THE LAST VOICEMAIL

Chapter One — One Missed Call

The voicemail arrived at 2:17 in the morning.

Nia Carter didn’t hear the phone vibrate.

She didn’t hear the soft buzz against the wood of her nightstand or see the screen illuminate the dark bedroom for several seconds before fading back to black.

She was asleep.

For once.

Sleep had become unpredictable since her mother died.

Some nights, Nia collapsed before ten, exhausted by grief in a way she had never known a human being could be exhausted.

Other nights, she lay awake until sunrise, staring at the ceiling and remembering things that had no business being important.

Her mother’s hands peeling an orange.

The way she hummed while washing dishes.

The little clicking sound she made with her tongue whenever she was irritated but trying not to say anything.

Her obsession with keeping plastic grocery bags inside other plastic grocery bags.

The way she always ended phone calls the same way.

Love you. Pray before you sleep.

Things Nia had barely noticed when her mother was alive had become sacred after she died.

It had been twenty-three days.

Twenty-three days since Denise Carter had collapsed in her kitchen.

Twenty-three days since Nia had received the call.

Twenty-three days since she’d driven across town repeating, Please, God. Please, God. Please, God, even though something in her sister’s voice had already told her there was nothing left to pray for.

Her mother was sixty-two.

Too young, Nia thought.

Everyone said that.

Sixty-two is too young.

As if there were an age when losing your mother would somehow make sense.

At 6:41 that morning, Nia woke.

For several seconds she simply lay there.

Then came the remembering.

It happened every morning.

That tiny space between sleep and consciousness when her life was still the old life.

Then reality returned.

Mommy is dead.

Nia reached for her phone.

There were seven notifications.

Two emails.

A weather alert.

Three social media notifications.

A text from her sister, Simone.

And one voicemail.

Nia almost ignored it.

Probably spam.

She opened Simone’s text first.

You awake?

Sent at 6:12.

Nia typed:

Unfortunately.

Three dots appeared almost immediately.

You coming by Mom’s today?

Nia stared at the message.

Their mother’s house.

Simone still called it Mom’s.

So did Nia.

Neither of them had been able to say the house yet.

Later. Need to finish going through her bedroom.

She pressed send.

Then she noticed the voicemail again.

No missed call.

That was strange.

She tapped it.

The number displayed on the screen.

Nia stopped breathing.

For a moment, her brain refused to understand what her eyes were seeing.

She blinked.

Looked again.

Then sat upright.

MOM

The contact photograph was still there.

Her mother at Christmas two years earlier, laughing because Nia had taken the picture before she was ready.

Nia’s fingers went cold.

“No.”

She stared at the screen.

There had to be an explanation.

Maybe an old voicemail had somehow resurfaced.

Maybe something had synced.

Maybe—

Her thumb hovered over PLAY.

She couldn’t press it.

Not yet.

She hadn’t listened to her mother’s voice since the funeral.

There were old videos.

Birthday messages.

Voice notes.

Dozens of them.

Nia knew they existed.

She simply couldn’t bear to hear them.

Hearing her mother’s voice would make her alive again for a few seconds.

And then she would die all over again.

Nia put the phone down.

She walked into the bathroom.

Brushed her teeth.

Washed her face.

Made coffee.

She carried the mug into the living room and sat on the sofa.

The phone remained on the nightstand.

She lasted eleven minutes.

Then she went back for it.

Nia sat on the edge of her bed.

She opened the voicemail.

MOM

Her thumb trembled.

“Come on, Nia.”

She pressed PLAY.

Static.

Then breathing.

Nia froze.

Her mother’s breathing.

She knew it.

Then—

“Nia?”

The coffee mug slipped from her hand.

It struck the rug without breaking, spilling coffee across the cream fibers.

Nia didn’t notice.

Her mother’s voice filled the room.

Low.

Unsteady.

Frightened.

“Nia, baby, listen to me.”

Nia covered her mouth.

“Oh my God.”

“If you get this message, I need you to listen very carefully.”

A pause.

Something moved in the background.

Her mother whispered:

“I don’t have much time.”

Nia’s heart began pounding.

“Mommy?”

She knew her mother couldn’t answer.

Still, the word escaped.

Then Denise said something that made Nia’s blood turn cold.

“Don’t trust anyone.”

Static crackled.

“Especially—”

The recording stopped.

Nia stared at the phone.

