“And then what?”
“I don’t know. Call the sheriff.”
George scoffed. “Oh, perfect. So the two of you die waiting while he finishes his donut and a rerun of Matlock.”
“Nothing’s going to happen to us,” I said, giving Arthur a reassuring pat on the shoulder, though my nerves were ticking up. Ocean was alone in the house, and I’d left the door unlocked when I went out this morning.
I immediately sent her a text. Lock the front and back doors.
* * *
First Street was quiet when we stepped outside. No tourists around yet. I looked up and down. The same cars were there, parked where they had been when I came across the street to Arthur’s earlier.
Arthur and I walked up the driveway past the station wagon to the barn. I pulled the door open wide, letting the light pour in.
“Hello?” I called, staying just outside. “Whoever you are, we’re closed and you’re trespassing.”
The sound of footsteps reached me.
A figure shifted in the shadows, then came hesitantly into view.
The woman was thin and slightly stooped, with sun-leathered skin and wispy gray-blond hair pulled back into a messy bun. She squinted in the sunlight, blinking like she hadn’t expected to be caught.
She wore a pale yellow cardigan over a faded floral blouse and loose khaki pants that bunched around her ankles. Her heavy boots were not exactly right for the warm weather.
When she saw us, her shoulders hunched a little more, and she offered a small, guilty smile, like a kid caught sneaking cookies. She looked more embarrassed than anything else. Her eyes flicked between Arthur and me, unsure which one of us she should be addressing.
“We’re closed,” I said again, this time more firmly. “What are you doing in here?”
“I…I’m so sorry,” the woman replied quickly, hands half-raised like she was warding off trouble. “I’d heard around town there was going to be a sale of everything in the antique store. So I was just sneaking a look. I hoped I could maybe talk to the owner, see if she’d let me buy back a couple of pieces.”
“Buy them back?” I asked. “What do you mean back? Who are you?”
She hesitated, tugging at the frayed cuff of her cardigan, clearly stalling. She finally met my gaze.
“My name’s Elara. Elara Vance,” she said, voice quiet but steady. “I am...I was Mrs. Ainsworth’s assistant...for years. After she passed, all her belongings were auctioned off, and I believe Ms. Randall bought much of it. There were a couple of items I have a sentimental attachment to, and I was hoping I might be able to buy them. Are you a relation of hers?”
“Yes. I’m her daughter.”
Elara’s face softened with what seemed like genuine regret. “I’m so sorry for your loss.”
I nodded. But before I could respond, Arthur cut in, dry and direct.
“Yes, well, sentimental or not, that doesn’t explain breaking and entering,” he said sternly. He paused, then asked pointedly, “Have you been in the shop before?”
“No, never,” Elara said quickly, shaking her head. “I’ve been out of town. I just got back. Yesterday was the first I learned who bought Mrs. Ainsworth’s furniture. That’s when I heard Ms. Randall’s house and business might be up for sale soon.”
“Let’s talk outside,” I said.
We all stepped out of the barn. The midmorning sunlight was golden and the sea breeze light. So beautiful, and completely at odds with the knot of anger forming in my chest.
It stung how quickly people had begun to assume I’d pack everything up, sell it off, and disappear.
What stung even worse? That had actually been the original plan.
That’s what my husband wanted. What I had told him I’d do.
And now here I was, staring at someone who had trespassed because she heard exactly what I’d intended. And I was the one feeling defensive. This was a conversation that I was yet to have with Arthur.
