After a Desperate Call, I Found My Son-in-Law with a Baseball Bat, Saying My Daughter Deserved "Punishment" — I Should Have Listened Sooner
The Oakhaven Public Library was a sanctuary of quiet, its hushed atmosphere a stark contrast to the growing unease in Arthur’s life. Rows of books stood sentinel, their pages holding countless stories, and Arthur hoped one of them held a clue to Eliza’s.
He found Brenda Shaw behind the circulation desk, her spectacles perched on her nose as she meticulously sorted a stack of returned books. Brenda, the town’s librarian and archivist, was known for her photographic memory and her quiet, unassuming nature.
“Brenda, good morning,” Arthur said, trying to keep his voice even.
Brenda looked up, her expression shifting from polite efficiency to a slight wariness. The town’s whispers had clearly reached even this quiet haven.
“Arthur,” she replied, her voice soft. She still offered a small, hesitant smile, a tiny thread of normalcy in a world that felt increasingly askew.
He leaned against the counter, trying to project an air of casual inquiry. “I was hoping you could help me. I’m trying to track down some old records, maybe anything Eliza might have checked out recently. Or anything related to her interests.”
Brenda frowned slightly, her brow furrowing in concentration. “Eliza hasn’t been in much lately, not since… well, not in quite a while.”
Arthur felt a pang of despair. Another dead end in Eliza’s recent history, another sign of her isolation under Marcus’s roof.
“What about earlier then? Before everything changed,” he pressed, thinking of the time around his wife’s passing. “Any specific topics she was researching, perhaps for her art, or just general interest?”
Brenda shook her head slowly. “Not really Eliza. Her borrowing habits were quite consistent, mostly art history and contemporary fiction. Nothing unusual.”
Arthur’s shoulders sagged slightly. He was grasping at straws, trying to find a pattern where perhaps none existed for Eliza.
“But,” Brenda added, her gaze thoughtful, “I do remember someone else who was very interested in… specific topics around that time.”
Arthur’s head snapped up. “Who?”
“Marcus Caldwell,” she said, her voice dropping a little, as if speaking a secret. “It was shortly after your wife, Sarah, passed away. He was quite frequent for a few weeks.”
A cold dread began to spread through Arthur’s chest. Marcus. Again.
“What was he interested in, Brenda?” Arthur asked, his voice barely above a whisper.
Brenda paused, her eyes seeming to search the rows of books behind her, plucking the memory from the vast shelves of her mind. “He asked for very old legal texts. Obscure ones. Things related to involuntary guardianship, I recall.”
She continued, “And inheritance laws. Not common requests at all. Most people just go to a lawyer for that, or use the online resources.”
Arthur’s breath hitched in his throat. Involuntary guardianship. Inheritance laws. The connection to Dr. Harding’s accidental slip was immediate and chilling. Marcus wasn’t just subtly undermining Eliza’s mental state; he was researching how to legally seize control of her.
A memory flashed through Arthur’s mind: a casual conversation with Sarah about her will, years ago. She had mentioned a trust for Eliza, something about ensuring her financial security, especially after a certain age, or in specific, unforeseen circumstances. The details had been vague to Arthur at the time, just part of responsible estate planning.
But Marcus, he now realized, had been dissecting those very “unforeseen circumstances.”
“He came in often?” Arthur pressed, needing every detail.
“Several times,” Brenda confirmed. “He took very detailed notes. He even asked me about specific precedents, if I remembered any local cases related to guardianship. Which I wouldn’t, of course; that’s not something we keep records of here.”
Arthur imagined Marcus in this very library, sitting at one of the polished oak tables, his handsome face bent over dusty legal tomes, meticulously planning Eliza’s ruin. The picture was grotesque, a mask of charming concern hiding a calculating monster.
He recalled a small, wooden birdhouse Eliza had painted for her grandmother, her initial design messy but full of spirit. He could almost hear Marcus’s dismissive comment about it needing “more structure” or being “a bit juvenile” for Eliza’s age, subtly eroding her confidence, preparing her for the very guardianship he was now researching.
He felt a profound sense of nausea. This wasn’t merely psychological manipulation; this was a pre-meditated assault on Eliza’s life and autonomy, planned down to the legal minutiae.
“Thank you, Brenda,” Arthur managed to say, his voice strained. “That’s… that’s very helpful.”
Brenda nodded, a sad understanding in her eyes. She hadn’t broken any confidences, but she had given Arthur a crucial piece of the puzzle.
As he left the library, the quiet sanctuary now felt tainted by Marcus’s cold, calculating presence. The legal texts on involuntary guardianship, the meticulous notes—it painted a picture of a man who had planned this tragedy with ruthless precision. The cold dread in his stomach solidified into a burning certainty. Marcus was after Eliza’s inheritance, and he was using her vulnerability as a weapon.
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