“Hello, Smithers.”
“Hello, Miss April. How may I be of service?” He was wearing a white shirt with an apron and black sleeves that went up over the arms of the shirt. Like someone had decided to turn a long-sleeve shirt into a short-sleeve shirt and that was the part that was left over.
But he didn’t seem worried that he was wearing leftovers. Nope. He seemed like the happiest guy in the world as he stood on the rolling ladder on the main floor of the library, a feather duster in one hand, humming the kind of song that April highly suspected didn’t even have any words.
“Smithers, I was wondering if you might help me.”
“I will do all that I can, miss. What seems to be the problem?”
“I’d like to do some research.”
Smithers practically beamed. “Excellent. And what, might I ask, are we researching?”
“Gabriel Winterborne.” April didn’t mean to blurt it out, but it was too late. The words were ahead of her, and she had to hurry to catch up. “I mean, I was just wondering . . . Have you worked here for a long time? What was he like? What was his family like? Did he have any hobbies?”
She thought Smithers might tell her to mind her own business, but he just climbed down the ladder and said, “I had the honor of serving Master Gabriel, yes. And his siblings and parents.” He studied April. “Is there a reason you are asking?”
“Well . . . yeah . . . I mean . . . I’d like to know more about him. And them. Since I live in their house and all, I’d like to . . . know them.” April tore her gaze away from his. “If that makes any sense.”
He gave her an approving smile. “That makes more sense than anything I’ve heard in quite some time.”
So April sat down at the big wooden table in the center of the room while Smithers went to work. He gathered scrapbooks and notebooks, old wrinkly newspapers kept in plastic, and photographs pressed into pages.
She saw pictures of babies in hospitals and kids on Christmas morning. She listened to stories about riding bicycles and broken arms. But eventually the pictures stopped. And the stories changed.
TRAGEDY AT SEA
SUMMER STORM DEADLY FOR LOCAL FAMILY
LITTLE BOY FOUND
The oldest newspapers had taken on a yellowish hue that reminded April of how she felt one time after eating tuna salad that had been sitting on the counter way too long. They showed pictures of a smiling, happy family and a big, pretty boat, but they used words like explosion and wreckage, search and rescue.
But one word popped up over and over: survivor.
April studied the pictures of the little boy who washed up on his family’s shore a long time ago, but the man April had met the night before was still a long, long way from home.
And that’s how April came to feel sorry for a billionaire.
“It’s been twenty years,” Smithers told her. “But, honestly, it feels like yesterday.”
Then he handed her a different book and started putting things away while April flipped through page after page of pictures. April watched the little boy change and grow. It was like he got stretched out. His eyes and smile stayed the same, but everything else got bigger.
She watched him morph from a sad little boy to a young man who had a smirking grin and fancy clothes. There were pictures in the society pages with gossip about what girl he was going to take to which gala and how many fancy cars he’d wrecked already that year.
And then the pictures stopped.
And the stories changed.
SOLE SURVIVING WINTERBORNE HEIR MISSING
WINTERBORNE STOCK PLUMMETS AS LEADERSHIP REMAINS UNCERTAIN
LITTLE BOY LOST
The world wanted to know where Gabriel Winterborne went, but as she sat there, newspapers and pictures and magazines spread around her, April asked a different question: Why did he come back now?
“Is everything to your satisfaction, Miss April?”
She looked up at Smithers, who had traded his feather duster for a broom.
There was one more newspaper clipping—newer and fresher than the rest. But Gabriel wasn’t in it. Instead, Evert Winterborne stood in the forefront. In the photo, he was wearing a tuxedo. His hair was slicked back, and his arm was around the waist of Ms. Nelson.
April scanned the headline: WINTERBORNE FOUNDATION NAMES NEW HEAD—NEW MISSION.
But Gabriel Winterborne wasn’t mentioned again. As far as the world was concerned, he was just . . . gone.
Only April knew better.
“Do you know where he went, Smithers?”
“No, Miss April, I do not.” He shook his head. “If Master Gabriel is gone, then it’s because he wishes it to be that way, and it is my job to see to the wishes of the Winterborne family. If Master Gabriel is dead . . .” His voice cracked. “Then I don’t want to know.”
“What’ll happen if he doesn’t come back?”
“Don’t you worry about that, April. You have a home now.”
April’s home was with her mother. But April had to find her first, and finding her meant finding whatever her key opened. Which meant staying in Winterborne House as long as possible.
“If Gabriel’s declared dead, then his uncle will inherit everything, right? What happens then, Smithers? To the house? To you? To me and Violet and Tim and Sadie and Colin?”
“Ms. Nelson is in charge of the Winterborne Foundation now, April. You’ll be fine.”
“But we might have to leave Winterborne House?”
Smithers studied her for a long time before he spoke again. “I assure you, Isabella and I will never put you out on the street. Does it really matter if you live in this house or another?”
April fingered the key that dangled around her neck and didn’t say what she was thinking: that, to her, it mattered a whole lot.