“Mom? It’s me. I’m using the old phone because Mark took my regular one. He said the screen was cracked, but I think he was looking through my emails. Mom, listen to me. If something happens to me, you need to go to the kitchen.

The old blue spice rack behind the stove. There is a false back on it. I put the deed to the Cleveland property in there. My name is the only one on it. I bought it back with Grandma’s money. I didn’t tell Mark because he’s been spending everything on Sarah’s credit cards. Mom, they think I don’t know. But I found the receipts.”

I stopped breathing. I sat there, my eyes wide, staring at a small tear in the wallpaper near the radiator.

Danny didn’t say anything. He let the second message play automatically.

“Mom, it’s Beth again. I’m in the car. Sarah is here. She showed up at the house while Mark was at work, saying she wanted to help me clean. She was asking about my grandmother’s jewelry. She has the key to my safe box. I saw it on her keychain. I’m going to try to get it back. If I can’t, call Aunt Clara. She knows about the bank accounts.

Don’t let Mark sell the Cleveland house, Mom. It’s yours. I bought it for you.”

The third message was very short. It was mostly static, the sound of wind rushing past a car window.

“Mom, I’m scared. Sarah is driving. We are going to the cabin to talk, but she won’t stop the car. She keeps saying we need to reach an agreement about the money. Mark is on the phone with her. I can hear him on the speaker. He’s yelling at me. Mom, please call me back. Please.”

The line went dead.

I sat in the silence of my living room for five minutes. The clock on the wall ticked. The radiator hissed.

I kept thinking about the accident. The police had told me the brakes had failed on the mountain road near the cabin. Sarah had survived with a broken collarbone. Beth had died instantly.

Sarah had told me Beth was driving. She had sobbed on my shoulder at the kitchen table, wearing a black veil, smelling of vanilla perfume. Mark had agreed to let Sarah handle the estate because he was too grief-stricken.

I looked down at my hands. They weren’t shaking anymore. They were very steady.

“Danny,” I said into the phone.

“I’m here, ma’am,” the young man said. His voice was trembling.

“Can you send these recordings to my email?”

“I’m not technically supposed to do that, but… yes. I’m saving them to a secure file and sending them to the address on your account right now. I’m also putting a hold on the line deletion. It won’t be disconnected.”

“Thank you,” I said.