Nia spent the night replaying the anonymous phone call in her mind.
“You should’ve let her stay forgotten.”
The words weren’t shouted.
They weren’t emotional.
They were spoken with the quiet confidence of someone who believed they had already won.
By sunrise, Nia had made a decision.
If someone was stealing evidence, she would stop chasing the clues they knew about.
She would start looking for the ones they didn’t.
At eight o’clock sharp, she met Harold Bennett at the Ashwood Gazette.
He was already reviewing the security footage from the courthouse parking garage.
“I had a friend enhance the video,” he said.
“Anything?”
“Not much.”
He paused the video as the man in the baseball cap walked beneath a security light.
“The resolution is still terrible.”
Nia leaned closer.
“But look at this.”
The man wasn’t wearing gloves.
His left wrist was exposed for less than a second.
Tattooed across the inside of his forearm were three Roman numerals.
XIV
“Does it mean anything?” Harold asked.
“Not yet.”
They turned their attention back to Tanya’s letter.
Harold spread copies of the pages across the conference table.
“You keep focusing on what she wrote.”
“What else is there?”
“What she didn’t write.”
He slid the letter toward her.
“Read it again.”
Nia did.
Someone in this family knows what they’re capable of.
If anything happens to me, don’t believe anyone who says I left willingly.
I was never planning to run away.
The truth is inside the journal.
Trust no one.
She frowned.
“The journal.”
“No.”
Harold pointed to the first sentence.
Someone.
“She never names the person.”
“Maybe she was afraid.”
“Or maybe…”
He tapped the page again.
“…there was more than one.”
The thought settled heavily between them.
Up until now, Nia had imagined a single villain.
A single person orchestrating decades of lies.
But what if Tanya had intentionally avoided naming anyone because she didn’t know whom she could trust?
Later that afternoon, Nia drove to the Ashwood Public Library.
Its local history room contained dozens of donated collections from longtime residents.
Church newsletters.
High school yearbooks.
City directories.
Boxes of forgotten photographs.
If Tanya had been investigating the Carter family, perhaps she’d left traces somewhere outside the family’s control.
The librarian recognized Nia immediately.
“You’re Denise Carter’s daughter.”
“I am.”
“How can I help you?”
“I’m looking for anything donated by the Carter family.”
The librarian smiled.
“You’ll want Collection Seventeen.”
The archive consisted of six cardboard boxes.
Most contained ordinary family papers.
Recipes.
Funeral programs.
Land deeds.
Old Christmas cards.
Hours passed.
Nothing.
Then, tucked inside an envelope labeled Miscellaneous, Nia found a folded sheet of notebook paper.
Across the top, written in Tanya’s unmistakable handwriting, were three words.
Questions Nobody Answers
Below was a numbered list.
1. Why did Grandpa stop speaking to Uncle James?
2. Why were church records rewritten after August 1998?
3. Who paid Sheriff Collins?
4. Why does Aunt Lorraine keep the original photographs locked away?
5. What happened in the basement on August 15?
Nia’s heart pounded.
August 15.
The same date partially revealed through the indentations on Tanya’s letter.
The same date on the cassette recording.
The same weekend she disappeared.
She flipped the page over.
Another sentence had been scribbled hastily across the back.
Follow the church ledger.
Nothing else.
No explanation.
The librarian returned with another storage box.
“I almost forgot.”
“This came from the Carter donation too.”
Inside lay dozens of old church bulletins.
Nia began sorting through them.
Most were routine.
Until she reached one dated August 16, 1998.
The Sunday after Tanya disappeared.
She unfolded it carefully.
Halfway down the page appeared an announcement.
Special Prayer for the Carter Family During Their Time of Difficulty
No names.
No explanation.
No mention of Tanya.
Just…
Difficulty.
She looked closer.
Someone had circled the announcement in red ink.
Next to it were handwritten initials.
E.S.
Elise.
The young woman in Tanya’s bedroom photograph.
Best friends forever.
Nia rushed back to the circulation desk.
“Do you have a membership directory from 1998?”
The librarian searched her computer.
“We might.”
Minutes later she returned carrying an aging binder.
Nia flipped through the pages.
There.
Elise Simmons
Address.
Telephone number.
Emergency contact.
A note written in the margin.
Transferred membership — September 1998
One month after Tanya disappeared.
“Do you know where she transferred?”
The librarian shook her head.
“The records stop there.”
As Nia copied the information into her notebook, Harold called.
“I’ve got something.”
“What?”
“I searched county property records.”
“And?”
“The Carter family owned another building in 1998.”
“I thought Grandma only had the farmhouse.”
“So did I.”
“What building?”
Harold’s voice lowered.
“An old funeral home.”
Silence filled the phone.
“It closed years ago.”
“Where?”
“Three blocks from Carter Grove Church.”
Nia stared at Tanya’s list.
What happened in the basement on August 15?
A funeral home.
With a basement.
Suddenly, the question no longer sounded rhetorical.
That evening, Nia parked across the street from the abandoned building.
Its windows were boarded.
Its faded sign hung crooked above the entrance.
Weeds pushed through cracks in the sidewalk.
No lights.
No movement.
Yet something felt…
Wrong.
As she raised her camera to photograph the building, a light flickered briefly behind one of the upstairs windows.
Then disappeared.
The building was supposed to be empty.
Someone was inside.
And if Tanya’s notes were right…
Whatever happened on August 15, 1998…
Had started here.
End of Chapter Nine