That was it.

Twenty-one seconds.

She immediately played it again.

Then again.

And again.

On the fourth replay, she heard something she hadn’t noticed before.

Just before her mother said Especially—

there was a sound in the background.

A door opening.

And then—

another voice.

A man’s voice.

Nia replayed the final three seconds.

She turned the volume all the way up.

The voice was faint.

But it was there.

And whoever he was…

he had been in the room with her mother.

---

Chapter Two — Twenty-Three Days

“Send it to me.”

Nia stood in her mother’s kitchen with the phone pressed to her ear.

“No.”

“Nia.”

“I said no.”

Simone exhaled loudly.

“You called me at seven in the morning practically hysterical, told me Mommy left some creepy voicemail, and now you won’t send it?”

“Because I want you to hear it here.”

“Why?”

Nia looked around the kitchen.

Nothing had changed.

That bothered her.

The yellow dish towel still hung from the oven handle.

A bowl of artificial lemons sat on the table.

Three magnets held grocery coupons to the refrigerator.

Her mother’s reading glasses rested beside a Bible on the counter.

A home shouldn’t be allowed to look this normal after the person who made it a home was gone.

“Because there’s something else.”

Silence.

“What?”

“I’ll tell you when you get here.”

“Nia—”

“Just come.”

Simone arrived twenty-eight minutes later wearing leggings, an oversized sweatshirt and the expression she reserved specifically for her younger sister.

The one that said You are exhausting me.

“Okay.”

She dropped her purse onto a chair.

“Let me hear it.”

Nia played the voicemail.

Simone’s expression changed immediately when their mother’s voice began.

By the end, she was crying.

“Play it again.”

Nia did.

This time Simone listened differently.

Not as a daughter.

As someone searching for something.

When the recording ended, she wiped her face.

“It’s old.”

“What?”

“It has to be.”

“That’s what I thought.”

“Then why are you looking at me like that?”

Nia unlocked the phone.

“Look at the timestamp.”

Simone looked.

Her face went still.

2:17 A.M.

Then the date.

Simone frowned.

“No.”

“Exactly.”

“No, Nia. That’s impossible.”

“I know.”

“Mommy’s been dead three weeks.”

“Twenty-three days.”

“I know how long she’s been dead!”

The words came out sharper than Simone intended.

She looked away.

“Sorry.”

Nia said nothing.

Simone picked up the phone.

“Maybe her phone company had some kind of delay.”

“For twenty-three days?”

“Technology does weird things.”

“From a disconnected phone?”

Simone looked at her.

Nia continued.

“I called the number.”

“You what?”

“I called it.”

“And?”

“Disconnected.”

Simone handed the phone back.

“Then that’s your answer.”

“How is that my answer?”

“Some delayed server issue. Old voicemail finally pushed through.”

“Okay.”

Nia folded her arms.

“Then explain the message.”

“What about it?”

“Mom sounds scared.”

“Maybe she was.”

“Of what?”

“I don’t know.”

“And why is she telling me not to trust anyone?”

Simone rubbed her forehead.

“Maybe it wasn’t meant for you.”

“She says my name.”

“Nia—”

“Twice.”

Simone walked toward the refrigerator.

She opened it.

Then immediately closed it.

There was barely anything inside.

They had thrown most of the food away days ago.

“You’re grieving,” she said quietly.

Nia stared at her.

“What is that supposed to mean?”

“It means you’re looking for something.”

“I’m looking for an explanation.”

“No. You’re looking for a reason.”

“A reason for what?”

“Mommy dying.”

The room went silent.

Nia’s jaw tightened.

“We know why she died.”

“Exactly.”

Their mother’s death certificate said cardiac arrest.

There had been no reason to suspect anything else.

Denise had complained of indigestion that afternoon.

By evening, she was dead.

A tragedy.

Sudden.

Devastating.

But not mysterious.

Until now.

Nia picked up the phone.

“There’s a man’s voice at the end.”

Simone looked at her.

“What?”

“I didn’t hear it the first few times. Listen.”

She played the final seconds.

Static.

A door.

Then the faint voice.

Simone leaned closer.

Again.

Nia replayed it.

Again.

This time Simone’s face changed.

“You hear it.”

“I hear something.”

“A man.”

“Maybe the television.”

“Mom didn’t sleep with the television on.”

“Nia.”

“She didn’t.”

