Chapter 3 - Nora’s Words
I read the photograph at 9:46 that night.
Ivy had been examined.
Bruise near knee.
Mild redness along one shoulder.
No fracture.
No head injury.
No breathing injury detected.
No need for admission.
The hospital social worker made a mandated child-safety report.
Correct.
I sat beside Ivy’s bed while she watched a cartoon with the volume low.
Then I turned the photograph over.
Nora had written:
Grant—
If Celeste or Nolan ever tries to take Ivy out of the country, call Rebecca Hall before you sign anything.
They already asked me for travel permission once.
I said no.
Do not trust any consent letter with my name unless Rebecca has the original.
N.
I read it three times.
Celeste.
Nolan.
Before Nora died.
That meant they had been part of this story before my second marriage.
I knew Celeste had known Nora.
But:
Travel permission?
Consent letter?
Rebecca Hall?
I knew the name.
Rebecca had been Nora’s personal attorney during the last year of her illness.
Not our estate lawyer.
Nora hired her after an insurance dispute.
I had met her twice.
Then lost track after Nora died.
At the bottom of the photograph Nora had written:
Blue folder — Rebecca.
No more.
I called.
10:02 p.m.
I expected voicemail.
A woman answered.
“Rebecca Hall.”
“My name is Grant Whitaker.”
Silence.
Then:
“I know.”
“Nora left a message on a photograph.”
Another silence.
“About Celeste Mercer?”
My stomach dropped.
“Yes.”
“Where is Ivy?”
“With me. Hospital.”
“What happened?”
I told her.
Not every detail.
Enough.
Rebecca said:
“Do not sign anything Celeste gives you. Do not allow anyone to remove Ivy’s passport from your possession. And tell the police there may be an old file relevant to attempted international travel.”
“Attempted?”
“Grant.”
“What?”
“Nora asked me to preserve documents because she believed Celeste’s brother had altered a caregiver authorization.”
The room became smaller.
“Altered how?”
“I need to retrieve the file before I answer from memory.”
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
“Nora instructed me not to contact you unless one of three triggers happened.”
“What triggers?”
“Someone attempted to remove Ivy from the country.”
I stared at the hospital curtain.
“Why would she do that?”
“Because at the time you had specifically told Nora you trusted Celeste as a family helper.”
There.
History I had forgotten.
Rebecca continued:
“And because Nora was afraid you would dismiss the concern as treatment anxiety unless there was evidence of an actual attempt.”
That hurt because it sounded plausible.
Then:
“I’m retrieving the file tomorrow morning.”
“No. Tonight.”
“My office archive is in secure commercial storage.”
“Then get someone.”
“I will follow procedure.”
I hated procedure.
She continued:
“That is how we preserve evidence.”
Correct.
I had no argument.
I looked at Ivy.
She had fallen asleep.
Nora’s photograph resting beside her.
The woman I had buried eighteen months earlier had left me a warning.
May you like
And whatever she had feared had now produced two passports, airline tickets, and my daughter locked inside a suitcase.
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