“It is.”
“Finally. A last word on something!”
Henry scowled at him.
Arthur conveyed the gist of it to Skye.
“But how did this congresswoman know my mother had the box?” she asked.
“An insightful question,” Henry cut in.
“Hart was holding a town hall meeting in Harbor View a couple of months ago. Clare had just gotten her hands on the box. And what does she do?” Arthur shook his head. “She confronts the woman.”
“She confronted her?”
“Publicly,” Arthur said, still half in disbelief. “In front of a packed room.”
“What happened?”
“Hart called it a fabrication, waved it off like it was nothing. But a week later, Clare got a call from the congresswoman’s lawyer.”
“Catherine Lowe.”
Arthur nodded. “A poised, velvet-gloved, legal assassin. She offered to buy the documents.”
Skye motioned to the notepad. “Is that what these dollar amounts are?”
“I assume so,” Arthur said. “I told Clare it wasn’t worth the trouble. Hart plays dirty. I advised her to give them the damn box and walk away. And I thought she did. She didn’t mention it again.”
“This calls to mind The Adventure of the Priory School,” Henry said from over near the fireplace. “Although a kidnapping occurred, it also involved a powerful figure, a hefty bribe, and a trail of murder and deceit.”
Arthur gave a snort. “For a change, there’s some value in that.”
Skye turned to him. “Value in what?”
“He’s actually being helpful,” Arthur said, then glanced toward Henry. “What would Holmes do in this case? What’s our next step?”
Henry didn’t hesitate. “Start with the attorney, Catherine Lowe. She’s likely the weakest link in Hart’s chain. People like that always think they’re the smartest in the room. That arrogance leaves an opening for us.”
That made sense to Arthur.
As he turned to relate this to Skye, Henry came closer, his voice low and certain.
“And don’t underestimate the value of a good bluff, old man. Even Moriarty flinched once.”
Chapter Sixteen
Ocean
* * *
By the time she finished going through the second box in the living room, Ocean finally got why her grandmother had been obsessed with estate sales. All this old stuff wasn’t just junk. Each one was like a time capsule.
Inside this one she found a bunch of neatly folded scarves and gloves, an ivory-handled brush set velvet cloth that still smelled faintly of lavender, and a smaller box filled with a few small pocketknives and a few of those antique pens that needed ink refills...the messy kind, not the clicky kind. At the bottom, a collection of old books.
Taking a few of them out to look at titles she didn’t recognize, Ocean discovered they weren’t at the very the bottom. Nestled beneath them was a bundle of faded blue envelopes carefully tied with black ribbon.
The incredibly thin paper crackled when she touched it, and they had that musty, attic smell. Her fingers tingled as she gently slid the top envelope free, careful not to disturb the ribbon.