“Fine. Maybe someone was visiting.”

“At whatever time this was recorded?”

“We don’t know when it was recorded.”

“Exactly.”

Simone stared at her sister.

For the first time since arriving, she seemed uneasy.

“Where’s Mom’s phone?”

Nia looked toward the hallway.

“In her bedroom.”

They had barely touched Denise’s personal things.

Clothes were one thing.

Paperwork another.

Her phone felt different.

Private.

Nia opened the bedroom drawer where they’d placed it after the police returned Denise’s belongings.

There it was.

Black case.

Small crack across the upper-right corner.

Nia pressed the power button.

Nothing.

“Battery’s dead,” Simone said.

They found a charger.

For several minutes, neither woman spoke as the phone slowly came back to life.

Then the screen illuminated.

Denise’s photograph of her grandchildren appeared.

Nia swallowed hard.

The phone required a passcode.

Simone entered their mother’s birthday.

Incorrect.

She tried the last four digits of her phone number.

Incorrect.

“Don’t keep guessing,” Nia warned. “It might lock.”

Simone lowered the phone.

“Do you know it?”

“No.”

They stared at the screen.

Then Nia noticed something.

A notification.

Not a new one.

An old one that had never been cleared.

VOICE RECORDER

1 unsaved recording recovered

Nia and Simone looked at each other.

“What does that mean?” Simone whispered.

“I don’t know.”

Nia tapped it.

The phone demanded the passcode.

Then, from somewhere near the front of the house—

a floorboard creaked.

Both women froze.

Simone turned toward the bedroom door.

“Nia…”

Another sound.

This time unmistakable.

The front door.

Opening.

Someone had just entered their mother’s house.

---

Chapter Three — The Key

Nia grabbed the first thing within reach.

Her mother’s lamp.

Simone stared at her.

“What are you going to do with that?”

“I don’t know.”

“Put it down.”

“Somebody is in the house!”

“And you’re going to kill them with HomeGoods?”

“Do you have a better idea?”

Another sound came from the hallway.

Footsteps.

Simone grabbed Nia’s arm.

Then a man’s voice called:

“Hello?”

Both sisters stopped.

Nia knew the voice.

“Uncle Raymond?”

A few seconds later, Raymond Carter appeared in the bedroom doorway.

He stopped when he saw Nia holding the lamp.

“What in God’s name—”

Nia lowered it.

“What are you doing here?”

Raymond frowned.

“What am I doing here? Why are you standing in Denise’s bedroom looking like you’re about to rob a furniture store?”

Simone started laughing.

It wasn’t funny.

But grief did strange things.

Sometimes laughter arrived simply because the alternative was screaming.

Raymond was their mother’s younger brother.

Fifty-eight.

Tall.

Always impeccably dressed.

The kind of man who ironed jeans and wore cologne to the grocery store.

He had handled almost everything after Denise died.

Funeral home.

Church arrangements.

Insurance calls.

Food.

Visitors.

He had been the person everyone leaned on when Nia and Simone could barely function.

Nia put the lamp down.

“You scared us.”

“I knocked.”

“We didn’t hear you.”

“Obviously.”

Then Nia noticed the keys in his hand.

Her eyes narrowed.

“How did you get in?”

Raymond glanced at the keys.

“I have a key.”

“Since when?”

“Since forever.”

Nia looked at Simone.

Simone shrugged.

“I didn’t know.”

Raymond walked into the room.

“Your mother gave it to me years ago.”

“Why?”

“Because I’m her brother.”

Something about the answer irritated Nia.

Maybe because it wasn’t really an answer.

Raymond noticed the phone on the bed.

His expression changed.

Only slightly.

But Nia saw it.

“Going through her things?”

“We’re trying.”

He nodded.

“You shouldn’t rush.”

“We’re not.”

“Good.”

He picked up one of Denise’s scarves from the dresser.

For a moment, his face softened.

“Still doesn’t feel real.”

Nia watched him.

Then she remembered the voicemail.

Don’t trust anyone.

Especially—

She studied her uncle.

No.

That was ridiculous.

Raymond had adored her mother.

Everyone knew that.

“Why are you here?” Simone asked.

Raymond placed the scarf down.

“Looking for some paperwork.”

“What paperwork?”

“Insurance documents.”

“I thought everything was settled.”

“Most things.”

He smiled.

“Death creates more paperwork than life.”

Neither sister responded.

