Her Husband Was the First on the Scene of a Horrific Murder — But His Alibi Hid a Chilling Truth She Would Uncover
Morales’s confirmation hardened my resolve, but also amplified my fear. Leo was a cornered viper.
I knew aggressive questioning wouldn’t be enough. He would deny, deflect, charm, and gaslight. He needed undeniable proof, something that spoke for itself.
My mind went back to Daisy’s memory, her “special book,” the one he always wrote in. The appointment book was a clue, but it wasn’t the full story. It wasn’t the locked wooden box, nor the detailed confession I now craved.
I remembered Lily Donovan’s drawing of Leo inside the house, the small locket with her initials buried in the planter. Leo thought nothing of children’s things, often dismissing them.
Perhaps he had hidden the crucial, detailed confession in a place he thought no one would look: a child’s space. A place only a child might notice, or where he might hide something he didn’t want *me* to find.
I returned home, my heart a drum against my ribs. Leo was still out, likely aware that the net was tightening, perhaps already putting his escape plans into motion.
I told Daisy we were playing a new game: “Super Secret Treasure Hunt.” She loved treasure hunts.
“What kind of treasure, Mama?” she asked, her eyes sparkling with excitement.
“Daddy’s special book,” I said, trying to keep my voice light. “The one you told me about. We have to find it.”
She immediately became my enthusiastic partner. “Oh, the one he put in the secret box!” she chirped. “But it’s gone now.”
“He probably moved it to an even *more* secret spot,” I explained. “And only a super smart treasure hunter like you will find it.”
We started in Daisy’s room, a space usually a whirlwind of toys and colorful drawings. I began a frantic, methodical search.
I checked under the bed, inside toy chests, behind clothes in her small closet. Daisy, following my lead, giggled and pointed, eager to help.
“Maybe in my dollhouse?” she suggested, carefully lifting the roof of her miniature home.
“Good idea!” I said, my heart sinking as I found only tiny plastic furniture.
We moved through her room, inch by painstaking inch. Every stuffed animal was lifted, every book removed from its shelf, every drawer opened.
The afternoon sun streamed through her window, illuminating dust motes dancing in the air. Time felt like it was slipping away, each passing minute a precious commodity.
I recalled Leo’s dismissive attitude towards children’s spaces, how he considered them trivial, unobservant. He would never suspect an adult searching there, let alone the very child whose room it was.
Daisy, meanwhile, was exploring her closet. It was a small space, filled with her colorful clothes, tiny shoes, and a few cherished keepsakes.
I moved to the back of the closet, pushing aside her winter coats. I ran my hand along the baseboard, feeling for anything loose.
“Mama, look!” Daisy exclaimed, her voice filled with childlike wonder. “My floor is wobbly!”
She was kneeling, her small fingers pressing down on a section of the wooden floorboard near the back wall of her closet. It dipped slightly, giving way.
My heart leaped into my throat. A loose floorboard. A perfect hiding spot.
I hurried to her side, pushing away the clothes. I knelt, my fingers tracing the outline of the loose board.
It wasn’t perfectly flush. There was a tiny gap, almost imperceptible unless you were looking for it. Or unless you were a small child playing on the floor.
“Let’s see if we can lift it,” I said, my voice barely above a whisper. My breath caught in my throat.
This was it. This had to be it. The final piece of Leo’s chilling puzzle.
I knew, with a certainty that both thrilled and terrified me, that we were on the brink of a profound, devastating discovery. The “Super Secret Treasure Hunt” was about to yield its most dangerous prize.
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