Chapter 8: The Woman Who Came Back From the Dead
For several seconds, I could only stare at Cynthia through the narrow opening in the door.
My mother had been buried nineteen years ago.
I had stood beside her coffin.
I had watched the cemetery workers lower it into the ground.
I had placed a white rose on the lid and promised her I would take care of Simone.
Yet Cynthia stood on my porch, rainwater dripping from her umbrella, insisting that she had watched my dead mother sign a legal document four weeks earlier.
“That's impossible,” I whispered.
Cynthia's eyes filled with tears.
“I know how it sounds.””
“No, you don't.””
“Denise, please.””
I looked at Simone.
She was already reaching for her phone.
“Let her in,” she said.
“But I'm calling Raymond.””
I removed the security chain.
Cynthia stepped inside, closed her umbrella, and stood in the entryway without taking off her coat.
She looked around the house as though she expected someone to appear behind her.
“Is anyone else here?”” she asked.
“No,” I replied.
“Now explain what you just said.””
Cynthia placed her handbag on the table.
“I didn't mean that your mother was alive in the way you're thinking.””
I stared at her.
“What other way is there?””
She pressed a hand to her chest.
“The woman who signed the document looked exactly like Evelyn. She had the same face, the same voice, the same mannerisms. But she was not your mother.””
Simone crossed her arms.
“Then who was she?””
“I don't know.””
“You watched her sign a legal document, and you don't know who she was?””
Cynthia looked at her.
“I knew her as Evelyn.””
“That's not an answer.””
“No,” Cynthia admitted.
“It isn't.””
I moved toward the living room.
“Sit down.””
Cynthia followed me, lowering herself onto the sofa with a tired sigh. Simone remained standing near the doorway, her phone pressed to her ear as she waited for Raymond to answer.
I sat opposite Cynthia.
“Start from the beginning.””
She rubbed her hands together.
“Four weeks ago, Thomas called me and said he needed my help with a property transfer. He told me an old friend was coming to sign the documents and that the paperwork needed to be handled privately.””
“Why did he call you?””
“Because I was a notary, and because he trusted me.””
“Did you ask why the transfer was necessary?””
“Yes.””
“What did he say?””
“He said it was part of a family settlement.””
I felt my jaw tighten.
“And you accepted that?””
“I didn't have a reason not to. Not at first.””
Cynthia opened her handbag and took out a small notebook.
She flipped through several pages before stopping at a handwritten entry.
“The appointment was at Thomas's old house. When I arrived, he was waiting in the study. A woman was sitting beside the window.””
She looked at me.
“When she turned around, I thought I was seeing a ghost.””
My hands began to shake.
“What did she look like?””
“Like your mother.””
“Did she speak?””
“Yes. She called me by my childhood nickname. Nobody has called me that in years.””
Cynthia's voice faltered.
“She knew things only Evelyn could have known. Things about our school days. Things about my father. She even remembered a secret I had told your mother when we were seventeen.””
I stared at her.
“Then perhaps it was someone who knew my mother very well.””
“I thought that, too.””
“Did you ask her?””
“I did. She told me that the past was complicated and that I should trust what I could see.””
Simone lowered her phone.
“That's convenient.””
Cynthia nodded.
“I know.””
Raymond answered, and Simone began explaining what Cynthia had told us.
I continued questioning our visitor.
“Did the woman sign the document in front of you?””
“Yes.””
“Did you verify her identity?””
Cynthia looked down.
“Thomas showed me identification.””
“Whose identification?””
“Your mother's.””
I stared at her.
“An identification card that belonged to a dead woman?””
“I know what you're thinking.””
“Do you?””
My voice rose.
“You helped bury her, Cynthia. You stood beside me at the funeral. You held my hand while I cried. How could you look at a woman who supposedly had my mother's face and not call the police?””
Cynthia began crying again.
“Because I was afraid.””
“Of what?””
“Thomas.””
Simone ended her call and came into the room.
“Raymond is coming.””
Cynthia looked at her.
“Please tell him to come alone.””
“Why?””
“Because I need to tell you something about his mother, too.””
The room went quiet.
I felt the old fear settle into my chest.
“What does Raymond's mother have to do with this?””
Cynthia looked at me for a long moment.
“Everything.””
Before she could continue, headlights swept across the front window.
A car pulled into the driveway.
Simone moved toward the curtains.
“That's Raymond.””
She opened the door before he reached the porch.
He came inside, carrying a damp folder beneath his coat.
When he saw Cynthia, he stopped.
“Cynthia Bell.””
She stood.
“Raymond.””
He placed the folder on the table.
“I've been trying to reach you for two days.””
“I know.””
“Why did you avoid my calls?””
Cynthia looked at me.
“Because I didn't know who was safe to speak to.””
Raymond's expression hardened.
“I'm your friend, Cynthia.””
“I thought so, too.””
The words struck him.
For a moment, he looked genuinely hurt.
Then he sat down.
“Tell us what you know.””
Cynthia took a shaky breath.
“Your mother was the one who introduced me to the woman who signed Evelyn's name.””
Raymond went completely still.
“My mother died eight years ago.””
“I know.””
“Then how could she introduce you to anyone?””
“Because she was there.””
Raymond stared at her.
“Where?””
“At Thomas's house.””
He slowly leaned forward.
“Are you telling me my mother was alive four weeks ago?””
“No. I'm telling you that Thomas introduced the woman as your mother.””
Raymond's face tightened.
“My mother had a scar on her left wrist. She got it when I was a child. Did this woman have one?””
