As April pressed and slipped and weaved and squirmed her way through the crowd, she realized that most of the people were carrying notepads. At least three ladies were holding microphones and wearing too much makeup and standing beside men with big cameras resting on their shoulders.
A silky red ribbon stretched across the doorway—like the finish line of a race—but no one moved toward it, which seemed like a waste to April, but then someone said, “Ladies and gentlemen, thank you for joining us!” and she saw two men approaching from the other side.
One of them was carrying a comically large pair of scissors and had a look in his eye—like he (A) knew his scissors were ridiculous and (B) would have loved to have been anywhere other than there. But he forced a smile as the first man kept talking.
“As the museum’s director, it is my great pleasure to open our newest exhibit—one that I’ve been working on for quite some time, I don’t mind saying.” He laughed and glanced at the man with the supersized scissors and the very sad eyes. “The Winterborne family has been the cornerstone of our community for more than a hundred years. Building industry. Championing the arts. In fact—”
“Mr. Winterborne!” one of the women with the microphones yelled. “Has anyone claimed the reward?”
It took a moment, but eventually, the man with the scissors shook his head and said, “No.”
The director looked angry that someone had dared to interrupt his speech. He was just opening his mouth to speak again when another shout came from the crowd.
“Is it true you’re going to have your nephew declared dead if no one claims the five million dollars?”
April’s eyes went wide. Five million dollars? Surely that wasn’t right?
But Sad Scissor Man didn’t correct them. If anything, he seemed extra sad as he said, “My nephew has been gone for a decade. I had hoped that a reward for information about his whereabouts would help us locate him, but we’ve had no success, and so—”
“Uncle Evert?”
The voice was low and gravelly but loud enough to make the man stop. The crowd whirled around and parted, clearing the way as the stranger slipped closer to the red ribbon and the man with the giant scissors.
“Uncle Evert, don’t you recognize me? It’s me. Gabriel!” the man said. The crowd gasped. And Evert Winterborne looked like he was going to pass out.
But before anything else could happen, another voice rang out from the other side of the room, shouting, “Imposter!” and the crowd shifted to take in a different man. This one was scruffy and ragged, wearing expensive clothes that had definitely seen better days. “I am the real Gabriel Winterborne!” the newcomer shouted.
All around April, cameras started to flash. She heard one of the women with the microphones say, “Please tell me you’re getting this.” The cameraman nodded as Gabriel #1 pushed toward Gabriel #2.
“Liar!” Gabriel #1 shouted and the whole room turned like they were watching a tennis match.
“Imposter!” Gabriel #2 yelled, and April suddenly was afraid she might get dizzy.
“Uncle Evert?” Gabriel #1 was inching loward the red ribbon and the man, who was slowly backing away. “Surely you know me? I’m Gabriel. I’m your long-lost—”
“Scum!” Gabriel #2 yelled, and April couldn’t help but notice that he’d suddenly started speaking with a very bad, very fake British accent. “You are no Winterborne, sir! I am the true Winterborne heir!”
“Liar!”
“Scoundrel!”
“Imposter!”
“Thief!”
Neither of them looked anything like the boy in the paintings. And it was like neither of them had ever heard of DNA. But five million dollars was on the line. April didn’t even have enough money to pay the fines she had at the library.
“Stop!” Sad Scissor Man shouted, and both Gabriels suddenly went quiet. “My nephew is gone. My nephew is, in all likelihood, dead.” He started to turn and leave, but then he remembered the ginormous scissors and the ribbon and the reason everyone but April was standing around.
“Here.” He gave the ribbon a snip. “Consider the Winterborne Exhibit officially open.”
And then he walked away.
April had no idea what happened to the fake Gabriels. They must have given up and skulked away. Regardless, nobody was paying much attention to her as she drifted past the cut edges of the ribbon and into the big room filled with more paintings and statues. But other things too—like mannequins in long ball gowns and sequin-covered dresses with fringe along the hems. There was a uniform from World War II, and a wedding dress made out of the most delicate lace that April had ever seen.
With every step it was like she went farther and farther back in time, until she was looking at a sign that said . Then all April could do was stand there . . . hypnotized. Mesmerized. Staring at necklaces and rings and strings of pearls so long they could have wrapped April up like a mummy.
And that was when she saw the box.
It was about the size and shape of a shoebox, but like no shoebox that April had ever seen. This box was covered in gold and pearls, diamonds and rubies, but the most interesting thing in April’s opinion was the lock that sat in the center of the ornate crest.
An ornate crest that looked exactly like the one on the key that April had worn around her neck every day since she was three years old.
An ornate crest that April had traced with her fingertips, over and over and over again—the only gift from a mother who had left her at a fire station with nothing but that key and a note that read This is my baby, April. Keep her safe. I’ll be back soon.
That’s how April knew that her mother would come back for her. That’s how she knew that all the Taylors and C/Kaitlins in the world were wrong. They had to be!
Ten years in the system had taught April that parents abandon kids, sure. But they don’t abandon keys to treasure chests. And April had been looking for her mom ever since.
But as April inched closer and closer to the small ornate box, she couldn’t shake the feeling that, all this time, she’d been looking for the wrong thing.