Chapter 10 - THE WITNESS IN THE HOSPITAL|
Margaret looked impossibly small in the hospital bed.
Her silver hair lay against a white pillow, and a purple bruise marked her wrist.
But when she saw me enter, her expression softened.
“Oh, Miss Dakota.”
I crossed the room and took her hand.
“You don't have to call me that anymore.”
She smiled faintly.
“You'll always be Miss Dakota to me.”
I sat beside her.
For a few moments, neither of us spoke.
I could not stop thinking about the peppermint candies she used to keep in her desk.
One small kindness from childhood had outlasted decades of manipulation.
“I'm sorry,” Margaret whispered.
“For what?”
“For leaving you alone in that house.”
I shook my head.
“You didn't create what Eleanor did.”
“I saw enough to know you were hurting.”
Her eyes filled.
“And I convinced myself it wasn't my place to interfere.”
I squeezed her hand.
“You tried to warn Dad.”
“Too late.”
There was no easy answer to that.
I wanted to tell her everything was forgiven.
But forgiveness was complicated.
It required honesty, and sometimes it required accepting that damage could not be undone.
“What happened to you?” I asked.
Margaret looked toward the door.
Detective Bennett had arranged for us to speak briefly after Margaret agreed.
The detective remained nearby.
“Richard Vale came to my house,” Margaret said.
“He told me your father wanted to see me.”
“Did you believe him?”
“At first.”
She swallowed.
“Then he asked whether I still had copies of the old financial records.”
“What did you tell him?”
“I said I didn't know what he meant.”
“He didn't believe you?”
“No.”
Margaret described being pressured into traveling with Vale.
She said he threatened to accuse her of theft and ruin her family if she refused.
According to Margaret, Vale moved her between two properties and repeatedly demanded the location of her records.
She eventually escaped when an employee at one property helped her contact authorities.
Bennett was investigating her account.
“Did he hurt you?”
Margaret looked at the bruise on her wrist.
“He frightened me more than anything.”
I felt anger rising.
But I kept my voice gentle.
“Are the original records safe?”
She nodded.
“They're with my daughter.”
Rebecca would help arrange their transfer to investigators.
Then Margaret told me about the night Dad died.
She had not been inside the house.
Instead, she had parked across the street.
Dad had asked her to come because he wanted to compare the original trust records with the foundation accounts.
She arrived shortly before ten.
She saw Richard Vale leaving the house.
Then she saw Eleanor follow him onto the porch.
“They were arguing,” Margaret said.
“Could you hear them?”
“Not clearly.”
“What happened next?”
“Vale drove away.”
“Did Eleanor go back inside?”
“Yes.”
“Then what?”
Margaret hesitated.
“About twenty minutes later, another vehicle arrived.”
I leaned forward.
“Whose?”
“I didn't recognize it.”
“Did you see the driver?”
“A woman.”
“Could you identify her?”
Margaret shook her head.
“It was dark.”
I refused to press her.
Memory was imperfect, especially under stress.
But then she said something unexpected.
“The woman carried a medical bag.”
I looked at Bennett.
“A medical bag?”
Margaret nodded.
“She went inside through the side entrance.”
“How long did she stay?”
“Perhaps fifteen minutes.”
“Did she leave before the ambulance arrived?”
“Yes.”
I swallowed.
“What did she look like?”
“Dark hair.”
“Anything else?”
Margaret closed her eyes.
“She had a silver bracelet with a blue stone.”
The detail lodged in my mind.
I had seen a bracelet like that before.
Not on Eleanor.
Not on Preston.
On Dr. Vanessa Cross, my father's private physician.
I remembered her standing beside Eleanor at a holiday dinner several years earlier.
She had been introduced as a trusted family doctor.
I turned toward Bennett.
“Was Dr. Vanessa Cross questioned after Dad died?”
The detective did not answer immediately.
“We're reviewing the complete timeline.”
I looked back at Margaret.
“Did Dad know you were outside?”
“Yes.”
“Did you speak to him?”
“He called me just before I arrived.”
My chest tightened.
“What did he say?”
Margaret's lips trembled.
“He told me he'd finally decided to tell you everything.”
A tear slid down her cheek.
“He said he was tired of losing his daughter to someone else's lies.”
I turned away.
For years, I had longed for my father to choose me.
On the last night of his life, he had apparently been trying to do exactly that.
Margaret squeezed my hand.
“There's one more thing.”
I looked back.
“After I saw the woman leave, I received a message from your father.”
“Do you still have it?”
She nodded.
“It was only one sentence.”
“What did it say?”
May you like
Her voice broke.
“If I don't survive tonight, tell Dakota I finally found the courage to be her father.”
