Chapter 7 - The Dead Woman at the Winter Cabin
Rebecca Sloan had not died in the river.
At least, not when everyone believed she did.
The body recovered after the crash had been badly damaged and identified
through personal belongings and dental records submitted by Victor
Dane’s department.
Federal investigators reopened everything.
The dental records did not belong to Rebecca.
They belonged to an unidentified woman whose family had never been
notified.
Claire sat in stunned silence.
Marcus said, “If Rebecca survived, where did she go?”
The cabin photograph provided a clue.
Property records traced it to a trust in northern Wisconsin.
The trust’s beneficiary was Hannah’s father, Stephen Whitaker.
Hannah joined the call.
“My dad had a cabin?”
“Did he ever take you to Wisconsin?”
“No.”
“Did he ever mention Rebecca?”
Hannah hesitated.
“Once. He said a brave woman saved our family before I was old enough to
understand.”
Federal agents reached the cabin that afternoon.
Empty.
Dusty.
Abandoned for years.
But they found Rebecca’s handwriting in notebooks.
She had survived the car crash with minor injuries. Stephen helped her
disappear because Victor Dane was controlling the investigation.
Rebecca intended to gather evidence and return.
She never did.
The final notebook entry was dated eleven months after the crash.
VICTOR FOUND THE CABIN. STEPHEN SAYS WE MOVE TONIGHT.
No later entries existed.
Claire’s hope collapsed into another question.
Daniel finally agreed to cooperate in exchange for prosecutors
considering his assistance.
Claire refused to meet him alone.
In the interview room, he looked smaller without tailored clothes and an
audience.
“Rebecca survived,” Claire said.
“I know.”
“You knew?”
“Stephen told me.”
“When?”
“Three years ago.”
“What happened to her?”
“I don’t know.”
“Stop saying that.”
“It’s the truth.”
“Where did she go after the cabin?”
Daniel looked at his attorney.
Then back at Claire.
“Canada, I think.”
“You think?”
“Stephen moved her.”
“Why keep Hannah’s clothes?”
Daniel’s eyes dropped.
“Margaret kept trophies.”
Claire felt disgust.
“And the red mitten?”
“I didn’t send it.”
“Who knew about the winter cabin?”
“Margaret. Stephen. Victor. Me.”
“Anyone else?”
Daniel paused.
“Owen.”
Claire stiffened.
“My father?”
“Stephen contacted him.”
That fit Rebecca’s recordings.
Owen had been helping.
Daniel leaned forward.
“You want to know why your father died?”
Claire’s hands went cold.
“Be careful.”
“He was preparing to expose everything.”
“Proof?”
“His last board packet.”
Claire remembered the week Owen died.
He had scheduled an emergency Hale Grocers meeting, then suffered a
stroke the night before.
The meeting was canceled.
His packet disappeared.
Marcus asked, “Who had access?”
Daniel smiled bitterly.
“You’re going to hate the answer.”
“Who?”
“Claire.”
She stared.
“That’s absurd.”
“Your credentials accessed the board server at 2:13 a.m.”
“I was asleep beside you.”
“I know.”
Claire understood before he said it.
Daniel had used her computer.
“You framed me in advance.”
“I created leverage.”
“For what?”
“In case Owen survived.”
Claire stood.
Daniel spoke quickly.
“I didn’t poison him.”
She stopped.
Nobody had mentioned poison.
Marcus’s chair scraped backward.
“What did you say?”
Daniel realized his mistake.
Claire sat again.
“My father died of a stroke.”
Daniel looked toward his attorney.
His attorney closed his eyes.
Ruiz leaned forward.
“Who told you poison was suspected?”
Daniel whispered, “Margaret.”
Owen’s preserved medical samples were requested for new testing.
Forty-eight hours later, a toxicologist found evidence of a medication
interaction inconsistent with his prescriptions.
Not proof of murder.
But proof that the old assumptions were incomplete.
Margaret refused to speak.
Victor Dane was arrested in Arizona.
And Stephen Whitaker’s “heart attack” was reopened too.
On December 29, Claire decorated cookies with Evan while snow pressed
against the kitchen windows.
He made one shaped like a bear.
“Can Mr. Buttons come home?”
“Not yet.”
“Police still need him?”
“Yes.”
“Is he in trouble?”
Claire smiled sadly.
“No. He helped us find the truth.”
Evan seemed pleased.
“Good bear.”
Then he said something casually.
“Rebecca liked bears too.”
Claire dropped the icing bag.
“What did you say?”
“Rebecca.”
“Who told you that name?”
“She did.”
Claire knelt.
“When?”
“At Grandma’s Christmas room.”
Every adult in the kitchen stopped moving.
“What Christmas room?”
“The other one.”
Marcus crouched beside him.
“Buddy, can you show us?”
Evan led them to the basement.
Behind shelves of decorations was a locked steel door.
Police opened it.
Inside was a second filming room.
A woman’s coat hung on a chair.
A notebook lay on a desk.
On the first page:
May you like
CLAIRE, IF EVAN BROUGHT YOU HERE, THEN HE REMEMBERED ME.
The handwriting matched Rebecca Sloan.
