Chapter 2 - WHAT RICHARD EXPECTED
The officers searched the house until late afternoon.
They photographed the laundry room, garage, trash cans, kitchen cabinets, and every surface Richard might have touched. They took his coffee mug, the gift packaging, the ribbon, the skincare products, and the bath towel I had used on Emma’s face.
They also took Daniel’s phone.
He resisted for half a second.
It was brief enough that the younger officer may not have noticed.
I did.
“We need to confirm the timing of your calls and messages,” she explained.
“I was at the hospital with my daughter.”
“We understand.”
Daniel looked toward me.
I waited for him to hand it over.
He finally unlocked the screen and placed the phone inside an evidence pouch.
By then, Richard’s truck had been searched. His wallet was in the center console. His prescription medication was in a leather bag behind the driver’s seat.
He had left without money, a coat, or blood-pressure pills.
But he had taken his phone.
That meant he hadn’t simply panicked.
He had expected someone to help him.
At five in the evening, I drove to Strong Memorial Hospital through streets lined with snowbanks and darkened Christmas decorations. Plastic reindeer glowed on front lawns. Families carried foil-covered dishes into warm houses.
I kept thinking about how close we had come to being one of them.
Emma was in a private room on the pediatric floor. White ointment covered both cheeks, and gauze rested loosely along the worst areas near her jaw.
Daniel sat beside her bed, reading from a book she wasn’t listening to.
She reached for me as soon as I entered.
I held her carefully.
“Is Grandpa mad at me?” she whispered.
“No.”
“Then why did he give me bad cream?”
I looked over her shoulder at Daniel.
He lowered the book.
“We don’t know yet,” he said.
Emma’s body tightened against mine.
Children know when adults choose words instead of truth.
Dr. Priya Patel entered shortly afterward and explained that Emma had suffered chemical burns. The treatment had limited the damage, but healing would take time. There could be discoloration. Possibly scarring.
“We’ll know more over the next several days,” she said.
“Was it an accident?” I asked.
Dr. Patel glanced at the door before answering.
“The substance appears too concentrated to be a normal ingredient or manufacturing contamination. Law enforcement will need laboratory confirmation, but someone most likely introduced it into the jar.”
Daniel rubbed both hands over his face.
I asked, “Would Richard have known what it would do?”
“If he read the warning label, he should have understood that it could cause serious injury.”
Emma looked at me.
I smiled because she needed me to.
Then I walked into the hallway before my knees gave way.
Daniel followed.
“My father’s sick,” he said quietly.
“He isn’t confused.”
“I didn’t say confused.”
“You’ve defended him every time he crossed a line.”
“I didn’t defend this.”
“You said Grandpa picked the gift himself before Emma opened it.”
“He did.”
“How did you know?”
Daniel’s gaze shifted toward the nurses’ station.
“He showed it to me.”
“When?”
“A few days ago.”
“Where?”
“At his house.”
Richard lived forty minutes away in a cedar-sided home near Canandaigua Lake. We had not visited him in nearly a month.
“You haven’t been to his house.”
“I stopped there after work.”
“You told me you were helping Mark move furniture.”
“I didn’t want another argument about my father.”
His answer came too smoothly.
“What else did you lie about?”
“Laura, our daughter is in a hospital bed.”
“That’s exactly why I’m asking.”
He pressed his lips together.
“Not here.”
He walked back into Emma’s room.
For the first time since I had married him eleven years earlier, I didn’t follow.
Detective Elena Morales arrived shortly before midnight. She had dark hair streaked with gray and a direct way of speaking that made evasions feel childish.
Richard’s phone had last connected to a tower near Victor, east of Rochester. His younger son, Mark, lived nearby.
Mark claimed he had not seen him.
Detective Morales did not appear convinced.
She also told me the skincare set had been purchased online using Daniel’s credit card.
I stared at her.
“Daniel said Richard picked it out.”
“He may have. Your husband could have placed the order for him.”
“Did Daniel tell you that?”
“He said his father gave him cash.”
That was possible.
Richard refused to order anything online because he believed every website was designed to steal his identity. He often asked Daniel to buy tools, hunting supplies, and gifts.
Still, Daniel had never mentioned helping with Emma’s present.
“Was the package shipped here?” I asked.
Detective Morales paused.
“Yes.”
“Who opened it?”
“Your husband says he did.”
The hallway seemed to narrow.
“Richard brought the wrapped gift last night.”
“That’s what your husband reported.”
“But Daniel opened the shipping box?”
“Yes.”
“Did he open the skincare jar?”
“He says he didn’t.”
I looked through the window in Emma’s door.
Daniel sat beside her bed, holding her hand.
He appeared exactly as a frightened father should appear.
Detective Morales followed my gaze.
“Mrs. Pierce, was anyone recording Christmas morning?”
The question startled me.
“I don’t think so.”
“Your husband had his phone propped against a book on the shelf across from the tree.”
A memory returned.
A black rectangle beside our framed wedding photograph.
I had assumed Daniel was playing Christmas music through the speaker.
“He was filming?”
“He says he wanted a video of your daughter opening gifts.”
Daniel rarely recorded anything. Birthdays, school concerts, vacations—I was always the one behind the camera.
Detective Morales opened her notebook.
“Your husband deleted that video from his phone before he returned home with the officers.”
Through the glass, Daniel lifted his head.
May you like
He saw me standing with the detective.
The color drained from his face.
