Chapter 5: The Photograph on Mara’s Phone
Mara didn't explain the photograph until we were back in her car.
She locked the doors, placed her phone face down in the cup holder, and started the engine. The heater blew cold air for nearly a minute before it warmed.
Daddy sat beside her in the front. I was in the back with the sweater from the paper bag wrapped around my shoulders. It was too big, and one sleeve dragged across my lap.
"Who sent that?" Daddy asked.
"Someone from the kitchen."
"Who?"
"I don't know. The number isn't saved."
"Then how did they get your number?"
Mara's hands remained on the steering wheel. "Event staff had my contact information."
Daddy glanced at the photo again. "Can we trust it?"
"No."
He looked surprised.
"It could be old. It could be another storage room. It could be staged." She pulled away from the curb. "That's why I didn't send it to anyone else."
The streetlights moved across her face in pale strips. She drove slowly, as if the road required more attention than usual.
I held the sweater against my nose. Mommy's smell had faded, but I could still find it near the collar.
"Is that my dress?" I asked.
Mara looked at me in the rearview mirror. "The fabric?"
I nodded.
"It looks like the same color."
Daddy turned around. "Nora, we don't know that."
"I wore this dress yesterday."
"I know."
"The sleeve tore when I climbed through the fence."
His eyes sharpened. "What fence?"
I looked down.
Mara didn't say anything. She let the silence stay until Daddy turned back around.
After a minute, he asked, "What fence, Nora?"
"The one behind the building."
"What building?"
I picked at the edge of the sweater. "The big one with the white sign."
Mara's eyes met mine in the mirror.
Daddy's voice softened. "Was it where you and Mommy stayed?"
I nodded.
"Why did you climb through a fence?"
"Mommy said not to open the front door."
He turned halfway around. "Why?"
I didn't answer. My chest felt tight. I could hear the heater clicking beneath the dashboard.
Mara spoke without looking back. "You don't have to answer tonight."
Daddy faced forward again. His jaw moved once.
We drove to a small motel near the highway because Daddy said it was safer than going anywhere else without knowing who might be looking for us. The room smelled like bleach and old carpet. There were two beds, a television bolted to the wall, and a plastic ice bucket with no lid.
Daddy checked the window lock. Then the door. Then the bathroom.
Mara stayed outside while he did it.
When he opened the door again, she handed him a paper folder. "I went back to the ballroom after you left."
He didn't take it immediately.
"Why?"
"Because I had to collect the event records before Beatrice's staff threw them away." She held the folder out farther. "I copied the guest list, the catering order, and the room assignment sheet."
Daddy accepted it.
I sat on one of the beds. The mattress squeaked beneath me.
He spread the papers on the small table. The first sheet had rows of names. Most were crossed out in black ink.
Mara pointed to a note in the margin. "The west room was supposed to serve twenty-one people. Four were admitted."
"Why were the others removed?"
"I don't know."
"The meals went somewhere."
"Yes."
Daddy looked at the photograph. "And this?"
"The storage room is behind the service elevator. It wasn't listed on the floor plan." She tapped the folder. "I found the door locked. I also found the orange thread caught in the latch."
My fingers went cold.
Daddy noticed. He put one hand over mine.
The gesture was careful, like he was asking permission even after he touched me.
Mara looked at the floor. "I should have stopped the event."
Daddy's voice stayed quiet. "You couldn't have known."
"I knew enough to be uncomfortable."
"Uncomfortable isn't evidence."
She looked at him then. "Neither is a frightened child carrying a piece of bread into a room full of people who have too much food."
Daddy flinched.
I stared at the carpet. The bread was still wrapped in the napkin on the bed beside me. It had become hard at the edges.
Mara immediately lowered her eyes. "I'm sorry."
Daddy didn't answer. He opened the folder and studied the last page.
A handwritten notation appeared beneath the meal count.
VALE, ELIAS — 2 MEALS — WEST ROOM.
He traced the letters with one finger.
"Someone expected me," he said.
"Maybe someone invited you," Mara replied.
"I didn't receive an invitation."
"Then someone added your name."
The motel phone rang.
All three of us froze.
It rang again.
Daddy moved in front of me before picking up the receiver. He said nothing.
A woman's breathing came through the line. Thin, unsteady, close to the microphone.
Then she spoke.
"Don't bring the girl back to the ballroom."
The call ended.
Daddy kept holding the receiver.
Mara stood. "Did you recognize her?"
He slowly put the phone down.
"No."
I did.
Not the voice exactly. The warning.
It sounded like the woman from the kitchen who had said Mommy's name while the blue scarf covered half her face.
I looked at Daddy. "She knows where we are."
Mara reached for the folder and closed it.
Daddy gathered the papers. "We're leaving."
"Where?" Mara asked.
He looked at the photograph, then at me.
"Somewhere she can't find us."
May you like
The phone rang again before we reached the door.
This time, nobody answered.
