The Evidence
The texts led me to Ernest’s shop.
I expected wreckage from an explosion.
Instead, everything was clean, untouched.
No explosion.
In his desk, a note dated three days before his death:
Charles insists I need more insurance. He says it’s for Margot. But something doesn’t feel right.
And then, an envelope with my name.
My dearest Margot,
If you are reading this, it means something has happened to me. Charles and Henry are too interested in our money. Yesterday Charles told me I should be more concerned about my safety because at my age any accident could be fatal. It sounded like a threat. If something happens to me, don’t trust anyone blindly. Not even our sons.
Ernest had sensed his own death.
That evening Charles visited, feigning concern.
“Mom, the insurance money. It’s already in process. It’ll be $200,000.”
“How do you know the exact amount?” I asked, calm but deadly.
“Well, I helped Dad with the paperwork,” he lied. “He wanted to make sure you were comfortable.”
He spoke of “managing” my money, of moving me to a retirement home.
They weren’t content with Ernest’s death; they planned to take everything from me too.
Another text:
Tomorrow, go to the police station. Ask for the report on Ernest’s accident. There are contradictions.
