A lot of the walls had been busted open and the doors yanked out, and the place was nothing but a maze of rooms. Jo had said her bedroom faced the water and had a fireplace. Trouble was, seven or eight of them fit that description.
Ocean stepped into the first. “Okay…loose brick on the right side of the fireplace,” she murmured, running her fingers across the cold surface. None of them budged.
She moved to the next room. The fireplaces were back to back, but again, every brick held tight.
By the time she reached the fifth bedroom, she was ready to give up. Then finally one of the bricks shifted under her touch.
“Yes!”
She eased it free, heart thudding. The dark gap beyond looked like it could hide anything. Ocean slid her hand into the opening. “There better not be spiders in there, Jo.”
Her fingers brushed against something soft. A strip of velvet. She tugged gently and pulled out a ribbon tied to a small metal key.
Just like Jo said.
Chapter Thirty-One
Skye
* * *
Elara was prompt. I had to give her that. The chimes from the Franklin Street church belfry had only just begun striking noon when she knocked on our door.
She stood there, cheeks flushed, obviously still carrying the weight of the other day. Before I could even offer a greeting, she was apologizing again for slipping into the Salt Box when it was clearly closed, for overstepping. By the time we made it out to the barn, she’d said she was sorry at least three more times. I slid the heavy doors open, the wood groaning on its track, wondering if she even heard herself repeating the same thing.
The antique shop looked different from the last time she’d been here. Bernie and his crew had shifted things around, hauling in the overflow from the house, and I hadn’t really stopped to take it in after they were finished. Now it was crowded with furniture of every kind. Dressers, tallboys, sofas, wingback chairs, sideboards, bookcases. Six-foot urns from China and Japan loomed in the corners, and bronze statues stood watch between stacks of lamps, paintings, and boxes spilling over with silver, albums, porcelain, and the most fragile crystal you could imagine.
Elara looked overwhelmed. Honestly, I felt the same way.
As she squeezed through the narrow rows, edging past so many fragile things, my mind drifted to Madeline Hart. I hadn’t expected our talk to go the way it did. Not once did she ask for the old correspondence back. Instead, she made it clear she’d only come to clear the air and make sure I knew whatever had happened between her and Clare was over.
When she left, Arthur and I sat down to sort through what came next. For the first time, I felt a kind of peace settle over me. My gut told me Hart and her people had no hand in hurting my mother, and nothing in our conversation suggested otherwise. Arthur, ever the analyst, looked at it from a different angle. From the way she spoke and looked, from the cracks showing through her polished veneer, he figured her political career had already been circling the drain. Any awakening, any guilt about what she’d done to her son, came later.
Before I left his apartment, I asked Arthur to mail the folder directly to her office. I didn’t want it here. I didn’t want someone else’s guilt cluttering up my life.
My mother’s funeral was set for Wednesday, and I needed to put her remains to rest, with no blame, no guilt, just the acceptance that she was gone.
I dragged my attention back to Elara, who was inching her way through the maze of furniture and boxes. She moved quietly, intent, brushing past sideboards and stacks of chairs as if they weren’t even there. She wasn’t finding the piece she was after, and the longer she came up empty, the more the frustration showed across her face.
Ocean’s voice came from the front steps of the house. “Hi Mom. I’m back.”
“Okay, honey,” I called out. “I’ll be right in.”
When I got back from Arthur’s earlier, there’d been a note on the kitchen counter in Ocean’s scrawl. Went out to wander. Don’t worry, I’ve got my phone. Just checking things out, maybe find something fun.
I was glad to see her out exploring on her own. Ocean not having a friend in town worried me, and I still wasn’t sure how long we’d be staying. But this was a start.
I heard the door close as my daughter went into the house, and I turned back to Elara.
She worked her way back toward me, disappointment and frustration written all over her face.
“Is this all of it? Everything that came from the house?”
“I believe so. But I only arrived in Harbor View last Sunday. It’s possible my mother got rid of what you’re looking for before that. Or maybe it wasn’t something she bought.”
“Oh, she bought it,” Elara said firmly. “I checked with the auctioneer. I’m sure of it.”
“I don’t know what to tell you, Ms. Vance,” I said, irritation creeping into my voice. “But I have a lot to do.”
