Chapter 5 - Emma Remembers
Rachel was not arrested.
Not yet.
Her attorney argued she had entered Mark's car to retrieve a birthday gift.
Rachel produced a receipt showing she bought Emma a necklace.
That necklace had indeed been in Mark's trunk.
The explanation was possible.
That was the maddening part.
Every dark fact seemed to have a less-dark explanation if someone wanted it badly enough.
Then Emma remembered another piece.
Children don't remember trauma in neat timelines.
Memories returned in fragments.
A smell.
A color.
A sentence.
Three days after leaving the hospital, she was coloring at our kitchen table when she suddenly said:
“Aunt Rachel changed my straw.”
I stopped washing a plate.
“What?”
“My birthday straw.”
Her unicorn cup had a pink reusable straw.
“What happened to it?”
“She said mine fell down.”
“Then?”
“She gave me another one.”
“What color?”
“Clear.”
I sat beside her.
“Did you see her put anything in your drink?”
Emma shook her head.
“Did Daddy?”
“No.”
“Did anyone?”
She thought.
“Uncle Ben was talking to her.”
Ben was Rachel's ex-husband.
They had divorced two years earlier.
He had attended Emma's party because he remained close to our family.
That was new.
“Was Uncle Ben in the kitchen?”
Emma nodded.
I called Detective Ortiz.
Ben came in voluntarily.
He remembered Rachel preparing drinks.
He remembered her being tense.
He remembered Mark arguing with someone by phone in the hallway.
“Did you see Rachel put something into Emma's cup?”
“No.”
“Anything into Mark's glass?”
“No.”
“Did Rachel leave the kitchen?”
“Yes.”
“When?”
“She went upstairs.”
“How long?”
“Maybe five minutes.”
“What was she doing?”
“I assumed bathroom.”
Our upstairs bedrooms were down that hallway.
So was Mark's jacket.
And his car keys.
Rachel didn't need to steal them from his pocket.
He had left them on our bedroom dresser while changing before guests arrived.
Another route to his car.
Then Ben said something stranger.
“Rachel asked me a weird question.”
“What?”
“She asked if Mark still drank bourbon.”
My heartbeat changed.
“When?”
“Maybe an hour before Emma collapsed.”
“Why was that weird?”
“Because Rachel knows Mark drinks bourbon.”
True.
Then:
“She asked what would happen if somebody mixed medication with alcohol.”
Detective Ortiz stopped writing.
“What medication?”
“She didn't say.”
“Exact words?”
Ben tried to remember.
“Something like, ‘Would somebody just pass out, or would they know something was wrong?’”
My skin went cold.
Rachel had been thinking about drugging someone.
Likely Mark.
That seemed to answer the central question.
Except Ortiz wasn't convinced.
“Why ask Ben?”
I said.
“He's a paramedic.”
Right.
Rachel's ex-husband had emergency medical training.
He had assumed it was a random question.
Now he looked horrified.
“I should have asked why.”
Ortiz said quietly:
“People don't recognize context they don't have.”
I knew the feeling.
Police searched Rachel's apartment under warrant.
They found:
Financial records.
Harbor Seven documents.
A list of Mark's debts.
Printed screenshots of Malcolm's threats.
And a locked metal box.
Inside were three empty hospital-style vial containers.
No medication.
The labels had been removed.
Rachel was finally arrested on financial charges related to Harbor Seven.
But not Emma's poisoning.
Not yet.
The next morning, Rachel called me from detention.
I almost refused.
Then answered.
“You think I hurt her.”
My sister was crying.
I said nothing.
“I didn't.”
“Why did you go into Mark's car?”
“For the necklace.”
“Why did you ask Ben about mixing medication with alcohol?”
Silence.
“Rachel.”
“Because I wanted Mark to stop.”
“Stop what?”
“Everything.”
“That isn't an answer.”
“He was destroying us.”
“You joined him.”
“I was trying to control it.”
“You took our money.”
“I was going to return it.”
The exact phrase Mark used.
They had become fluent in the same lies.
“Did you plan to drug Mark?”
Rachel started crying harder.
“No.”
“Then why the question?”
“I was scared he might drug himself.”
I almost laughed.
“That's terrible even for you.”
“It's true.”
“No.”
“I saw how desperate he was.”
“You also told Emma Daddy's blue glass was off-limits.”
Silence.
“Why?”
“Because Mark was drinking.”
“Emma was seven. She knows not to drink bourbon.”
“I was being careful.”
“Were you?”
Rachel inhaled sharply.
Then whispered:
“You need to stop talking to Malcolm.”
“What does he know?”
“Nothing.”
“He knows Harbor Seven.”
“Because Mark told him.”
“He knows about you.”
“He thinks he does.”
“Rachel.”
Her voice changed.
Harder.
“Malcolm wanted Mark dead.”
“I know.”
“He told me.”
“When?”
“The week before the birthday.”
“And you didn't tell police?”
“I thought he was bluffing.”
“Why?”
“Because men like Malcolm always want money more than revenge.”
“How do you know men like Malcolm?”
Silence.
There it was.
Another hidden relationship.
“How long have you known him?”
She refused to answer.
Then the call disconnected.
Later that afternoon, Ortiz gave me the answer.
Rachel hadn't met Malcolm through Mark.
Bank records showed Malcolm had been sending Rachel money nearly two years before Mark's first known illegal sale.
May you like
My sister and Malcolm had a history.
And suddenly I wondered whether Mark had entered their scheme rather than the other way around.
