Chapter 370: A Step Too Late
The Mid-Autumn Festival had just passed, and the osmanthus blossoms in the alley were in full bloom. A breeze swept over the courtyard wall, carrying in a faint, sweet, but not overpowering fragrance.
A family in Avenia was celebrating a wedding today, and Granny Foster had been invited to the banquet.
Before leaving, Granny Foster cooked a meal, left it warming in the pot, and reminded Isla Griffith to eat on time.
The house suddenly fell quiet, leaving only the TICK-TOCK, TICK-TOCK of the old grandfather clock in the corner.
Isla Griffith sat alone on a chair, a thick coat draped over her shoulders.
During her stay at Granny Foster’s, her body, weakened by the miscarriage, had gradually recovered. Her complexion improved day by day, and she no longer looked so downcast and gloomy.
When she left Aston, she hadn’t brought her phone and still hadn’t bought a new one, effectively cutting herself off from the outside world.
But Isla Griffith didn’t feel empty or bored at all. In fact, she relished this state of absolute peace and quiet, far from the hustle and bustle of the city.
In her free time, she would write in her journal, read, doodle, or learn embroidery, gardening, and cooking from Granny Foster. Her days were full and rewarding.
The television was on, tuned to the local news channel with the volume turned down low.
Isla Griffith listened idly as she ate lunch. It was mostly local agricultural news or interesting stories about the town.
Suddenly, the screen cut to a breaking news report, and the anchor’s tone grew noticeably solemn.
"We interrupt this program with an urgent news bulletin. At approximately ten o’clock last night in Aston, a serious traffic accident occurred. The president of The Lancaster Group, Adrian Lancaster, his wife, Wren Sutton, and their two children were involved in a car crash."
"According to our sources, Adrian Lancaster sustained severe injuries and was rushed to the hospital for emergency treatment. He is currently still in a coma. His wife, Wren Sutton, and their two children are not in life-threatening condition..."
The piece of food Isla Griffith had just picked up with her chopsticks fell to the floor with a CLATTER.
She froze in her chair, her eyes fixed on the television. The gentle look in her eyes instantly sharpened.
The news report was brief, with no close-ups, just a short announcement. Every word stabbed at Isla Griffith’s heart like a knife.
’My best friend was in a car crash...’
Isla Griffith’s heart was thrown into a panic. Her eyes reddened, and her breath grew short and ragged from anxiety, her heart pounding in her chest.
Ignoring the risk of exposing her whereabouts, she unhesitatingly stood up, walked into the back room, and picked up the phone Granny Foster had left behind, dialing a familiar number.
The dial tone rang out, one beep after another, piercing the silence of the room. Each one felt like a hammer blow to her heart.
’Pick up, please pick up...’
A moment later, the call connected. Wren Sutton’s hoarse, weary voice came from the other end. "Granny?"
Wren Sutton had Granny Foster’s number saved in her phone.
Isla Griffith’s lips trembled. "Wren, it’s me."
"Isla!" Wren Sutton recognized her voice at once. She shot up in bed, instantly wide awake, all traces of sleepiness gone. "It’s really you."
She never expected Isla Griffith to call, much less from Granny Foster’s phone.
’This means Isla is at Granny Foster’s house in Avenia right now!’
Wren Sutton felt a surge of joyful surprise.
After so many days, hearing Wren Sutton’s voice and remembering the letter she had left, Isla Griffith nearly burst into tears.
"It’s really me."
"I saw the news about the car accident on TV. How are you? And what about Owen and Nina? Are the children okay?"
Wren Sutton got up and quietly left the bedroom, afraid of waking Lucia Lancaster.
"The kids are perfectly fine. I just have some minor scrapes. It’s nothing serious, so don’t worry."
Isla Griffith’s tense heart finally relaxed.
"Thank God. I’m just glad you’re all okay."
After a pause, she asked, "And... how is Adrian Lancaster doing?"
The news said he was badly injured.
Wren Sutton took a deep breath, suppressing her heartache. "He’s out of immediate danger, but he’s in the ICU now. He hasn’t woken up yet."
"He was so badly hurt because he was protecting me and the children."
Isla Griffith had guessed as much. Her heart grew heavy. She sincerely hoped Adrian Lancaster would pull through this ordeal and wake up safely.
"Adrian Lancaster protected you and the children willingly. He’s a good husband and a good father. Heaven will definitely let him wake up."
