Chapter 17 - THE SECOND DEATH CERTIFICATE
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I refused to accept it.
"My mother died in a hospital. I saw the funeral arrangements. I watched them lower her coffin."
The detective remained calm.
"Nobody is suggesting she didn't die. We're saying Marcus claims a second death certificate was created under another name, years before the official date."
"Why would anyone do that?"
"To conceal a person's identity, movements, or financial interests. We don't know which."
Dorian leaned forward.
"Where is the certificate?"
"Marcus says it was kept in a private archive belonging to Evelyn."
The detective explained that the archive was located in a storage facility outside Boston. A warrant had been requested, but it would take time.
I didn't have time.
Not anymore.
Catherine looked at me with a strange expression.
"Your mother once told me she had a sister."
I turned.
"What?"
"She said her family had lost contact with the woman when they were young. I never learned her name."
My mother had never mentioned a sister to me.
I remembered childhood visits to relatives, old family photographs, and the empty space where a second woman might have stood.
"Could the second death certificate belong to her?"
"Possibly," the detective said. "But we need evidence."
That evening, I returned to my mother's old study and searched the remaining boxes. Behind a row of account books, I found a photograph of two young women standing beside a lake.
One was my mother.
The other looked almost exactly like her.
On the back, someone had written: Audrey and Eleanor, summer of 1979.
My mother had been named Audrey Whitcomb before she married my father.
Who was Eleanor?
I searched the ledger for the name and found it beside a payment dated six months after my mother's supposed death.
The recipient was listed as Eleanor W.
The amount was large enough to support someone for years.
Dorian studied the entry.
"If Eleanor was alive, she may know where Evelyn kept the archive."
"Or she may be the person Evelyn has been protecting."
He nodded.
"We need to find her."
Blythe checked the old company records. Within an hour, she found an address attached to the payment: a small coastal town in Maine.
The property belonged to a woman named Eleanor Whitcomb.
I stared at the screen.
"She's alive."
The detective immediately arranged for officers to accompany us.
But before we could leave, Margaret called.
Her voice was barely audible.
"Mrs. Kincaid, I need to tell you something before you go."
"What is it?"
"I knew Eleanor."
My fingers tightened around the phone.
"How?"
"She came to the mansion several times after your mother's death. She always arrived at night, and Mr. Dorian was never told."
Dorian heard her answer and went completely still.
"Who let her inside?" I asked.
Margaret began to cry.
"Your mother did, ma'am."
I looked at the photograph again.
Two sisters.
Two identities.
Two death certificates.
And a secret that had survived every attempt to bury it.
Then Margaret whispered the words that changed everything.
"Eleanor wasn't your mother's sister, Mrs. Kincaid."
May you like
I stopped breathing.
"She was your mother's twin."
