Chapter 3 - The Empty Bed
Harper had spent twenty-seven years learning how to survive bad news.
Her father leaving when she was nine.
Her mother collapsing at the grocery store.
The hospital bills.
The eviction notices.
The endless humiliation of telling people she'd pay next Friday.
But nothing prepared her for an empty hospital bed and a nurse who refused to say where her mother had gone.
"What do you mean, you were told not to tell me?"
The nurse shifted uncomfortably.
"Miss Ellis, please lower your voice."
"Where is my mother?"
"I need you to speak with administration."
"It's ten-thirty at night."
"Then you can return tomorrow."
Harper stepped closer.
"My mother has difficulty communicating. I'm her designated contact. Who authorized this transfer?"
The nurse didn't answer.
Harper took out her phone.
"I'm calling the police."
"Please don't."
"Then tell me where she is."
The nurse glanced toward the corridor.
Finally, she whispered, "A private medical transport took her around seven."
"Who ordered it?"
"Mr. Bell."
Harper frowned.
"Who's Mr. Bell?"
"The regional administrator."
She had never heard the name.
But the nurse's face told her she should have.
Harper called the police and reported the situation.
Then she stepped outside.
Vincent was still waiting in his car.
When he saw her face, he got out immediately.
"What happened?"
"My mother's gone."
His expression changed.
"Transferred?"
"Yes."
"Where?"
"They won't tell me."
Vincent took out his phone.
Harper grabbed his wrist.
"No."
He looked down.
"What?"
"No threats. No men with guns. No sending someone to break down a door."
"I wasn't—"
"You were thinking about it."
He paused.
Then slowly put the phone away.
"What do you want me to do?"
Harper swallowed.
"Help me find her legally."
He nodded.
"All right."
The police arrived fifteen minutes later.
Harper provided the transfer information and the name of the employee who had spoken to her.
The responding officer contacted the facility administrator.
Nobody answered.
A second officer requested documentation.
The nursing supervisor eventually produced a transfer form.
Harper examined it.
At the bottom was a signature.
Harper Ellis.
Her mouth fell open.
"That's not mine."
The officer looked at her.
"You're certain?"
"I haven't signed anything."
She held up her phone.
"I was working at the Brass Rail at seven."
Vincent stood behind her.
Silent.
Watching.
The officer photographed the document.
"Do you know anyone who might have signed on your behalf?"
"No."
Harper looked again.
The signature wasn't even close.
The letter H had a ridiculous loop.
She never wrote like that.
The transfer destination was listed as a private rehabilitation center forty miles outside Chicago.
But when the officer called, the receptionist said no patient named Nora Ellis had been admitted.
Harper felt the room tilt.
"Then where is she?"
Nobody answered.
At midnight, Vincent took Harper to a small diner near the police station.
She sat staring at untouched coffee.
He ordered soup.
She didn't eat it.
"Who is Adrian Bell?" she asked.
Vincent's expression hardened.
"Why?"
"The nurse said he ordered the transfer."
Vincent set down his spoon.
"Bell manages several healthcare properties."
"Yours?"
"Some."
Her stomach dropped.
"Briarwood?"
"Through an investment company."
Harper stared.
"You own the nursing home?"
"Not directly. I hold a minority interest through a company. I don't manage it."
"You didn't think to mention that?"
"I didn't know it was relevant until recently."
She laughed bitterly.
"Your sister worked there. My mother disappeared from there. And you have money in the place?"
Vincent looked ashamed.
"Yes."
Harper pushed away her coffee.
"Maybe you're part of this."
He didn't defend himself immediately.
And that scared her.
Finally, he said, "I may have been too careless about the people running my businesses."
"That's not the same as innocent."
"No."
Harper stood.
"I need to go."
"Where?"
"Home."
He reached into his pocket and offered her car service information.
She refused.
"I don't want another favor."
"Then take a cab. I'll cover it."
"No."
"Harper—"
"I said no."
He stopped.
She walked out.
At one in the morning, she reached her apartment.
The hallway light was broken.
Her landlord had taped another warning to her door.
She tore it down without reading it.
Inside, everything looked normal.
Until she reached her bedroom.
The shoebox was missing.
Her closet had been emptied.
Drawers stood open.
Someone had searched her apartment.
Harper backed toward the door.
Then she noticed a folded photograph on her pillow.
It showed her mother sitting in a wheelchair.
Alive.
Terrified.
A man's hand rested on the back of the chair.
The photograph had been taken that evening.
On the back was written:
Return what Iris gave her.
Harper sank onto the bed.
She didn't have anything.
At least, she didn't think she did.
Then she remembered the napkin.
The one her mother had tried to hand her.
The nurse had thrown it away.
Or had she?
Harper closed her eyes.
She remembered bending to pick up her purse.
Her mother had grabbed her sleeve.
There had been something small tucked into the lining of her mother's cardigan.
A tiny blue ribbon.
Her mother had tapped it three times.
Harper hadn't understood.
Now she did.
Her mother had hidden something in her clothes.
And whoever had taken her was trying to find it.
Harper grabbed her phone.
She dialed Vincent.
He answered before the second ring.
"Harper?"
Her voice broke.
"They took my mother."
A pause.
"Where are you?"
"My apartment."
"Are you safe?"
"I don't know."
"Call the police again. Tell them about the break-in. Don't touch anything else."
Harper pressed a hand over her mouth.
"Vincent?"
"Yes?"
"There's something you need to know."
May you like
She looked at the photograph.
"My mother knew your sister was going to die."
