Page 37 of First Street (Harbor View Cozy Fantasy #1)

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.”

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.