Her mind whirled over a number of possibilities. She had calls in to an appraiser and an estate attorney through Molly. She checked her phone, but no new texts had come through.
The person rapped again, louder, impatient.
Cordelia sprung from her chair. “I’ll see who it is.”
Eustace followed her into the stair hall. “Don’t answer it. What if it’sthem?”
“I don’t think they would just knock and introduce themselves,” Cordelia told her.
Banging sounded for the third time, ending with awhapfrom the flat of someone’s hand.
Cordelia reached for the knob. “Coming!”
A well-dressed man stood outside with a pale hook mustache and wire-rimmed glasses. “I’m Mr. Browning,” he said, passing Cordelia his card. “You were expecting me.”
“Sorry, no,” Eustace said, coming up behind her sister.
Cordelia glanced down.E. M. Browning. Appraiser & Auctioneer. Merrin’s Fine Auction House.Molly had come through after all, but apparently her text hadn’t. “Mr. Browning—of course.” She extended a hand. “Sorry for the wait. Please come in.”
She’d had every intention of bringing this up to Eustace, but things had been so upside down. The fact was, Cordelia needed cashnowto get the mob off her back and protect her elderly neighbor, as well as pay the mold remediators and prevent a lien on her property. She couldn’t wait for all the legal mumbo jumbo of the estate to fall into place, not with innocent people mixed up in her problems.
“I’m sorry… Why are you here?” Eustace asked the gentleman.
“Mr. Browning,” Cordelia announced a little too loudly, “is here to appraise the estate and its assets so we can be sure of its worth in the market.”
“Quite right,” the man confirmed with hungry eyes, merrily taking in the impressive stair hall and its bedeviled hall tree.
Eustace took a step in his direction. “I’m sorry, sir, but my sister seems to have gotten a little ahead of herself. The estate is still in transition, as it were.”
His brows bunched up over the rim of his glasses. “What’s that?”
“What my sister means to say is that we’re only looking to get a rough estimate at this time,” Cordelia interrupted before Eustace could drive him away. “Please come in.” She shot her sister a pleading look.
As he stepped inside, Cordelia stole a moment to drag Eustace toward a corner. “Please play along,” she whispered, eyes glistening. “I need money, and I’m running out of time. No one will notice if one or two valuables go missing.”
“Cordy, none of this stuff is ours yet. What you’re doing is stealing,” Eustace argued.
“Ho, ho!” the old man suddenly burst out. “Now this is a fine example of late-1800s bronze craftsmanship.” He was studying the newel post lamp absurdly closely. “I’ve never seen one quite like it. Tell me, is the owl significant to your family in some way?”
Cordelia smiled at him from her conspiratorial corner. “I’ll be right with you.” Turning back to her sister, she whispered, “It’s not stealing, it’s borrowing. Think of it as an advance. I have to do something, Eustace.”
Her sister scowled. “It’s risky. What if Mr. Togers finds out?”
“He’ll never find out,” Cordelia promised.
“And the house?” her sister asked.
“What about the house?” she pressed.
Eustace’s lips formed a grave line. “You heard what Togers said about the house making its will known.”
A tickle of intuition niggled at Cordelia’s gut, but she pushed it aside. “The house is not going to miss a couple of dusty old curios.”
“I don’t know,” Eustace faltered.
Cordelia grabbed her sister’s arms. “Eustace, it’s mylifewe are gambling with if we wait any longer.”
Her sister caved, shoulders and chest sinking. “Fine, but nothing big, nothing noticeable. You hear me?”
