Chapter 7 - THE HOUSE BY THE RESERVOIR
Martin Vale finally told the truth.
Or part of it.
Thomas had survived for months after Claire’s fake funeral.
Vale helped hide him initially.
Then Vivian discovered where he was.
But Vivian did not kill him.
She made a deal.
Thomas would disappear.
Claire would remain alive.
If Thomas went to police, Vivian threatened to kill Claire and make her death look natural.
Thomas agreed.
At least temporarily.
“Where did he go?”
Claire demanded.
“I don’t know.”
Ethan did not believe Vale.
Neither did Claire.
Then she remembered something.
Every December, among her supplies, she received an orange.
One orange.
Always wrapped in newspaper.
Always with a tiny X cut into the peel.
“My father used to do that.”
Grant frowned.
“Do what?”
“Mark my oranges.”
Claire’s eyes filled.
“He told me it was so I would know which one was mine.”
Someone had been sending her a message.
Every year.
For twenty years.
Ethan searched the supply records.
Most food came from local stores.
But every December, Vivian personally collected a small package from a farm stand near Briar Glen Reservoir.
They drove there.
The owner remembered Vivian.
“She picks up one orange every Christmas.”
Rachel stared at him.
“You sell oranges individually?”
The farmer laughed.
“No. Someone leaves it here for her.”
“Who?”
The smile disappeared.
“Old man named Tom.”
Claire stopped breathing.
The farmer gave them directions.
A small house stood beyond the reservoir.
No phone.
No registered utilities except a propane account.
Ethan entered first.
The house was empty.
But recently occupied.
A mug was warm.
A fireplace still burned.
Claire found photographs covering one wall.
Photographs of her.
Not childhood photographs.
Recent ones.
Blurry images through windows.
Vivian entering Ashford Manor.
Grant.
Melissa.
The east wing.
Someone had been watching the house for years.
Claire picked up one photograph.
It showed her boarded window.
On the back:
SHE IS STILL THERE. 11/14/26.
Claire’s knees nearly gave way.
“My father knew.”
Ethan caught her.
“He knew I was there.”
The grief became anger almost instantly.
“He knew for twenty years.”
Then a voice came from behind them.
“No.”
Claire turned.
An elderly man stood in the doorway.
Thin.
Gray-haired.
A scar crossed the left side of his face.
He held no weapon.
He looked at Claire and began to cry.
“I knew for six.”
Claire could not move.
Thomas Bennett took one step inside.
“My God.”
His voice broke.
“My little girl.”
Claire slapped him.
The sound cracked through the room.
Thomas accepted it.
Then she hit him again.
“Six years?”
“Yes.”
“You left me there for six years?”
“I was trying to get you out.”
“You had six years!”
“I had six years trying to learn who would kill you if I did.”
Claire froze.
Thomas looked at Ethan.
“Vivian wasn't the person who ordered the car crash.”
“Who did?”
Thomas glanced toward the window.
Headlights appeared through the trees.
A vehicle was approaching.
Fast.
Thomas’s face changed.
“Turn off the lights.”
Ethan did.
Seconds later, a black SUV stopped outside.
A man stepped out.
Not Mercer.
Grant Ashford.
Claire stared through the curtain.
“My cousin?”
Thomas whispered:
“No.”
May you like
Then he looked directly at Claire.
“Your brother.”
