We’re nearly done with the pancakes when Henry’s cell phone rings. Annoyance flashes across his face, and I’m certain it must be Professor Botten, no doubt calling to encourage Henry to fire me.
But then Henry’s eyes go wide. “Excuse me,” he says, stands, and heads for the back porch.
I catch a murmur of, “Is everything all right?” before the screen door clatters behind him.
The dishes beckon. Actually? Eavesdropping beckons, but I do not let my ears or the Sight stray toward the back porch. By the time I have everything rinsed and stacked in the dishwasher, Henry returns. He appears sober, and perhaps a bit puzzled, but not bereft.
“Is everything ok—” I begin.
“Someone broke into my house last night,” he states as if he can’t believe it himself.
“Broke in?” I echo, and the air is filled with static. I give my head a good shake to chase it away.
“Nothing was stolen, at least, not that Cameron can tell.” Henry starts to pace now, from pantry to sink. He even opens the dishwasher as if to check my work. I suspect he simply needs to think.
“Cameron?” I ask.
“The butler.”
Wait. Henry Darnelle has a butler?
“Or rather, my father’s butler and housekeeper,” he amends and then pauses. “And his companion these last few years. Cam’s really more of a family friend. He keeps an eye on the place when I’m away. He’s a comfort, and I saw no reason to turn him out after my father died.”
Because Henry Darnelle is a decent person.
“Anyway,” he continues, “whoever it was, they tore apart the study and even broke open the wall safe. Although that’s the extent of the damage.”
Okay. Butler and a wall safe? Who is this man?
“Wall safe?” My words come out with a squeak.
He must catch my bemused expression, because his own softens, and he manages a chuckle. “Yes, a wall safe.”
“Is it behind a painting?” I ask, because I can’t help myself. My head fills with images of a well-appointed study, book-lined shelves, imposing chairs near a hearth, and lots of gleaming dark wood. I can absolutely picture the man across from me sitting in a space like that.
“It is, actually, and at least they didn’t damage that. Or steal it. Although its only value is sentimental. According to Cam, there may have been a note inside the safe.”
“How does he know?”
Henry halts in his pacing and pulls out his phone. He brings up the photo app. The first picture shows a crumpled piece of stationery and envelope. Both are tossed on a floor strewn with so much paper that only hints of the carpet peek through. The next picture shows the note up close. On rich, creamy stationery are a few lines in precise, black script.
Really, my friend,
Do you suppose I’m as foolish as all that?
H.
“Your father?”
“Yes, that’s his handwriting.”
“Are you going to call the police?”
“No forced entry,” Henry says, and the words come slowly and with some reluctance. “Whoever broke in had access to the alarm system or the security codes. So that’s either myself or Cam, or…” He trails off, comprehension lighting his features. “Or possibly someone from the Enclave, because the codes would be on file there, as an emergency backup measure. Wellness checks and that sort of thing.”
“So, no police, then.”
“No. Besides, there was nothing of value in the study.”
