Chapter 7 - The Name Sewn Into BlueI didn't tell anyone what I was thinking.
I just folded the photograph and slipped it into my pocket.
Then I looked at the four people standing in my father's garage.
“I'm going to the storage unit.”
Dad immediately shook his head.
“No.”
“You knew that was coming.”
“Yes.”
“And you're still saying no?”
“Yes.”
I stared at him.
“Why?”
“Because someone knows you're going.”
I held up my phone.
“They already know.”
“Exactly.”
“So what are you suggesting?”
Dad hesitated.
“Wait.”
“For what?”
“For me to figure out who sent those messages.”
I laughed.
“That's what you've been doing for seventeen years.”
He flinched.
I regretted saying it.
But I didn't take it back.
“I’m done waiting.”
Bennett stepped toward me.
“I’ll go with you.”
Dad turned on him.
“No.”
Bennett's jaw tightened.
“Someone is trying to get her killed.”
“And you think you're the person she should trust?”
Bennett stared at him.
“I never said that.”
“Then don't volunteer.”
Claire spoke before either man could say anything else.
“I'm going.”
Everyone looked at her.
She lifted the brass key.
“Mara gave me this for a reason.”
Dad sighed.
“So what? We all drive across town together and make ourselves an easy target?”
“No,” I said.
I looked around the garage.
“We go in separate cars.”
Bennett frowned.
“That makes us harder to protect.”
“I'm not asking to be protected.”
He studied me.
“You should be.”
I thought about the blue dress.
The torn fabric.
The letter.
My mother's handwriting.
The way everyone had spent the morning deciding what I was allowed to know.
“No,” I said. “I should be told the truth.”
Dad looked away.
That was enough.
“I'm leaving in ten minutes.”
I walked upstairs.
Behind me, Dad called my name.
I kept going.
In my bedroom, I changed out of my graduation clothes.
The blue dress lay across the bed.
I couldn't stop looking at it.
The cuts were ugly.
Jagged.
Deliberate.
But now that I knew it was a decoy, I started examining it differently.
I ran my fingers along the inside hem.
Nothing.
The neckline.
Nothing.
One sleeve was missing.
Then I remembered Claire's words.
Three tiny stitches.
My mother had a signature stitch.
I turned the dress inside out.
At first, I saw nothing.
Then, near the inside of the waistband, I noticed three tiny blue stitches.
Almost invisible.
My breath caught.
I reached for a pair of tweezers from my desk drawer.
The stitches came loose easily.
Beneath them was a narrow slit in the fabric.
A hidden pocket.
My hands shook as I reached inside.
I pulled out a tiny folded piece of paper.
There was only one sentence.
The real dress has no zipper. Look for what replaces it.
I stared at the words.
Then I remembered.
The dress I had bought wasn't mine.
It had a zipper running down the back.
Mom's original design wouldn't.
Because she'd made one of her dresses with buttons.
I looked at Claire's brass key.
The key wasn't for a door.
It was for the storage unit.
But maybe the dress wasn't in the unit.
Maybe the unit contained something else.
Something that would lead to it.
I grabbed my bag.
As I reached the hallway, I heard Mia speaking downstairs.
“I didn't know she would find out.”
I stopped.
Her voice was low.
Dad answered.
“You can't keep hiding this.”
“I've been trying to protect her.”
“That's what you said before.”
A pause.
Then Mia whispered:
“I saw someone that night.”
I froze.
Dad's voice dropped.
“Who?”
“I don't know.”
“You said you did.”
“I was six!”
“You described him.”
Mia started crying.
“I saw a man leave the garage.”
I gripped the railing.
Dad asked, “What did he look like?”
Mia whispered something I couldn't hear.
I went down the stairs.
“Mia.”
She jumped.
Dad turned.
“What did you just say?”
She stared at me.
“I…”
“You saw a man leaving the garage the night Mom died?”
She wiped her face.
“Yes.”
“Why didn't you tell me?”
“I was scared.”
“Of him?”
Mia nodded.
“Why?”
“Because he saw me.”
My stomach tightened.
“What did he look like?”
She looked down.
“Tall.”
“That doesn't help.”
“Dark jacket.”
“Anything else?”
She squeezed her eyes shut.
“His shoes.”
“What about them?”
“They were wet.”
I frowned.
“It was raining.”
“No.”
She opened her eyes.
“They were wet on top.”
I didn't understand.
Mia's voice trembled.
“He had mud on his shoes.”
Dad stared at her.
Then he whispered:
“From the garden.”
Mia nodded.
“He didn't come through the front door.”
I looked toward the garage.
“He was already inside.”
Nobody spoke.
Then I noticed Dad's expression.
He knew exactly what she meant.
“You knew.”
Dad looked at me.
“I suspected.”
“You suspected someone was in the house that night?”
“Yes.”
“And you never told me?”
“I was trying to protect you.”
I almost screamed.
Instead, I asked quietly:
“Was it Bennett?”
“No.”
“Vanessa?”
