When Sienna opened her eyes again, the light had turned soft and warm, falling lower through the window. She slipped off the bed and padded toward the door, refusing to look back at the room that felt like it still held her mother’s very being. The photo albums under the bed still beckoned her, but she refused to give in. Ever since she’d wiped away her tears last night, sitting on the steps, unmoving while the cops bustled around, she’d managed to keep control. Somewhat, anyway. Being in this room was overwhelming enough. If she opened the photo albums, saw her mom’s face again, that would unlock something that she wasn’t ready to face yet.

Slipping out the door, she closed it gently—reverently, almost—and walked down the stairs. The house was cold. Was the electricity still on? She had no idea when the bill was due. She walked into the kitchen, looking for any paperwork her mom had. Maybe taking care of the immediate worries was the best thing to be doing right now. She glanced back at the dark spot on the carpet, a shiver running through her. She was sitting less than ten feet from where her mother was murdered. Sienna jerked back in her chair, refusing to turn her head to look again.

Who was she kidding? She couldn’t stay here. Her mother’s spirit would haunt her wherever she went, but here it was overpowering, the walls closing in on her, the air thick with regret and sorrow. For nearly five years, she’d longed for the day when she’d walk out the door and never come back again. Now she was going to do it, but instead of being happy, the grief was tearing her heart in two. Her mom’s keys hung on a hook near the back door. Was it her car now? She stood, pushing the chair back. She should go, if only because the police had no idea who had broken in and brutally attacked her mom. That meant they had no idea if it was a once-off; a crime fueled by a junkie, high on coke, or a random rampage. Maybe it wasn’t. Maybe they were coming back.

Sienna moved quickly up the stairs, back to her room. She pulled out a small suitcase and threw in whatever would fit. She grabbed a box out of the top of her closest and filled it with the parts of her life she wanted to remember, the items she couldn’t bear to part with. If she was taking the car, there would be room for a few extras. She zipped the suitcase shut and hefted it to her door, stopping short. This was hopeless. She had a whole twenty dollars in her purse, and not much more in the bank. Her mom had given her money when she’d asked, but had drawn the line on Sienna ever getting a job. She bit down on her bottom lip, wincing when the pain finally registered. The safe. She was going to have to go back into the room.

She opened the door to her mom’s room, refusing to look around as she walked swiftly to the bedside drawer. There was a small safe there where her mom kept jewelry and a bit of cash. The thought of selling any of her mother’s pieces made her shoulders shake, but what choice did she have? She had no other relatives. It had always been just her and her mom, and she sure as shit wasn’t asking Tony for anything. That left no one else. They’d moved so much and, until she started pushing back, her mom had kept Sienna home. She didn’t have any friends that she could count on. Not with this.

She slipped the portable safe out of the drawer and grabbed her mom’s key ring, trying each until one finally slipped into the lock and turned. Inside, along with the bag of jewelry, was a wad of cash. It didn’t look to be much more than a thousand, but it would be enough for gas and a crappy motel room. Eventually, she’d have to look for work. But for that she’d need her I.D. She had her driver’s license, but what about her social security card? Her mom had held on to that. Did she even have a passport? Sienna had no idea.

She pawed through the rest of the safe. Nothing. Next to where she was sitting, the corner of a box peeked out from under the bed. Sienna took a deep breath. She could do this. She had to. She pulled out a box and opened it, pushing past the photo albums. She doubted she’d ever be ready to open those again. She quickly reached the bottom of the box, and so pulled out another and tried again. This one was filled with magazine clippings, recipes, and craft articles, along with some old newspaper stories. Another held fabric scraps and some of her baby clothes and toys, but no other papers. Pushing it aside, she stood. Maybe the closet? She walked over and into the walk-in closet, refusing to take a deep breath. Her mother’s scent would be everywhere in here. She dug through baskets of shoes, socks, and underwear, and pushed aside blouses and pants hung neatly in rows. There was a stack of plastic drawers filled with sewing tools, but nothing else. Was there something behind a shelving unit?

She reached under to check and her fingers brushed against a small gap in the floor. The crawl space. Could there be something in there? She leaned against the shelves and pushed until they moved, squeaking against the wooden floor. Leaning further forward, she pushed again until she maneuvered them through the closet door and out into the main room. Back into the closest she went, got as good a grip as she could on the hidden door’s edge, and pulled. Dust flew in her face and she coughed. It was dark down there, and damp looking, despite the sunshine outside. She reached down and her fingers brushed aside small fluffy pellets. Shit, was that asbestos?

Holding her breath, she stepped gingerly onto the first stair. When it held her weight, she trotted down the ladder and moved a few feet forward. Where was she? She could see the pipes for the kitchen—or was it the bathroom—snaking out ahead of her. She took another step forward, brushing her fingers along the wall. She trailed through the whole area, but there was nothing but old discarded building supplies and the occasional dust bunny. Feeling her way back to the ladder, she pulled herself up and slammed the door. Nothing, and now she needed another shower. She paced back to the bed, rubbing the dust from her arms. Why hadn’t she tried to talk to her mother more? A surge of anger rose through her, mingling with the crushing guilt. Why had her mom left her so totally unprepared? Sienna’s knees wobbled and she sank back onto the bed, gripping the mattress edge and digging her fingers in. What the hell was she going to do? Her fingers sank into the mattress, brushing along the seam.

What the hell? But that’s the middle of the mattress.

Springing up, Sienna pushed the quilt aside as carefully as she could, then the sheets. There! A long slit was cut into the mattress. She reached her hand in, pushing forward through the mattress core and her hand brushed against something. Pulling back, her hand emerged from the fabric and with it came a large manila envelope. She slid it open and poured the contents onto the floor. The first thing on top was her social security card. Sienna slipped it into her pocket, not bothering to read anything on it other than her name. She’d sort that out later. She wanted to find out what else was in here first. The next piece of paper was her mother’s birth certificate. This she looked at closely, as she’d never seen it before. Maybe it might help fill in some of the gaps about where the rest of her family was, if she had any left. Her eyebrows tugged together. What? The paper was in her mom’s things, but her mother’s name was Laura Bradley. Who the hell was Maggie Halstead? She blinked, looking down again. The birth date matched, but the unfamiliar name was still staring back at her.

Dropping it on the floor, she scrambled to pick up the next thing. It was another social security card. This one looked a lot newer than hers, still attached to the paper it had come on. It had Sienna’s name on it, too. She pulled out the other card that was in her pocket. This one was frayed on the edges, worn—and had a different number. The other one she held in her hand looked like it hadn’t been touched since it was issued. What the hell?

She had two social security cards, and her mother—whom she’d found tortured and murdered in their home—was using a fake name. What had Laura, Maggie—whoever the hell she was—been hiding, and had it gotten her killed?

Could it get Sienna killed next?

She grabbed the papers and her luggage and ran out the door.