The morning dragged on under a cloud of suspicion. After the discovery of Daniela's key wrapped in blood-stained cloth, Amma sat apart from the family, her arms folded tightly across her chest. Every time someone glanced at her, her face hardened, though her eyes glistened with tears she refused to shed.
Detective Chris Harlow remained in the kitchen, speaking quietly with his team. His low voice carried enough weight to make everyone uneasy, though no one dared interrupt.
Jack sat near the window, Daniela's journal hidden inside his jacket. He hadn't dared leave it in her room overnight. The words she'd written burned in his mind: "If something happens to me, it won't be an accident. I know too much. About Jimmy. About Jake. About Amma. Even Anny."
Now Amma was the focus, and the coincidence rattled him. But Jack wasn't ready to tell Chris about the journal yet. Not when it might put Amma in prison without the full truth uncovered. Daniela had trusted him, not the police.
---
The tension finally broke when John slammed his hand on the dining table. "Enough of this silence. We are a family. If any of you know something, speak now."
Amma shot up from her seat. "I already told you—I didn't kill Daniela! Yes, she gave me the key months ago. Yes, I lost it. But why would I hide it in the yard? Why would I cover it in blood?"
Jake muttered darkly, "Because you're lying."
Amma turned on him, her voice sharp. "You think I'm lying? You're the one who was outside last night. You're the one sneaking around while the police were here."
All eyes shifted to Jake. His face flushed, but his jaw tightened. "I told Jack to forget about that."
Chris, who had stepped back into the room, caught that last part. His eyes narrowed. "Forget about what?"
Jake froze. Jack's pulse quickened. If he spoke now, Jake would be cornered. But before Jack could answer, Jake said quickly, "I went outside for air, alright? I couldn't breathe in here. You think that means I killed her?"
Chris studied him for a long moment, then scribbled something into his notebook. "Interesting how many of you have reasons to look guilty."
---
Later, when the police left again to process the new evidence, Jack pulled Jimmy aside on the porch.
"You knew Daniela better than most," Jack said. "What do you think she meant by saying she knew too much? She hinted at it in her journal."
Jimmy's eyes widened slightly. "Her journal? You found it?"
Jack stiffened. He hadn't meant to reveal that. "Forget I said that. Just tell me—did she talk to you about anyone?"
Jimmy leaned on the porch rail, lowering his voice. "Daniela told me things sometimes. Half-truths, hints. She liked watching people squirm. But lately, she was scared. She thought someone close to her was hiding something dangerous. She never said who."
Jack frowned. "You don't think it was Amma?"
Jimmy hesitated. "Maybe. But I'd bet money it was Jake."
Jack narrowed his eyes. "Why Jake?"
"Because Daniela once told me Jake was desperate. That he owed someone a lot of money. She said he was planning something reckless to fix it. If she confronted him about it, maybe he panicked."
The thought chilled Jack. Daniela's notes about Jake, his strange behavior, and now Jimmy's claim—it all lined up too well.
But before Jack could press further, Esther opened the door. "Jack, the detective wants you inside."
---
Chris stood in the living room, holding a manila envelope. He looked grim. "We just got early results from the forensics team. The blood on the cloth around Daniela's key—it's hers. No surprise there. But the fingerprints on the cloth…" He paused, letting the silence stretch. "They belong to someone in this house."
A sharp inhale rippled through the family. Chris opened the folder. "Amma, the prints are yours."
Amma's eyes went wide. "What? That's impossible!"
Chris stepped closer. "Do you want to explain how your fingerprints ended up on a blood-stained cloth wrapped around the victim's key?"
"I told you—I lost the key! I never touched that cloth. Someone planted it to frame me!"
"Convenient story," Chris said flatly.
Jack watched Amma closely. Her panic seemed genuine, but panic could be faked. Still, something didn't sit right. Daniela had suspected Amma, but would Amma really be so sloppy?
Anny finally spoke up from the corner, her voice trembling. "Maybe it was someone else… someone who had access to Amma's things. Someone who could've stolen her prints."
Chris glanced at her. "You mean you think someone lifted Amma's prints to plant them?"
"Yes!" Anny said quickly. "That's possible, isn't it?"
Chris didn't answer directly, but the suggestion hung in the air.
---
That night, unable to rest, Jack returned to Daniela's journal. He flipped through the pages again, looking for something he'd missed. Near the back, faint impressions from a pen pressed through the paper caught his eye. The page itself was blank, but when he tilted it under the lamp, he could make out indentations of words that had been written and torn out.
Grabbing a pencil, he gently shaded across the page, revealing the faint outline of the missing note.
"The truth is hidden in the locket. Don't trust them. Especially—"
The rest was missing. The page had been ripped out.
Jack's heart pounded. The locket. The necklace Chris had taken into evidence. Daniela had hidden something inside it. Something so important that she had left herself a note about it.
And she hadn't lived long enough to tell him who not to trust.
A knock startled him. He quickly closed the journal.
It was Chris. The detective stepped into the room, his expression unreadable. "You've been keeping things from me, Jack."
Jack's breath caught. "What do you mean?"
Chris folded his arms. "I know you found something last night. Jake said you were going through Daniela's things. Did you take anything?"
Jack swallowed hard. He couldn't hand over the journal—not yet. Not until he understood what was inside the locket.
"I didn't find anything," Jack said carefully.
Chris studied him, eyes narrowing. "You sure about that?"
"Yes," Jack lied.
Chris held his gaze for a long moment, then finally said, "Good. Because if I find out you're hiding evidence, Jack, I'll consider you a suspect too."
He left without another word, the tension lingering like smoke.
Jack leaned back, gripping the journal. He couldn't trust the police. Not fully. Daniela had trusted him. And now, the only way forward was to find the missing page and unlock the secret hidden in her necklace.
But as he tucked the journal back into his jacket, he didn't notice the shadow outside the window—the figure watching him closely, listening to every word.
The killer wasn't just close.
The killer already knew Jack had Daniela's journals.