“No.”
“Claire?”
Mia shook her head.
“I knew Claire.”
She paused.
“This man was different.”
I looked at Dad.
“Who else was here?”
He didn't answer.
I stepped closer.
“Dad.”
He swallowed.
“One person.”
“Who?”
He looked toward the window.
“Your mother's brother.”
I stared at him.
“My uncle?”
“You never met him.”
“Why?”
“He had been estranged from the family.”
“What was his name?”
Dad hesitated.
“Thomas.”
Claire suddenly spoke.
“Thomas wasn't in town.”
Dad looked at her.
“You don't know that.”
“Yes, I do.”
“How?”
“Because Mara called me after he threatened her.”
The garage went silent.
I looked at Claire.
“Threatened her?”
Claire nodded.
“She told me Thomas wanted money.”
“Did she give it to him?”
“No.”
“Then what happened?”
“He disappeared.”
“When?”
“The day before your mother died.”
I felt a chill.
“Where did he go?”
“No one knew.”
I looked at Dad.
“Did you report him?”
“Yes.”
Bennett immediately shook his head.
“No.”
I turned.
“What?”
“He wasn't reported missing.”
Dad stared at him.
“You were there.”
“I checked the file.”
“What file?”
“The missing-person report.”
Bennett looked at me.
“There wasn't one.”
Dad went pale.
“That's impossible.”
“It isn't.”
I looked between them.
“Someone erased it.”
Bennett nodded.
“Exactly.”
I felt sick.
“How many things from that night were erased?”
“Too many,” he said.
“Who had access?”
He looked at Dad.
“Three people.”
“Who?”
“The sheriff.”
“Bennett.”
“Vanessa.”
“And?”
He paused.
“Your father.”
Dad closed his eyes.
I stepped away.
“I need to go.”
Dad reached for me.
“Emma.”
I pulled back.
“No.”
He let his hand fall.
I walked outside.
Claire followed.
“Take me with you.”
I nodded.
“I was going to.”
She gave me a sad smile.
“Then let's go find what your mother hid.”
We drove separately.
Claire followed me in her car.
Dad and Bennett stayed behind.
Mia came with me.
For most of the drive, nobody spoke.
Finally, she whispered:
“Are you mad at me?”
I kept my eyes on the road.
“Yes.”
She nodded.
“I understand.”
“But I'm not blaming you for what happened when you were six.”
Tears filled her eyes.
“I remember Mom's voice.”
“What did she say?”
Mia stared out the window.
“She said, ‘Go upstairs, sweetheart.’”
I glanced at her.
“Then what?”
“She kissed my forehead.”
“Did she know she was going to die?”
“I don't think so.”
Mia's hand tightened around her seat belt.
“But she looked scared.”
We reached the storage facility.
Rows of identical doors stretched under harsh white lights.
Our unit was near the back.
Claire took the key from her pocket.
Before inserting it, she looked at me.
“Whatever is inside…”
“What?”
“Don't assume your first answer is the right one.”
I nodded.
She unlocked the door.
It rolled upward with a metallic screech.
Inside were seven boxes.
A sewing mannequin.
An old wooden chair.
Several garment bags.
And a small cassette recorder sitting on a table.
My mother's handwriting was taped to it.
PLAY ME BEFORE YOU TOUCH ANYTHING ELSE.
Mia whispered, “Oh my God.”
I picked up the recorder.
There was one cassette inside.
I pressed play.
Static crackled.
Then my mother's voice filled the storage unit.
“Daniel, if Emma is listening to this, then I'm already dead.”
I covered my mouth.
The tape continued.
“I need her to know the truth about the night I died.”
Claire started crying.
Mia reached for my hand.
My mother's voice became quieter.
“The person who tampered with my car is not Thomas.”
I looked at Claire.
The recording continued.
“It isn't Vanessa.”
Then there was a long pause.
“And it isn't Daniel.”
My knees nearly gave out.
Mom inhaled shakily.
“It is someone I trusted more than anyone.”
The cassette clicked.
A second voice appeared faintly in the background.
A man's voice.
My mother gasped.
“Why are you here?”
The man answered.
And I knew the voice.
I had heard it before.
This morning.
On the other side of our front door.
Detective Bennett.
The tape went silent for three seconds.
Then Mom screamed.
The recording cut off.
Mia stared at me.
Claire whispered:
“He was there.”
I looked at the boxes.
At the garment bags.
At the mannequin.
“Then why did Mom say he wasn't the person who killed her?”
Claire's face went pale.
“What?”
I walked toward the nearest garment bag.
There was no zipper.
Only three small buttons.
My mother's design.
I opened it.
Inside was a deep-blue dress.
Perfect.
Untouched.
And sewn into the inside seam was a tiny white label.
I pulled it free.
There was a name written underneath.
Not my mother's.
Not Bennett's.
Not Vanessa's.
I stared at it.
My hands went cold.
May you like
Because the name belonged to someone I had spent my entire life calling—
Dad.