Chapter 5: Naomi’s Warning
The diner was crowded enough that no one could raise their voice without being heard.
That was why Naomi had chosen it. Families filled the booths, silverware clinked, and the smell of coffee and frying onions hung warm in the air. Diane sat with her back to the wall, watching the front door while Detective Cho stayed across the street with Veronica.
Naomi slid into the booth opposite her, still wearing her coat. Her gaze flicked over Diane’s face, then to the window.
“You came alone?”
“Cho’s with Veronica.”
Naomi’s shoulders lowered a fraction. “Good. I didn’t want her hearing any of this.”
The waitress stopped by with a pot of coffee. Naomi waited until she’d moved on, then wrapped both hands around the mug without drinking.
“Bertha didn’t tell me everything,” she said. “She thought Christopher might be listening.”
Diane felt the words settle between them. “Listening how?”
Naomi gave a small, unhappy shake of her head. “Checking her phone. Asking who she’d talked to. Showing up when she went somewhere without telling him.” Her eyes returned to Diane’s. “She didn’t want to scare you.”
“She could have let me decide what scared me.”
“I know.” Naomi’s voice softened, and the apology in it seemed to undo something in Diane. “She said you’d already spent your life carrying other people’s emergencies. She didn’t want to hand you another one.”
Diane looked down at the coffee she hadn’t touched. Bertha had been protecting her. Or trying to. Either way, she’d done it alone.
Naomi opened her purse and took out a small notebook. “She started checking the account months ago. She noticed withdrawals that didn’t make sense, then copied the statements before Christopher could get to them.”
“I saw what she left in the locker.”
“She told me she’d made copies.” Naomi tapped the notebook’s worn cover. “She was afraid he’d drain what was left before anyone noticed. She thought the money was meant for Veronica’s future.”
Diane kept her voice steady. “Do you know what he used it for?”
“No. Bertha didn’t know either. Not then.” Naomi hesitated. “She said the explanations kept changing. Repairs, business expenses, bills she didn’t recognize. When she asked, he made her feel as if she were accusing him of stealing from his own child.”
Diane saw Christopher’s face at the school, the injured hand tucked into his pocket. She made herself set that thought aside. A suspicion was not proof. Bertha had taught her that much, even if she hadn’t meant to.
Naomi lowered her voice. “Then I found this.”
She unlocked her phone and turned it toward Diane. The first photograph showed a small square patch lying on pale kitchen tile. Its edges were curled. A strip of backing clung to one corner, and a printed row of tiny characters ran along one side.
Diane leaned closer.
“Where was that?”
“Near the trash can in Bertha’s kitchen.” Naomi swiped to the next picture, closer and less steady. The markings were still too small to read clearly. “I didn’t touch it. I just took pictures.”
“When?”
“Two days before she died. I’d stopped by to bring her something, and she was upset. She said Christopher had been asking where she kept her medication.”
Diane’s hand tightened around the mug. “Did she tell you he’d taken anything?”
“She said he’d taken a patch she was supposed to keep.” Naomi swallowed. “She didn’t say why he wanted it. I thought they’d had another fight, and I thought she’d call me if it got worse.”
The diner’s clatter seemed to pull away. Diane could see Bertha in the high-necked gown, the hidden marks beneath its lace. She could hear Christopher insisting he was honoring his wife’s wishes.
“You did what you could with what you knew,” Diane said.
Naomi looked at her as if she needed permission to believe it. “I should’ve pushed harder.”
“So should I.”
For a moment neither spoke. Then Naomi reached across the table—not quite touching Diane’s hand, leaving the choice to her.
“Bertha trusted you,” she said.
Diane almost laughed, but grief caught the sound before it formed. “She trusted me enough to hide things from me.”
“She trusted you to find them.”
That hurt differently. Not less, but with a small, bright edge of meaning.
Naomi’s phone buzzed against the table. She glanced at the screen, and all the color drained from her face.
“What is it?”
Naomi turned the phone around.
The message came from Christopher’s sister.
Stay away from Diane. You have no idea what you’re stirring up. Think about what could happen to Veronica if you keep talking.
Diane read it twice. The warning was careful enough to deny, cruel enough to understand.
“She knows I’m here,” Naomi whispered.
“Did she know you were going to meet me?”
“I didn’t tell her.” Naomi’s fingers closed around the phone. “I haven’t spoken to her in months.”
Diane looked toward the windows. Cars moved through the wet street, headlights smearing across the glass. “Could Christopher have seen you leave?”
“Maybe.”
“Or someone told him.”
Naomi started to lock her phone, then stopped. “There’s something else.”
She opened her photo gallery and found an image taken in the dark. The picture showed the side entrance of a house Diane recognized as Christopher’s. A man stood near the door with one hand around a plain package. The other figure was partly in shadow, but Diane recognized the set of Christopher’s shoulders.
She looked at Naomi. “Who took this?”
“I did. I was across the street.” Naomi’s voice had gone thin. “The night Bertha died, I saw Dr. Reed bring that package to Christopher.”
The name from the damaged recording seemed to click into place, though nothing about the photograph explained what the package contained or why Reed had carried it there.
“You’re certain it was Reed?”
“I’d seen him before. At Bertha’s house.” Naomi enlarged the image. “I didn’t know what I was looking at then. I thought maybe it was medical supplies. I took the picture because Bertha had asked me to pay attention if Reed came around.”
Diane studied the blurred image. It wasn’t enough to answer the questions crowding her mind. But it was a witness, a date, a delivery—and another reason Christopher had wanted Bertha’s body burned before anyone could look closely.
“Did you give this to Cho?”
“No.” Naomi’s eyes darted toward the front windows. “I was afraid if I handed it over, Christopher would find out. I’m afraid now, too.”
“I can’t promise you he won’t try to frighten you.”
“I know.”
“But you don’t have to face him by yourself.”
Naomi let out a shaky breath. For a second, she looked like the friend Bertha had trusted—not a source of evidence, not a name in a note, just a woman who had been scared and had come anyway.
Diane reached across the table and took her hand.
“Thank you for telling me,” she said.
Naomi squeezed back, then abruptly looked past Diane’s shoulder. Her grip went rigid.
“What?”
Naomi didn’t answer. She kept staring through the rain-streaked glass, toward the row of cars along the curb.
Diane turned.
May you like
Across the street, one familiar car sat beneath the diner’s red sign. The driver’s window was dark, but she knew the shape of it.
Naomi whispered, “He followed us.”
