Chapter 11 - The Judge's Daughter
"My daughter is named Claire," Judge Bell said. "She worked in the estate's financial office. She wore a bright red coat everywhere, even in August."
"Where is she now?" Nora asked.
Bell stared at the old clock. "I haven't spoken to her in eighteen years. After the fire, she told me I'd have to choose between the truth and our family. I said some things I regret. She left."
Adrian found Claire's last registered address in a coastal town. Lena drove them there, keeping a second car behind as backup. Nora sat beside Bell, who held the recorder in her lap as if it might vanish.
They found Claire working in a modest boat-repair shop, her hair streaked with gray, her hands stained with varnish. She recognized her mother immediately and tried to walk away.
"Claire," Bell said, "I came to ask you to forgive me."
"Eighteen years late."
"Yes."
That single word stopped Claire more effectively than any excuse.
Nora showed her the paper crane. "Evelyn Vale told us to find you."
Claire's expression fell. She led them into a storage room and shut the door.
"I drove Evelyn to Bridgewater," she said. "Grant claimed she needed treatment after a breakdown. When I realized she was being held there, I tried to get her out."
"Did you?" Nora asked.
"For one night. We made it to the ferry terminal. Then Grant's men found us. Evelyn made me promise I'd keep quiet until Nora was grown."
"Where did they take her?"
Claire pulled a photograph from her wallet. It showed a farmhouse at the edge of the woods, with a white porch and blue shutters. "I traced the transport there. I watched from the road for weeks. A woman came to the window every evening. I thought it was Evelyn."
Nora could barely breathe. "Was it?"
"I never got close enough to know."
Adrian studied the back of the photograph. A fresh ink stamp marked it as printed two days ago.
May you like
"Claire," he said carefully, "who gave you this picture?"
She looked toward the closed storage-room door. The handle began to turn.