"Don’t blame yourself. Just take care of yourself and the kids, and wait for him to wake up."
Wren Sutton nodded, feeling a surge of strength. She had to think positively.
"I also believe he’ll wake up soon."
Isla Griffith offered a few more words of heartfelt comfort.
The two best friends were kindred spirits, and Wren Sutton’s heart warmed at her words. Then, she changed the subject to ask about Isla’s situation.
"How have you been lately? Has your body recovered?"
"Much better. Don’t worry."
At this point, since she’d already made the call, Isla Griffith decided not to hide anything else.
"After leaving the clinic, I came back to Avenia. I’m staying at Granny Foster’s house."
Surprised, Wren Sutton felt a smile of relief touch her lips.
She truly hadn’t expected Isla to return to Granny Foster’s.
’So, she didn’t go far after all.’
"I’m relieved to know you’re staying with Granny Foster. You have to take care of yourself, too."
"I won’t tell anyone where you are."
Isla Griffith was silent for a moment. "Um..."
She hesitated, the question on the tip of her tongue, but she couldn’t bring herself to ask.
Wren Sutton knew what she wanted to ask and told her outright.
"Isla, you don’t have to worry about Sean Sterling. He’s doing fine."
Her thoughts exposed, Isla Griffith pursed her lips. "Has he reconciled with his family?"
"No."
Hearing the answer, Isla Griffith’s eyes reddened again. She fought back tears, a deep ache in her heart.
She gripped the phone tighter, her knuckles turning white from the force. She took an unconscious step back, her back pressing against the old, mottled wooden door of Granny Foster’s house. Behind her, dappled shadows of trees played on the ground.
"I see."
"Wren, you should get some rest. I hope Adrian Lancaster recovers soon."
"Isla, you take care, too."
They hung up at the same time.
Wren Sutton put her phone away and walked to the window. She gazed at the hospital across the street, her eyes lingering there for a long time.
「In the suburbs, an old residential complex.」
Sean Sterling and Caleb Caldwell parked their car at the base of one of the apartment buildings.
After getting out, the two men hurried toward the third floor.
According to the investigation, the truck driver, Ethan Wallace, was the only son for three generations. Both his parents were deceased, he had no other close relatives, and his social connections were simple.
His household registration showed that his wife’s name was Laura Lawson and that they had two elementary school-aged children.
The building’s hallway was dim and cramped, cluttered with junk and reeking of an unpleasant odor.
Following the address from the registration, Sean Sterling and Caleb Caldwell found Ethan Wallace’s apartment on the third floor.
Caleb Caldwell raised his hand and knocked, the sound dull and heavy.
The apartment was dead silent. There was no response.
Caleb Caldwell’s brow furrowed. He knocked again, harder this time, and called out several times, but still, no one answered.
"No one’s home."
Sean Sterling’s expression darkened. He sensed something was wrong, a bad feeling creeping over him.
Just then, the door to the neighboring apartment opened, and a middle-aged woman stepped out.
"What’s with all the banging? Who are you looking for?"
Sean Sterling concealed his cold demeanor and stepped forward with a smile.
"Hello, ma’am. We’re from the insurance company. A Ms. Laura Lawson bought an educational fund policy from me, and we’re here today to verify some information with her."
The neighbor didn’t seem suspicious. "Oh," she said.
"You can stop knocking. Laura Lawson isn’t home."
"Do you know where she went?" Sean Sterling asked, keeping his expression neutral.
The neighbor sighed, her expression grave, and waved her hand dismissively.
"Her husband died in a car crash. She left with her two kids. I saw it from my balcony—a black car came and picked them up. As for where they went, I have no idea."
"When did they leave?" Caleb Caldwell asked urgently.
"Last night. It was pretty late, anyway."
Caleb Caldwell’s hands, hanging at his sides, clenched into fists.
’If she left last night, she’s definitely not in Aston anymore.’
Sean Sterling was also struggling to contain his frustration. "Do you have a way to contact Laura Lawson?"
"No, I don’t know her well."
With that, the neighbor turned, went back inside her apartment, and closed the door.
Sean Sterling and Caleb Caldwell exchanged a look, their eyes filled with frustration and self-reproach. They hadn’t expected Laura Lawson to have already skipped town last night.
"We were one step too late."
"But this also confirms that something is definitely wrong with this Laura Lawson. Her husband just died, and she fled with her kids overnight. That means she has a guilty conscience."
"We have to find this woman. She’s the key to cracking this case."