Chapter 5 - The Daughter He Planned to BuryCurtis Vale survived the gunshot wound.
My kitchen table was visible through the window.
Dad sat with his back partially turned, holding his coffee mug.
I was beside him with the phone against my ear.
The image had been taken while Vanessa was telling me he had died.
Someone had been standing in my backyard.
Watching us.
My skin turned cold.
“When was this sent?” I asked.
“Six forty-three this morning,” Lawson replied.
Thirteen minutes after Vanessa’s call began.
Dad leaned toward the screen.
“Can you identify the sender?”
“The number is registered to a prepaid phone. We’re tracing purchase records and location data.”
“Was Grant at Natalie’s house?”
“No. We have highway camera footage placing his SUV here in Bellweather.”
“Then he had help.”
“Yes.”
Harold crossed his arms.
“What does ‘the daughter is next’ mean?”
Lawson looked at me.
“We’re treating it as a credible threat.”
I thought of the previous two days.
Dad had stayed in my guest room.
We had driven to the clinic.
We had stopped for groceries.
I had noticed a dark sedan two cars behind us more than once, but I had dismissed it as coincidence.
“Someone followed us,” I said.
Dad turned.
“When?”
“Yesterday. Maybe the day before.”
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
“I wasn’t sure.”
Lawson asked for every detail I remembered.
The car had been dark blue or black.
An older sedan.
One headlight looked dimmer than the other.
I could not see the driver.
The sheriff arranged for a patrol vehicle to remain outside my house and advised me not to return alone.
Dad refused to hide.
“This started in my house,” he said. “We finish it there.”
Lawson shook his head.
“You do not finish anything. My department does.”
“I will not be chased away from my property.”
“You were nearly killed.”
“So was my daughter.”
“That is exactly why both of you need protection.”
Dad argued until Lawson finally agreed to let us return to the farmhouse under police supervision.
By then, Grant had been moved to county detention.
Vanessa remained at the station, cooperating with investigators.
The farmhouse felt different when we entered that evening.
Every room seemed exposed.
Deputies had finished photographing the damage, but papers still covered the floors. The safe remained open. Dad’s belongings sat in boxes near the door where Grant had prepared them for removal.
I picked up a framed photograph of Mom and wiped dust from the glass.
She was standing in the garden, laughing at something beyond the camera.
Dad watched me.
“Your mother never trusted Grant.”
“Why didn’t you listen?”
“Because Vanessa asked me not to judge him.”
The irony was painful.
We spent the next hour restoring the office. Harold repaired the broken filing-cabinet latch while Dad organized documents.
I found an old envelope addressed to me in Mom’s handwriting.
Dad saw it.
“She wrote those before she died.”
“I never received this one.”
“I couldn’t find it after the funeral.”
I opened it.
Inside was a short note.
Natalie,
Your father will pretend he is stronger than he is. Vanessa will pretend she is weaker than she is. Do not believe either performance. Love them honestly, but never let love make you blind.
Mom
I read it twice.
Then I handed it to Dad.
His eyes filled.
“She understood us too well.”
A knock sounded at the front door.
Every person in the room froze.
Deputy Ruiz checked the window before opening it.
Vanessa stood outside.
She had been released pending further investigation.
Her coat was unbuttoned, and she looked exhausted.
Dad remained in the office.
I went to the entryway.
“What are you doing here?”
“I need to speak to Dad.”
“He doesn’t have to speak to you.”
“I know.”
She looked past me.
“Please.”
Dad appeared at the end of the hall.
“Let her in.”
Vanessa entered slowly.
She saw the boxes, the damaged lock, and the photographs stacked on the floor.
Her face tightened.
“I’m sorry.”
Dad pointed toward the living room.
We sat.
Deputy Ruiz remained nearby.
Vanessa held her purse in her lap.
“I remembered something,” she said.
Lawson had instructed us to report anything immediately, so Ruiz activated her body camera.
Vanessa continued.
“Grant met a man named Curtis several months ago. Curtis Vale. They worked together years ago.”
“What kind of work?” Dad asked.
“Construction. Demolition. I’m not sure.”
I remembered the dark sedan.
“What does he drive?”
Vanessa swallowed.
“A black Buick. Older model.”
My pulse accelerated.
“One headlight dimmer than the other?”
She looked at me.
“Yes.”
Deputy Ruiz immediately called Lawson.
Dad asked, “Why would Curtis help Grant?”
“Grant said Curtis owed him.”
“For what?”
“I don’t know.”
Dad leaned forward.
“No more convenient ignorance, Vanessa.”
She flinched.
“I heard them arguing once. Curtis said he had taken the blame for something Grant did years ago.”
“What?”
“A jobsite accident. I think someone was injured.”
Deputy Ruiz finished her call.
“Sheriff Lawson is checking the name.”
Vanessa opened her purse.
