Chapter 2 - MY MOTHER TOLD ME WHAT LAUREN HAD BEEN SAYING
I waited until after midnight to tell Mom what the resort manager said.
Her face changed before I finished.
Not shock.
Recognition.
That frightened me more.
“You knew she had asked about that area?”
“No.”
“Then why do you look like that?”
Mom stared at her blanket.
“Because I've been trying to convince myself I misunderstood her.”
“Misunderstood what?”
She looked older beneath the hospital lights.
“Lauren has been asking me to move.”
I frowned.
“Move where?”
“Assisted living.”
I sat back.
Lauren had mentioned retirement communities before.
Casually.
Or so I believed.
“She showed me Green Acres Village last month.”
Mom nodded.
“She showed me more than that.”
“How often?”
“Four times.”
My chest tightened.
“When?”
“When you were at work.”
“She came to your house?”
“Yes.”
“Why didn't you tell me?”
“Because you were newly married.”
“That doesn't answer me.”
“I didn't want to become the mother who ruined her son’s marriage.”
I stood.
“You wouldn't have.”
Mom gave me a sad look.
“Andrew, sons say that until wives begin asking why their husbands answer every call from their mothers.”
“Lauren knew your situation when we married.”
“Knowing something and living with it aren't always the same.”
Mom told me everything.
Lauren complained about canceled dinners.
My helping with doctor appointments.
The weekends I came over when the wheelchair lift broke.
Even grocery runs.
“Did you ask me to do those things?”
“Sometimes.”
“Because you needed help.”
“Yes.”
“Then what exactly did Lauren want?”
Mom hesitated.
“She wanted me to hire full-time assistance.”
“That is not unreasonable by itself.”
“I know.”
“So?”
“She wanted me to sell the house.”
That surprised me.
Mom’s home was worth nearly two million dollars.
My father bought the land thirty years earlier, before the area exploded in value.
“Why?”
“She said the property was too large.”
“And you?”
“I said no.”
“What did she say?”
Mom looked uncomfortable.
“She said I was clinging to a house because I wanted you clinging to me.”
I felt sick.
“She said that?”
“Yes.”
The pieces were becoming uglier.
Then Mom said:
“There's something else.”
I waited.
“Yesterday morning, before we drove to the resort, Lauren asked whether I had updated my will.”
My skin prickled.
“Why?”
“She said marriage changes family planning.”
“That makes no sense.”
“I know.”
“Did you answer?”
“Yes.”
My heart began pounding.
“What did you tell her?”
“That I had updated it six months ago.”
“To what?”
Mom studied me.
“You don't know?”
“No.”
“I left the house to you.”
I exhaled.
“That’s normal.”
“Not directly.”
“What does that mean?”
“I created a trust.”
“For me?”
“For you and any children you may have.”
I smiled despite everything.
“Mom.”
“I like planning.”
Then her expression darkened.
“But if you die before me, the house goes to a disability foundation.”
I frowned.
“Why would Lauren care?”
“She asked whether spouses inherit automatically.”
I stared.
“And you told her?”
“No.”
“Good.”
Mom looked away.
“I told her the trust lawyer would know.”
That was still strange.
Too strange.
Police arrived the next morning.
Detective Maria Sloan interviewed me.
Then Mom.
Then Lauren.
I was not allowed in Lauren’s interview.
Good.
I didn't trust myself.
Two hours later Sloan found me in the hallway.
“Your wife says your mother released her brake during an argument.”
“She couldn't.”
“Why?”
“Manual chair. Brake lever is beside the wheel.”
“She could reach it.”
“Yes. But why would she release it?”
“Mrs. Keller claims she didn’t.”
“Correct.”
“Your wife claims she tried to catch the chair.”
“I watched her stand there.”
Sloan nodded.
“We’re collecting video.”
“There’s no camera at that dock.”
“I know.”
“Lauren knew too.”
Sloan’s eyes sharpened.
“You already heard.”
“The manager called.”
“We’re interviewing the concierge.”
“Is she being arrested?”
“Not yet.”
I hated that answer.
“Why?”
“Because seeing someone push a wheelchair does not automatically establish intent to kill.”
“My mother almost drowned.”
“I understand.”
“No. You understand evidence.”
“Yes.”
She didn't apologize for it.
I respected that.
“We need to determine whether this was intentional, reckless, accidental, or something else.”
“What something else?”
Sloan looked at me.
“That's what I'm trying to find out.”
That afternoon, Lauren called from an unknown number.
I almost hung up.
“Andrew.”
“What?”
“Come home.”
“No.”
“We need to talk.”
“Anything you say can go through the police.”
Silence.
Then:
“You really think I tried to kill her.”
“Yes.”
Lauren inhaled.
“I asked about the cameras because I was planning something for you.”
I frowned.
“What?”
“Anniversary photographs.”
“We've been married eleven weeks.”
“It was supposed to be a surprise.”
I laughed once.
“That is your explanation?”
“Yes.”
“Why ask about railings?”
“I wanted a clean view of the water.”
“Convenient.”
Her voice broke.
“Andrew, I love you.”
I almost believed the pain.
That was the worst part.
Then she whispered:
“Your mother hates me.”
“Maybe she had a reason.”
Lauren went silent.
Finally she said:
“You're going to regret choosing her version.”
I ended the call.
Five minutes later Detective Sloan appeared again.
This time she had a tablet.
“We recovered resort footage.”
My pulse jumped.
“The dock?”
“No.”
She turned the screen.
Lobby camera.
Lauren, twenty-four hours before the incident.
Talking to the concierge.
The video had no sound.
But I watched him point to a resort map.
Lauren leaned closer.
Then took a photograph of the map with her phone.
Sloan swiped.
Another camera.
Lauren walking away.
Then stopping beside a maintenance door.
Looking toward a security camera.
Waiting.
Watching how it moved.
My stomach turned.
Sloan said:
“There are seven minutes missing from another camera.”
“What camera?”
“The one covering the corridor to the resort’s security office.”
I looked at her.
“You think she deleted footage?”
“I think somebody did.”
“Lauren?”
Sloan didn't answer.
Instead she said:
“Mr. Keller, did your wife know anyone who worked at Juniper Lake Resort?”
I started to say no.
Then remembered.
At dinner the night before, Lauren had hugged someone near the bar.
A man.
I assumed he was an old college friend.
“What?”
“There was someone.”
“Name?”
“I don't know.”
“Describe him.”
I did.
Sloan’s expression changed.
“What?”
She turned the tablet.
Employee roster.
One face.
I recognized him.
“That's him.”
Sloan looked at me.
“His name is Colin Mercer.”
“Who is he?”
She answered:
May you like
“Your wife’s half-brother.”
Lauren had never told me she had one.
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