She didn’t argue. Instead, she just stood there, staring at the jumble of furniture, the back of her hand against her lips. For a moment, she looked small and lost. And that flicker of vulnerability cut straight through my annoyance.
“Look,” I sighed, softening. “If you’d describe the item that’s so important to you, maybe I can help.”
“It’s a desk,” she blurted, the words rushing out as if she’d been holding them back. “The kind with a writing surface that folds down, with little drawers and pigeonholes inside. And on top, a cabinet with glass panels.”
“Oh.” I nodded. Jo’s room—even though Ocean had taken it over—was too crowded now, thanks to that desk. I knew it was a newer piece, and thought the only reason my mother must have had Bernie put it there was because there wasn’t any space left downstairs. “Actually, we might have it. Come with me and take a look.”
Leading her in through the front door, I started up the stairs but paused when Ocean’s voice floated out from the kitchen.
“Mom, I need to talk to you. You’ll never guess where I was.”
“Hold that thought, hon. I’ll be down in a minute.”
Elara trailed me up the stairs, her feet dragging just enough to tell me she was bracing herself. We crossed the hallway into the back bedroom. The place was neat again…too neat. I figured I had Jo to thank for that.
The instant Elara saw the desk, she moved in front of me.
“This is it. This is the piece I was looking for.”
But then she froze. Her body went rigid, and she staggered back a step, clutching her bag against her chest like a shield.
I followed her gaze and felt a prickle crawl up my arms. One of the drawers had been yanked out. Behind it, a small door to a secret compartment gaped. Open now, it looked like someone had been looking for something hidden behind that door.
The first thought that slammed through me was robbery. I hadn’t been home. Ocean hadn’t been here, either. And when she left, she hadn’t locked the front door. I’d come back without paying much attention, but nothing downstairs had looked out of place. No drawers ransacked, no cushions tossed, no sign of anyone rooting around. So why would someone come into the house, head straight upstairs, and go through this desk?
“Mom, it’s crazy.” Ocean’s voice carried as she came up the stairs. “I went to Jo’s house and got the key. But you wouldn’t believe what...”
She stopped dead in the doorway, a small canvas bag dangling from her hand. Her eyes flicked to the stranger. “Who’s this? What’s she doing up here?”
I opened my mouth to introduce Elara, but the words caught. She wasn’t just standing there anymore.
Elara Vance was holding something too.
A pistol. Chrome-bright. Small. Steady.
Chapter Thirty-Two
Ocean
* * *
This was like one of those cheesy horror movies her dad used to land bit parts in. Only this wasn’t fake blood and bad lighting. That was a real gun.
The smart move would have been to grab her mom, bolt down the hall, and out the front door. Any normal person would have done that.
But then Jo showed up. She appeared behind the stranger like she owned the place, one hand parked on her hip. And just like that, the panic in Ocean’s chest loosened. If Jo was here, she wasn’t scared. Not really.
“Who is she?” Jo asked, her tone cool and sharp.
“Yeah, good question. Who are you?” Ocean echoed.
“Elara Vance,” her mom said before the woman could answer. There was no tension in her voice. None. Obviously, Mom was seeing Jo too. “She was the assistant to Thea Ainsworth, who owned this desk. Or at least that’s what she told me, which was probably a lie.”
“That was the truth,” Elara replied, her voice steady, serious.
“She came here under the pretense of buying this desk.”
“I did,” Elara shot back. “But I really just want what you stole out of it.”
