‘Thank you for calling The Secret Closet. Unfortunately, we are unable to take your call at this moment as we are either on the other line, or currently serving customers. Kindly leave a message and we will get back to you shortly. If you are calling to arrange a pick-up or a donation, please call back during the hours of four and six p.m. Thank you once again for calling The Secret Closet.’
‘The Secret Closet?’ Greg muttered to himself as the message ended. Clearly it was the number not for Holly directly, but the number of a store. But what was that on the message about leaving donations? Was she the owner of some kind of charity store? His mind quickly went through the possibilities.
Actually it made sense, Greg thought. His mother routinely donated to charity, and he guessed that would have extended to clothes too. More than once, he’d heard her talk to Maria about sending boxes down to the Sacred Heart. But he’d never heard anything about a place called The Secret Closet.
Greg quickly punched in another number and waited for his call to be answered on Park Avenue.
‘Matthews’ residence,’ said Maria easily into the phone. Greg launched into his line of questioning without delay.
‘Maria, it’s me. Did you happen to send out any of Mom’s old clothes for donation recently? To charity I mean.’
‘Well, yes I did actually,’ she said, confirming Greg’s suspicions. She sounded hesitant. ‘Should I not have? I mean, I remember she put some things aside and asked me to box them up for Father Mike.’
‘Father Mike, from the Sacred Heart?’
‘Yes. And I did box them up, but then with everything … I kind of forgot about them for a while until I discovered them in the front closet recently and remembered her request.
‘How long ago was this?’
‘Um … a couple of weeks ago I think. Why?’ Then her voice changed. ‘Oh no … is that what happened to the bracelet? Did I do something wrong and it got in there by mistake? Oh no … ’
‘Maria, you didn’t do anything wrong,’ Greg insisted quickly. ‘But does a charity store called The Secret Closet ring a bell to you? Is that the place you sent the boxes?’
‘It doesn’t sound familiar. But your mom donated to a lot of different places. Still, I’m pretty sure I sent that stuff to Father Mike. Do you want me to call … ?’
‘No, it’s fine Maria, thanks. I’ll call you back if I need to.’
Greg was beginning to get a better picture of what had happened. If this Holly person owned or worked for a charity store, then she must have found the bracelet amongst one of Cristina’s donations. He guessed that kind of thing happened all the time, which is why the store had gone out of its way to try and get the bracelet back.
But while everything was beginning to make sense, he still had no idea where to find Holly.
Frustrated, Greg called the number second time, but again it went straight to messages. Damn, maybe they were closed for the holidays? If so, he’d have to wait until the New Year to reach them and get back Cristina’s bracelet – and he really didn’t want to wait. Who knows, by then the store could have given up on finding it and maybe put the bracelet out on sale. If that happened, and it sold in the meantime, there was no chance of finding it thereafter.
Bringing up Google on his phone, he did a search for The Secret Closet charity store. There were a couple of places listed, but they either weren’t charity stores or were based outside of Manhattan. Whereas Greg knew from the number that this place was local. Darnit …
He looked at his watch, not sure what to do next. Karen would be at the townhouse round about now.
So seeing as he was at a loose end anyway, and Maria seemed pretty certain she’d sent his mother’s things to Father Mike and not to that store, he might as well head down to the Sacred Heart and see what he could find out.
59
Afew minutes later, Greg locked the bike and approached the front door of the church. He hesitantly pushed on it and to his surprise it swung open. If there was no service in session, most churches in New York were kept locked now as a safety measure.
‘Hello?’ he called out, feeling a little spooked. The place was cold and dark, and it felt as though someone was going to reach out and grab him. He heard voices coming from out back so he started making his way up the aisle alongside the pews.
Finding the door partially open, he knocked on it. A trim man who looked to be in his sixties turned around. ‘Yes?’
‘Father Mike? You might not remember me. I’m Greg Matthews, Cristina’s son … ’ He trailed off, not quite sure if the priest would recognise him. While he knew his mother and the priest had been friends for what seemed like forever, Greg didn’t know him particularly well, having had little involvement with him over the years.
Father Mike was slim and had thinning brown hair and the kind of leathery skin that betrayed years of smoking and being out in the elements without sunscreen, or a hat.
‘Yes – of course!’ The man’s face lit up. ‘Cristina’s boy, how are you?’ he said pumping Greg’s hand. ‘Please, have a seat.’
He pulled a rickety wooden chair close to his desk for Greg. The desk was littered with clothes and handbags.
The priest smiled. ‘Don’t mind the mess, just going through some donations for the needy.’ He swept everything back into a cardboard box and put it on the floor, before switching on a little electric heater nearby. Greg was grateful for it; it was freezing in the small, dark space.
‘Actually, that’s sort of what I wanted to—’ he began.