Cynthia hesitated.
“I didn't see her wrist.””
“Did she have the same eyes?””
“Yes.””
“The same voice?””
“Yes.””
“Did she call me by my childhood nickname?””
Cynthia looked down.
“No.””
Raymond leaned back.
His face had gone pale.
“My mother called me Ray-Ray. She was the only person who ever used that name.””
He looked at me.
“Denise, I think someone has been impersonating our mothers.””
The words sounded absurd.
But after everything we had discovered, absurdity no longer felt like a reason to dismiss something.
Simone sat on the arm of the sofa.
“Why would somebody impersonate two dead women?””
Raymond opened his folder.
“Because they may have been using their identities to control property, records, and money connected to Daniel's estate.””
He spread several documents across the table.
One showed the transfer of the Whitaker property.
Another showed a dormant trust established decades earlier.
The beneficiary's name had been blacked out in the copy.
But the signature at the bottom was unmistakable.
Daniel Carter.
Raymond tapped the page.
“After Daniel died, his estate was placed in a trust. The trust was supposed to provide for his child if one existed. My father established it before his own death, and my mother was named as one of the administrators.””
“Who was the other administrator?”” I asked.
Raymond looked at me.
“Thomas Whitaker.””
Cynthia closed her eyes.
“Oh, God.””
Raymond continued.
“The trust was supposed to remain untouched until Daniel's child turned twenty-one. But someone has been making withdrawals for years.””
Simone stared at the documents.
“How much money?””
“Enough to make the records suspicious. I don't have the final total yet.””
“Who was taking it?””
“That is what I'm trying to establish.””
Cynthia pressed her hands against her face.
“I didn't know about the money.””
Raymond looked at her.
“Did you know Marcus was alive?””
“Yes.””
“Did you know he was Daniel's son?””
“Yes.””
“Then why did you keep quiet?””
She lowered her hands.
“Because your mother told me the boy was in danger.””
Raymond's voice became sharper.
“My mother told you that?””
Cynthia nodded.
“She said there were people who would use him to get to the trust. She said the only way to protect him was to keep his identity secret until he was old enough to understand.””
“Then why was his name on the property transfer?””
“Because Thomas said the property was being placed in Marcus's name.””
Raymond stared at her.
“Thomas already controlled the property.””
“I know.””
“Then why would he transfer it to Marcus?””
Cynthia shook her head.
“I don't know.””
Simone pointed to the trust documents.
“Maybe because Marcus is turning twenty-one.””
Raymond went still.
“What?””
She leaned forward.
“His date of birth. If the records are correct, he turns twenty-one this year. That means he could gain control of the trust.””
Raymond looked down at the paperwork.
Then he slowly nodded.
“Yes.””
Cynthia began crying harder.
“Thomas said the transfer was necessary before Marcus's birthday. He told me it would protect the estate from legal challenges.””
Raymond's expression darkened.
“Or prevent Marcus from gaining control of it.””
I stared at the documents.
The story was becoming clearer, but the shape of it was ugly.
Daniel had died.
His child had been hidden.
A trust had been established.
Someone had spent years controlling the money while keeping the beneficiary from knowing he existed.
And now, as Marcus approached twenty-one, the people who had maintained the secret were suddenly moving property and impersonating the dead.
“Where is Marcus now?”” I asked.
Cynthia shook her head.
“I don't know.””
“You said you saw him three weeks ago.””
“Yes.””
“Then what happened?””
She swallowed.
“Thomas told me Marcus was leaving Atlanta. He said the boy wanted a fresh start.””
“Did Marcus say that himself?””
“No.””
“Did you speak to him?””
Cynthia looked down.
“No.””
Simone stood.
“Then how do you know he agreed to leave?””
“I don't.””
The admission hung in the room.
Raymond gathered the documents into a stack.
“We need to find him before Thomas moves him again.””
Cynthia looked up sharply.
“Don't go to the old Whitaker house.””
“Why?””
“Because someone is watching it.””
“Who?””
“I don't know.””
Raymond stood.
“Cynthia, you need to tell us everything you remember about that day. Every person you saw. Every conversation you heard.””
She nodded.
Then her eyes shifted toward the front window.
Her face changed.
“What's wrong?”” I asked.
Cynthia rose slowly and moved toward the curtain.
A black sedan was parked across the street.
Its headlights were off.
A man sat behind the wheel.
I couldn't see his face clearly, but I recognized the shape of his shoulders and the way he held his head.
Thomas Whitaker.
Cynthia stepped back from the window.
“He followed me.””
Raymond moved toward the door.
“Stay here.””
“No,” Cynthia whispered.
“You don't understand. He knows I came here.””
The black sedan's headlights suddenly switched on.
Then the driver's door opened.
Thomas stepped out into the rain.
He didn't approach the house.
He simply stood beside the car and looked directly at our front door.
My phone vibrated.
An incoming message from an unknown number.
I opened it.
The message contained a photograph of Simone leaving the hospital the night before.
Below it were seven words.
*Tell Raymond to stop looking for his brother's son.*
I looked up.
Raymond had seen the message over my shoulder.
His face became frighteningly calm.
“He knows we're close,” he said.
Then he turned toward Cynthia.
“There's one question you still haven't answered.””
She stared at him.
“What?””
Raymond stepped closer.
“Who was the woman pretending to be my mother?””
Cynthia's lips trembled.
“I don't know her real name.””
“Then what did Thomas call her?””
Cynthia looked at me.
May you like
And whispered a name that made Raymond stumble backward.
“Evelyn.””
