Chapter 1
My husband was Zack Pierce. His dad, James Pierce, said Evelyn, Evelyn Pierce, had dementia and wanted her to move in with us so we could take care of her.
I really didn't want to take Evelyn in, but Zack said, "Come on, Mom raised me. It wasn't easy for her."
On the first day, Evelyn wet the bed three times. I tried not to gag as I changed the sheets.
The next day, she spilled her food everywhere, and the soup ended up all over me.
On the third night, around midnight, as I was changing her urine-soaked clothes, she suddenly grabbed my hand.
Her eyes were suddenly lucid, and she quickly stuffed a cold key into my pocket. Then she pressed her lips to my ear and whispered in a tiny voice, "Don't make a sound. Look under the bed."
I froze.
*****
On the day my husband's dad, James Pierce, called, I was in the kitchen making dinner.
"Yvette, something's off with Evelyn lately. She keeps forgetting things." James's voice was heavy with exhaustion. "Yesterday, she went out to buy groceries and couldn't even find her way back home."
My heart skipped a beat.
Evelyn Pierce was in her early sixties and had always been pretty healthy.
"James, should we take Evelyn to the hospital?" I asked.
"We already did," he sighed, "The doctor said it's early-stage Alzheimer's."
There was a brief silence before he continued, "Yvette, I'm getting old. I can't look after Evelyn anymore. Why don't you and Zack have her stay at your place for a few days?"
I tightened my grip on the phone.
Zack Pierce was my husband, James's only son.
"James, our apartment is tiny, and I've got work and barely any free time," I said.
"Then what are we supposed to do?" James's voice suddenly got louder. "Do you think it was easy for Evelyn to raise Zack all these years? Now she's sick, and you want to walk away?"
Before I could say anything else, Zack took the phone from me. "Dad, don't worry. I'll go pick up Mom tomorrow."
After he hung up, he turned to me. "Yvette, it's for a little while. It'll be over before you know it."
I looked him in the eye. "If Evelyn really has dementia, it's going to be tough taking care of her."
"We have to do it," he said, his tone leaving no room for argument. "She's my mom."
*****
The next day, James dropped Evelyn off at our place.
She sat slumped in a wheelchair, her eyes empty, drooling a little at the corner of her mouth.
Something inside me twisted.
Half a year ago, Evelyn was sharp and full of life. Why did she suddenly develop Alzheimer's disease?
"She can't take care of herself anymore," James said as he wheeled her in. "She needs someone to feed her, help her to the bathroom, and she wets the bed at night."
I rubbed my forehead. "James, how did you handle all this?"
"I'm no longer young. What could I possibly do?" He waved his hand. "That's why I brought her here. Yvette, sorry to trouble you."
With that, he hurried out the door, like he was scared I'd back out.
On the first day, Evelyn wet the bed three times.
Every single time, I had to change the sheets, swap out her clothes, and scrub her all over.
The whole room stank of urine.
I opened the window to let some air in, but the cold wind rushed through and had me shivering.
Zack came home from work, took one look around, and wrinkled his nose. "What's that awful smell?"
"Evelyn peed the bed." I kept my voice steady.
"Then you need to keep a better eye on her," he said, heading straight for the bedroom and closing the door behind him.
The next day at lunchtime, when I was feeding Evelyn, she suddenly jerked her hand and the bowl tipped over, sending hot soup spilling all over me.
I hissed in pain, sucking in a breath.
She stared at me, totally out of it, drool dripping from her mouth.
Biting back my frustration, I went to change my clothes.
When I came back, she was still sitting there, completely unchanged.
On the third night, the sharp smell of urine jolted me awake again.
I squeezed my eyes shut and took a few deep breaths before forcing myself out of bed.
Evelyn had peed herself again on the makeshift bed in the living room.
There was a huge wet patch soaking the sheets.
I switched on the light and went to the bathroom to grab some warm water and a towel.
As I was taking off her clothes, she suddenly grabbed my hand. Her grip was shockingly strong.
Startled, I looked up at her.
Evelyn's eyes were so clear that it was almost scary, totally different from the dazed, empty look she had all day.
She stared at me, then, in a rush, slipped something into my pajama pocket. It was a key, icy cold against my skin.
She pressed her lips right to my ear and whispered, in a voice barely above a breath, "Don't make a sound. Look under the bed."
My breath stopped for a moment.
Her eyes were far too lucid, nothing like those of a dementia patient.
But in the very next moment, she lay back down, her eyes vacant and drool trickling from her mouth, back to that demented look she had all day.
I gripped the key in my pocket, my hand drenched in sweat. Was she pretending?
I moved like a robot, changing her clothes and putting on clean sheets.
Only when her breathing became steady did I quietly walk over to the bed, crouch down, and pull up the hanging sheet.
There was a black combination box under the bed.
My fingers were shaking as I held the key.
I hauled the box out. It was heavy, its surface coated in dust.
I shot a glance at Evelyn, who was sleeping, then checked the bedroom door. Nothing stirred.
I hauled the box into the bathroom, shut the door, and flicked on the light.
I turned the key, and it unlocked with a satisfying click.
The box popped open.
On top sat a bundle of property documents, held together by a rubber band.
I opened the first one. Its owner was Evelyn, and the rest were hers as well.
I counted them. There were five altogether, which meant she owned five houses.
Underneath were several passbooks. I opened the first one. The balance was 230 thousand, the second was 140 thousand, and the third was 50 thousand. Altogether, it added up to over 400 thousand.
My heart was racing.
Why was James clueless about all this?' I wondered.
No, that was not it. He knew all along, but he kept quiet on purpose.
I kept digging through the box. Next, I found a medical report. It was Evelyn's. The diagnosis showed everything checked out normal. There were no signs of dementia. The date was three days ago.
My eyes went wide.
Three days ago, James told me Evelyn was losing her mind. But this report said she was fine. There were no signs of dementia at all.
At the very bottom was a letter.
The paper was yellowed, written in Evelyn's handwriting.
I unfolded it and read it line by line. [Yvette, if you're reading this, it proves my judgment was correct. James wants to harm me.
[Two weeks ago, I overheard James and Zack talking in the study.
[They said I owned too many houses, and once I'm dead, everything would go to them.
[Zack even asked if there was a way to make me die faster."
[James said, 'What's the hurry? We'll take our time.']
My hands were shaking so badly I could barely hold the letter.
It continued: [The next day, I went to the hospital for a full check-up. The doctor said I was perfectly healthy.
[But when I got home, James started slipping something into my medicine.
[I pretended to take it, but I always made sure to throw it up.
[Later, I started acting like I was losing my mind, and he bought it.
[He wants to send me to your place. I guess he's trying to dump the trouble on you.
[Yvette, you're the only one I can trust. Zack can't be counted on anymore. Please, I need your help.]
At the end of the letter was Evelyn's signature.
And in tiny letters, she wrote: [If I die, they're the ones who did it.]
I leaned back against the toilet lid, my mind a total blank.
James wanted to hurt Evelyn. And Zack was part of it, too.
I took several deep breaths, barely managing to calm my racing heart.
I had to help her. But I couldn't tip them off yet.
I put everything back in the box, locked it up, and shoved it back under the bed.
As I stood up, I heard the door open behind me.
I spun around.
Zack was standing in the bathroom doorway, frowning at me. "What are you doing in here in the middle of the night?"