“I found this in Grant’s desk.”
She removed a small notebook.
Inside were dates, dollar amounts, account numbers, and several initials.
One page contained my address.
Beside it was a time.
Thursday, 6:30 a.m.
Underneath were the words:
Confirm old man. Wait for instruction.
Dad’s face turned white.
Vanessa looked at me.
“I think Curtis was supposed to confirm whether Dad was with you.”
“And then?”
“I don’t know.”
“You said the daughter was next.”
Her eyes filled.
“I swear I didn’t know about that message.”
The deputy took the notebook as evidence.
Lawson called ten minutes later.
Curtis Vale had served eighteen months in prison after a construction worker fell from unsecured scaffolding. Grant had been the project supervisor, but Curtis had signed the safety inspection.
Investigators also learned that Curtis had recently received several cash deposits totaling thirty thousand dollars.
“We need to find him,” Lawson said over speakerphone. “Do not leave the house.”
As darkness settled, wind pushed against the windows.
The farmhouse sat several hundred yards from the road, separated by bare fields and a long gravel drive.
A patrol vehicle remained near the gate.
Another deputy checked the barns.
At nine, the power went out.
The house dropped into darkness.
Vanessa screamed.
Dad found a flashlight in the kitchen drawer.
Deputy Ruiz spoke into her radio.
No response.
Static filled the room.
I looked through the front window.
The patrol vehicle’s headlights were gone.
“Stay away from the glass,” Ruiz ordered.
We moved into the hallway.
A few seconds later, the backup generator started.
Lights flickered on.
The deputy at the gate called in.
Someone had cut the main electrical line near the road and disabled his vehicle by slashing both rear tires.
Lawson sent additional units.
Then we heard a crash upstairs.
Dad looked toward the ceiling.
Ruiz drew her weapon.
“Everyone stay here.”
She moved toward the staircase.
A shadow crossed the upper landing.
Vanessa grabbed my arm.
Curtis had entered through the second-floor window above the porch roof.
Ruiz climbed three steps.
A heavy object flew from above and struck the wall beside her.
She ducked.
Dad pulled Vanessa and me into the office.
Harold locked the door.
We heard footsteps overhead.
Slow.
Deliberate.
Then they began descending.
One step at a time.
Dad opened the desk drawer and removed an old revolver.
I stared at him.
“Is that loaded?”
“Yes.”
“Dad—”
“I have owned it longer than you have been alive.”
He checked the cylinder.
Harold stood beside the door with a fireplace poker.
The footsteps reached the bottom stair.
Silence followed.
Then Curtis spoke from the hallway.
“Robert?”
Dad did not answer.
“I know you’re in there.”
Vanessa covered her mouth.
Curtis continued.
“Grant made a mess. I’m here to clean it up.”
Dad looked at the window.
Too narrow.
Too high.
Curtis tried the office handle.
Locked.
“You survived once,” he said. “Don’t make this difficult.”
The same phrase Grant had used on the phone.
Dad raised the revolver.
“Step away from the door.”
Curtis laughed softly.
“There he is. The dead man.”
A loud impact shook the door.
Vanessa gasped.
Another impact splintered the frame.
Harold gripped the poker.
I grabbed the heaviest object within reach, a brass bookend shaped like a horse.
Curtis struck the door again.
Wood cracked.
Then Deputy Ruiz shouted from the hall.
“Sheriff’s department! Drop it!”
A gunshot exploded.
Vanessa screamed.
Dad pushed us behind the desk.
Two more shots followed.
Then silence.
Long, suffocating silence.
“Marla?” Dad shouted.
No answer.
The office door moved inward.
A hand appeared through the broken frame.
Dad aimed.
“Stop!”
The hand froze.
Then Ruiz’s voice came weakly.
“It’s me.”
Dad lowered the weapon and opened the door.
The deputy was sitting against the wall, one hand pressed to her upper arm. Blood darkened her sleeve, but she was conscious.
Curtis lay several feet away, wounded in the leg. His handgun had fallen near the staircase.
Harold kicked it out of reach.
Sirens approached outside.
Curtis looked at Vanessa.
“You stupid woman.”
She stared at him.
“What?”
“You were supposed to keep the old man calm.”
Dad’s face hardened.
Vanessa shook her head.
“I never agreed to any of this.”
Curtis laughed through clenched teeth.
“You agreed the minute you took Grant’s money.”
Deputies rushed into the house.
They secured Curtis and treated Ruiz.
As paramedics prepared to carry him out, Dad crouched beside him.
“Why did Grant want Natalie dead?”
Curtis smiled.
“He didn’t.”
Dad’s eyes narrowed.
Curtis turned his head toward Vanessa.
“The message wasn’t about Natalie.”
Vanessa stopped breathing.
May you like
Curtis’s smile widened.
“You were always the daughter who was next.”
