on an old writing desk, beneath its top drawer. The key from Mateo turned with a dry metallic click.
The hidden compartment contained a cassette recorder, a narrow stack of photographs, and an envelope addressed in Mom's handwriting: TO CLAIRE, WHEN SHE'S READY.
I couldn't open it. Not with everyone's eyes on me. Not yet.
Ruth played the tape. My mother's voice filled the room, a little rushed and impatient, the way she sounded when she was late for dinner.
"My name is Eleanor Mercer. I am making this because I believe Dr. Evelyn Shaw is hiding records of patients who were threatened after receiving care. Daniel knows about the vendor scheme. He says he can stop it from inside. I want to believe him. But someone has made him afraid."
Dad's face drained of color.
The recording continued. "Margaret Vale told me she would meet me at the hospital garage with the original contracts. If anything happens to me, look at the north stairwell camera. And tell Claire I was coming home."
A floorboard creaked above us. I turned toward the loft stairs.
Adrian stood on the landing, holding the missing camera drive in one hand and a heavy iron fireplace poker in the other.
May you like
"Give me that tape," he said.
THE DOORS SHE OPENED •
