Chapter 13 - The Black Notebook
While the fire crew suppressed the flames in the downstairs hallway, arson investigators arrived on Bennett Street.
The damage to the house was localized—mostly concentrated in the ground-floor storage closet where container remnants of chemical accelerant were discovered near the wooden studs.
And on the second floor, the heavy oak bedroom door remained standing, its exterior brass deadbolt still thrown in the locked position, charred black by the surrounding heat.
I sat in the back of an ambulance, receiving treatment for smoke inhalation and minor cuts on my hands.
I held my soot-covered purse tightly against my lap.
Inside was my black notebook—the book containing seven years of documented dates, times, financial transactions, and recorded conversations.
Officer Miller walked over to the open rear doors of the ambulance, holding a clipboard.
“Caitlyn,” he said softly. “The arson investigator confirmed the bedroom door was secured from the hallway exterior. And dispatch verified your 911 call came in three minutes before your mother made her call from the front lawn.”
He looked toward the police cruiser parked near the curb, where my mother and sister sat in the back seat, surrounded by flashing red and blue lights.
“Your mother is claiming the lock was a safety measure installed years ago for your protection,” Miller added.
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I reached into my purse, pulled out the black notebook along with a small flash drive, and handed them to the officer.
“On this drive are recorded audio files from tonight’s dinner,” I said, my voice steady and cold. “Including the moment my sister locked the door and told me to burn.”
