Part 4
“There is an engraving,” he said.
He angled the brooch beneath the light and passed Mara a loupe.
At first she saw only scratches. Then the letters resolved.
A.V. to E.V., 1924.
Beneath them was a small crest, a bell surrounded by leaves.
Tessa whispered, “Bellweather.”
Mr. Sayegh looked between them. “You know the mark?”
Mara folded the handkerchief over the brooch. “I think so.”
The jeweler set one gloved hand flat on the counter. “Miss, I strongly suggest you speak to an attorney before giving this to anyone.”
“I can’t afford an attorney.”
“You may now be able to.”
“It isn’t mine.”
“You possess it. That is not the same as ownership, but neither is it nothing.”
“My mother asked me to return it.”
“Return implies she received it from the owner.”
“She didn’t say return.”
Mr. Sayegh gave her a long look. “Then be careful with your verbs.”
Outside, rain had strengthened. Water streamed along the courthouse steps, blurring old salt stains in the concrete.
Tessa opened the Subaru’s passenger door, but Mara did not get in.
“Forty thousand,” she said.
“Perhaps more.”
“My mother died owing nine hundred dollars to the electric company.”
“I know.”
“She could have sold it.”
“Maybe she couldn’t.”
“She could have done anything. She could have told me the truth.”
A passing truck sprayed water across the curb. Tessa stepped back too late, and her jeans darkened at the ankle.
“Great,” she said quietly.
Mara put the brooch inside the zippered pocket of her bag. Her hands had begun to shake. “I’m not going to the estate.”
Tessa wiped rain from her face. “Okay.”
“I’ll mail it.”
“No.”
“I’ll insure it.”
“Still no.”
“I’ll give it to a lawyer.”
“With what retainer?”
Mara looked across the street at the courthouse. “There must be someone.”
“On a Friday afternoon, four hours before the gala?”
“I didn’t create the deadline.”
“Your mother did.”
The words landed harder than Tessa intended. Her face tightened immediately.
“Mara—”
“She did,” Mara said.
She got into the car.
At the house, they found a man waiting on the porch.
He was in his late fifties, broad through the shoulders, wearing a charcoal overcoat despite the mild rain. His hair was iron gray at the temples. He stood when Mara and Tessa came through the gate.
“Ms. Ellison?”
Mara stopped on the walkway.
Tessa moved half a step in front of her.
The man lifted both hands, showing they were empty. “My name is Edwin Sloane. I work for Bellweather Estate.”
Rain clicked against the porch roof.
Mara felt the brooch inside her bag as distinctly as if it had become hot.
“How did you find me?”
“I’m sorry for arriving unannounced.”
“That isn’t an answer.”
“No.” He glanced toward the neighboring house, where a curtain shifted. “May we speak inside?”
“No.”
Tessa said, “You can speak from there.”
Sloane considered this and nodded. He had the calm manner of someone accustomed to being obeyed without needing to insist. Black gloves covered his hands.
“I received a message yesterday from a woman who identified herself as Lillian Ellison.”
Mara’s throat tightened. “Yesterday?”
“At six fourteen in the morning.”
“My mother died at five forty-eight.”
Sloane did not react dramatically. His gaze lowered for a moment, then returned to her.
“I’m sorry.”
“What did the message say?”
“That her daughter would bring an item to Mr. Vale before his wedding. She gave this address and asked me to make sure you were admitted.”
“Was it a voicemail?”
“Yes.”
“Play it.”
He reached inside his coat slowly and took out a phone. After a few taps, Lillian’s voice came from the speaker.
It was weak but unmistakable.
Mr. Sloane, this is Lillian Ellison. My daughter Mara may come to Bellweather. Let her through. She has something Graham must see before he marries. Do not ask her to describe it over the telephone. Tell Graham only when she arrives. Please. I have no right to ask you, but I am asking.
The recording ended.
Rain struck the metal gutter.
Mara stared at the phone. “She made that call before she died.”
“Yes.”
“Why did you say yesterday?”
“I misspoke. I received the message yesterday. It had been held in a secondary mailbox monitored by our administrative office.”
“Convenient.”
“No,” Sloane said. “Embarrassing.”
The directness stopped her.
He put the phone away. “I called the number she left. It had been disconnected.”
“The house phone was shut off last month.”
“I then contacted the funeral home listed in the county notice. They confirmed the address but would not provide your number. Correctly.”
“So you came here.”
“Yes.”
“How did you know I’d be home?”
“I didn’t.”
Tessa said, “Why not tell Mr. Vale now?”
Sloane looked at her. “Mrs.—”
“Tessa Ward. Not married.”
“Ms. Ward. Mrs. Ellison specifically asked me not to mention her name until Mara arrived.”
“Mara is here,” Tessa said.
“Not at Bellweather.”
“That sounds like wordplay.”
“It may be.”
Mara watched him. “Do you know my mother?”
“I met her once.”
“When?”
“Twenty-five years ago.”
The rain suddenly seemed louder.
“Where?”
“At Bellweather.”
Mara stepped toward the porch. “Doing what?”
Sloane’s mouth tightened. “Leaving.”
“Why?”
“I don’t know.”
“You expect me to believe that?”
“I expect nothing from you. I’m telling you what I saw.”
“What did she look like?”
The question came out before Mara could stop it.
Sloane answered without hesitation. “Young. Frightened. She had auburn hair, though darker than yours. She wore a blue coat with a missing button. She was carrying one canvas bag. Mr. Vale’s mother followed her as far as the west stairs, but Mrs. Vale did not go outside.”
Mara had seen the coat in a closet for most of her childhood. Lillian used it until the lining tore beneath both arms. The missing button had been replaced with a brown one that never matched the blue row.
“Who was Mr. Vale’s mother?” Mara asked.
“Eleanor Vale.”
May you like
“The engraving says E.V.”
Sloane’s eyes moved to Mara’s bag.