Raymond looked at the phone again.

“Did you manage to get into it?”

Nia’s eyes sharpened.

“No.”

“Probably for the best.”

“Why?”

He shrugged.

“Your mother was private.”

Then he smiled.

“Let her keep a few secrets.”

Nia felt something shift inside her.

A tiny movement.

Instinct.

Raymond left ten minutes later without finding the paperwork he’d supposedly come for.

Nia waited until his car pulled away.

Then she locked the door.

Simone watched her.

“Don’t.”

“Don’t what?”

“Turn Uncle Raymond into a suspect because Mommy left some weird voicemail.”

“I didn’t say anything.”

“You didn’t have to.”

Nia returned to the bedroom.

Her mother’s phone remained on the bed.

1 unsaved recording recovered

“We need the passcode.”

Simone sighed.

“We don’t know it.”

Nia stared at the screen.

Then something occurred to her.

Their mother changed passwords constantly.

But she had a system.

Birthdays.

Anniversaries.

Important dates.

Nia tried their grandmother’s birthday.

Wrong.

The year Denise bought the house.

Wrong.

Then Nia remembered something her mother used to say.

The best day of my life wasn’t when I got married. It was the day I became a mother.

Nia looked at Simone.

“When were you born?”

Simone rolled her eyes.

“You know when I was born.”

“Give me the numbers.”

Nia entered Simone’s birth month and day.

The phone unlocked.

Both women stared at it.

“Of course,” Simone whispered.

Nia tapped the recorder notification.

A file appeared.

No title.

Only a date.

Nia’s breath caught.

The recording had been created the day their mother died.

Length:

47 minutes, 13 seconds.

“Play it,” Simone said.

Nia pressed the button.

For the first several seconds, there was nothing.

Then their mother’s voice.

Not frightened this time.

Angry.

“You lied to me.”

A man’s voice responded.

Too muffled to identify.

Nia increased the volume.

Her mother spoke again.

“I know what you did.”

The man answered.

Still unclear.

Then Denise said:

“You’ve been taking it for years.”

Simone looked at Nia.

“Taking what?”

Nia shook her head.

On the recording, something slammed.

Then the man’s voice became louder.

“You should’ve left it alone, Denise.”

Nia’s stomach tightened.

That voice.

Something about it was familiar.

Denise answered.

“I’m not letting you do this to my daughters.”

Silence.

Then the man said something that made both sisters look at each other.

“You don’t have daughters if you’re dead.”

Simone grabbed Nia’s arm.

“Oh my God.”

The recording continued.

Movement.

Heavy breathing.

Then Denise again.

“If anything happens to me, they will find it.”

The man’s voice sharpened.

“Find what?”

Denise laughed.

It was a strange laugh.

Defiant.

“You think I kept everything in this house?”

A long silence.

Then—

“No.”

Denise’s voice dropped.

“I left it where you will never think to look.”

The recording erupted into movement.

Something crashed.

Nia heard her mother gasp.

Then the audio became muffled.

For nearly a minute there was only rustling.

And then—

nothing.

Nia stopped the recording.

Her hands were shaking.

“We need to call the police.”

Simone nodded immediately.

“Yes.”

But Nia didn’t move.

Something bothered her.

“What?” Simone asked.

“Mom said she left something.”

“I heard.”

“Somewhere he’d never think to look.”

“Nia, whatever this is, the police need—”

“Wait.”

Nia grabbed her own phone.

The voicemail.

She played it again.

Her mother’s frightened voice filled the bedroom.

Nia, baby, listen to me.

If you get this message, I need you to listen very carefully.

I don’t have much time.

Don’t trust anyone.

Especially—

The message ended.

Nia stared at the screen.

Then she noticed something she had somehow missed.

Beneath the voicemail was an option:

SHOW TRANSCRIPT

Her heart jumped.

“Nia?”

She tapped it.

Most of the transcription matched what they had heard.

But the software had captured something after the audio seemed to cut off.

Four additional words.

Nia read them.

Once.

Twice.

Then a third time.

Simone stepped closer.

“What does it say?”

Nia turned the phone toward her.

The final line read:

Especially your Uncle Raymond.

Neither woman spoke.

Then, from the driveway outside, came the unmistakable sound of a car door closing.

Nia moved to the window.

Her face drained of color.

Raymond’s car was back.

And this time…

he wasn’t alone.