“Who did you hear this from?” I asked, my voice quieter than before but still firm.
She hesitated. “Oh, you wouldn’t know her.”
“I know everyone in town,” Arthur said flatly. “But I don’t know you.”
“I used to stay at my employer’s house when she came to town,” Elara said quickly. “She lived in Manhattan and only came up here occasionally. That’s probably why our paths never crossed. And you are?”
“Arthur Booker,” he said, giving the walking stick a solid tap on the driveway. “But you still haven’t said what gave you the idea that you could simply wander into a closed place of business uninvited. Who were you talking to?”
She fidgeted with the strap of her bag. “A real estate agent. Karen?—”
“Karen White,” Arthur cut in, his mouth tightening into a grimace. “Of course it was.”
This was the same real estate agent who was supposed to come over and give me an estimate tomorrow. I’d already canceled the appointment, and now I was even more relieved I had. But clearly, Karen had already started spreading the idea around town that the property was for sale...that it was only a matter of time before I boxed up my mother’s life and sold it off.
“So,” Elara started hesitantly, “Is there any chance that I could buy the items I had in mind?”
Never mind that this woman had gone into the antique shop uninvited, there was something about Elara that rubbed me the wrong way. She had a sneaky air about her.
“No,” I said, sharper than I intended. “I’m not ready to part with anything of my mother’s yet.”
Even if I had planned to contact a few dealers about the excess inventory, I wasn’t going to reward this woman for what was pretty brassy behavior. The fact that she’d broken into the barn crossed a line. It sat wrong with me on a personal level, on principle.
She must have been picking up my vibe. “I’m truly sorry for how I went about it this morning. I shouldn’t have gone in like that.”
“Look, Ms. Vance. I’ve got a busy day ahead.” I shook my head. “But if you ever do this again, I will call the police.”
“Of course.” She glanced back at the open barn door. “But can I at least leave you my phone number, so you can call me when you’re ready to?—”
“No.”
She blinked, stunned. She clearly wasn’t expecting that to be the end of it. Like she thought her apology should’ve been enough.
Standing beside Arthur, I watched her walk slowly down the driveway, her shoulders slumped, her pace uncertain, until she disappeared around the corner.
“Bravo,” Arthur said, giving my shoulder a light pat. “That’s a side of you I haven’t seen in quite a while.”
I turned to him, and the tears came before I could stop them. Fast and hot and relentless.
“I can’t let go of her,” I said, my voice cracking. “I won’t let people come in and paw through her life as if they have a right to it. I won’t let them tear her apart piece by piece like she never mattered.”
I wiped at my cheeks, but it didn’t help. Because I knew deep down that not letting go of Clare’s life meant I would have to let go of my own as I knew it.
To hold on to her, I’d have to tear it all down. And rebuild. Become something else.
So be it.
“No,” I whispered. “I’m not doing it. She didn’t deserve this.”
Chapter Eighteen
Ocean
* * *
Locking the doors had been total overkill. Ocean realized that the second she watched her mom and Arthur pull the barn door open. A minute later, when the so-called intruder stepped out, Ocean felt kind of ridiculous for freaking out. The woman was old. Like, fifties or sixties. Or whatever counted as old here. Either way, she didn’t exactly scream danger.
Ocean didn’t bother unlocking the doors. While the three of them started talking in the driveway, she bolted upstairs two at a time. She’d get the scoop when they were done out there.
