Her gaze moved past Ben.
It found me.
Her lips parted.
No sound came.
Then her eyes closed again.
But one finger lifted weakly.
She pointed toward Ben’s jacket.
“The paper?” I asked.
Her finger moved once.
Ben searched his pockets.
He removed the photograph, his wallet, the copy of my birth certificate, and finally a small brass key.
I stared at it.
“What does that open?”
Ben looked startled.
“I don’t know.”
“Where did you get it?”
“Rosie gave it to me before surgery. She said I would understand later.”
Rosie’s heart monitor quickened.
Her lips moved.
I leaned close.
“What are you saying?”
A breath passed between them.
“Blue,” she whispered.
Then she slipped back into unconsciousness.
Ben looked at me.
“Blue what?”
I knew.
When we were children, Rosie had called our mother’s old lake cottage the blue house, even after my father painted it white.
It had been empty for years.
My father refused to sell it.
Daniel was released from official duty after arresting my father without notifying his superiors, but he agreed to drive us to the lake cottage.
Ben refused to leave until Rosie’s condition stabilized. At dawn, doctors said her neurological responses were promising. She remained unconscious, but she had responded to voices and pain.
The twins were stable in the NICU.
Ben stood between their incubators for nearly an hour before we left. His son was smaller than his hand. His daughter wore a knitted cap donated by volunteers.
He pressed two fingers against the glass.
“I’m coming back,” he whispered.
The lake cottage stood ninety miles north, hidden among pines near the edge of Lake Maribel.
Rain followed us most of the way.
Daniel drove. Ben sat beside him. I remained in the back with Rosie’s letter and the brass key.
“What are we expecting to find?” Daniel asked.
“My mother,” I said.
“Which one?”
The question was not cruel.
That made it worse.
“Evelyn.”
Ben turned slightly. “Richard claimed he didn’t know where she was.”
“Richard claims many things.”
Daniel kept his eyes on the road.
“His attorney has already demanded his release. Graham Voss disappeared from his home before deputies arrived.”
“Someone warned him,” Ben said.
“Probably.”
“Inside the department?”
“Possibly.”
I looked out at trees blurred by rain.
“Rosie knew.”
Daniel nodded. “She included Graham’s payments for a reason.”
“Why hasn’t Graham exposed Richard?”
“Money. Fear. Or because Richard’s version contains some truth.”
I hated that possibility.
Villains were easier when every word they spoke was false.
The cottage appeared shortly before noon.
Its white paint peeled from the siding, revealing traces of faded blue beneath. The porch sagged. Weeds had swallowed the stone path.
Ben tried the brass key on the front door.
It did not fit.
We searched the porch, shed, and storm cellar.
At the back of the property stood an old boathouse.
The key opened its padlock.
Inside, the air smelled of damp wood and gasoline. A rowboat hung from ceiling hooks. Fishing rods leaned against one wall.
Nothing suggested a woman had lived there.
