Savilla possessively tucked an arm in mine and led the way, taking us to the west wing of the estate with its vining wallpaper and yellow lighting reminiscent of the Gilded Age.
We didn’t pass a single person as we went, and Savilla must’ve noticed me looking around because she said, “The deputy told me that she and Charlie let almost everyone head home after lunch, just told them to not venture too far from town until the case was solved. Of course, the main suspects have to stay.”
“They must think the killer is in Brett’s inner circle,” I mused. “So, who’s still here?”
“Me, you, Presley, Joe, Mina, Lee, Lacy, and… her boyfriend, what’s-his-name.”
“Anton,” I reminded her.
“Right. Jemma is sticking around because she’s in between shows, and Will and Valerie Hurt stayed because she wants to see the drama.” Savilla lifted one brow. “So, there are ten people, not counting me.”
Joe and Presley were still firmly situated at the top of my list, and I hoped against hope that Lacy wasn’t at the top of anyone else’s.
“How is our sheriff?” Savilla asked, studying me. “Your face tells me you talked about more than Brett’s death.”
I didn’t say anything, so she prodded me, reminding me that her newly discovered role as my sister was making her feel more connected and perhaps more entitled to intrude on my personal life. I didn’t mind it as much as I thought I would.
“Did he take you in his arms and beg you to marry him as soon as this case is closed?” Savilla clenched a hand over her heart. “Ooo… did you tell him that you’re an heiress?”
“Am I an heiress if there’s not an inheritance?”
“Great question. Worse comes to worst, we sell the place andThelma & Louiseour way to freedom,” Savilla teased as we reached the fourth floor.
I squinted. It wasn’t a malapropism, but it was a misguided goal. “Have you ever actually watched that movie?”
“Sure, years ago with Nanny Kate, but I fell asleep before it was over. Why?”
“No reason.” I couldn’t help but chuckle.
Savilla led me down a long corridor past her former nursery, where my aunt had been staying when she’d been accused of murder four months ago. At the last room on the right, Savilla inserted a key into the lock and put her fingerprint against an electronic reader that had been installed on the door, but she didn’t need to do either. It swung open on its hinges, opening even before the scanner lit up.
Someone had already been here.
“What the…?” Savilla mumbled, as she stepped inside.
Other than the scanner and the door having somehow been broken, there were no other indications that anyone had trespassed. A large cherry wood desk and an even larger workstation were spotless, no mess or overturned drawers. If someone had entered Mr. Finch’s former office, they’d left without seeming to bother anything in there.
“Maybe the police were in here?”
“I doubt it,” Savilla said. “Why would they be? And I can’t imagine who else might’ve known to look here.”
Despite its spaciousness, the room was cozy. The wallpaper only came to the wainscotting midway up the wall, and it was gray, almost silver, with tiny stalks of lavender interspersed across it. In addition to the desk and work station, there was a grated fireplace, one wide single window that looked onto the front lawn, and a set of chairs facing one another.
“This used to be the quarters for the head lady’s maid,” Savilla said, studying her father’s workstation without touching anything on it. An assortment of empty brooches, bracelets, earrings, and even a couple of crowns, lined the otherwise empty table. It looked as if he’d been preparing to set stones into various pieces. “He converted it when I was four or five, around the time Nanny Kate came to live here with us. I think it was the only place he could find peace and quiet with her and StepMommy roaming the halls. But then, a few years ago, after I graduated, he and StepMommy started living in New York most of the time, so we were only here once or twice a year. Anytime we came back to visit, though, he always spent time in his office. I think it gave him something to do, especially when he started losing so much money.” Savilla inhaled deeply as she surveyed the room. “He must’ve been in such distress, knowing things were getting bad.”
“And Glenda and Katie had no idea?”
“I don’t think so. I didn’t know either until he said I should take out a life insurance policy on him. He always said things were fine, just fine.”
“That must’ve also been when he started selling off gemstones,” I added, as I spotted a large rectangular leather volume withAccountsengraved on the front. I picked it up and turned through the pages to find rows of numbers datingback to the fall of 2023. It was a much more in-depth version of the accounting that I’d found in a pocket-sized ledger in his apartment this past summer.
“The financial guy told me that Daddy was a bit paranoid, kept all of his accounts by hand, said he didn’t trust anything online,” Savilla told me as she ran a finger down a page of numbers. “He obviously wasn’t fully in his right mind, he couldn’t have been.”
I sat down and tracked the depleting numbers while Savilla followed my hand. There were eight accounts across three different banks, labeled by acronyms that I could guess—based on the couple of finance classes I’d taken in college—meant things like checking, savings, money market, index fund, and bonds.
The accounts were much too small for an estate of this size, and the withdrawal rate from them had been massive. With a quick estimation, it appeared that Savilla—and I—had less than a hundred grand in all the accounts combined. This was still a sizable amount for someone who’d been raised by a mother who was a small-town nurse and an aunt who designed fashion for a living, but even I knew it wasn’t enough to sustain a place like The Rose long term. As soon as one of the dozen or so industrial-sized boilers, heaters, or air conditioning units failed, The Rose would be sunk.
Savilla’s eyes began to well, though I wasn’t sure if it was because she missed her father or because she had no idea what she would do next with a property this size—and only enough money to keep it going for another few months without money coming in to maintain it. These were certainly rich-people problems, but it was still a decision Savilla had to make on her own, unless I agreed to somehow help her.
