Bertram Stott was dead and he didn’t go easy. I went to the hospital, got enough X-rays to make me glow in the dark, while two men went into Stott’s room and severed his vocal cords. Then they made small, strategic cuts in his neck that spoke of their expertise, and Stott choked on his own blood slowly. Very slowly. I was still in the ER when Stott’s body was brought in. My doc guessed it took around fifteen minutes for him to die. Fifteen minutes is a long time, but not long enough in my opinion. Stott couldn’t suffer enough for me and I said so, which wasn’t the best idea. Luckily, the tiny body cam and voice recorder I wore worked. Fats always had the best equipment, thankfully, or I might have been suspected of killing Stott.
The recording was clear and captured everything, but Gansa and Gordan crabbed that I didn’t always point my nose directly at Stott. It was a conversation. Give me a break! The FBI is never satisfied, not with me anyway. I was up half the night giving my statement over and over again. I fell asleep halfway through the fourth time and Gansa’s boss shook me awake. Chuck threw a fit and got me out of there, but not before they stuck a couple of rough sketches in front of my face. I wasn’t the only one who saw those two weirdos at the nursing home. Three nurses, including Stephanie, saw them. She said that they looked like they stepped out of a 1975 Sears catalog. Mosbach and Clarence saw them, but were so transfixed by the clothes and hair, they couldn’t give the remotest description of the men’s features. Mosbach thought they were white, but he couldn’t swear to it. I was no better. I could pick the suits out of a lineup, but not a face or even a build or height. They were taller than me. That’s not hard and Clarence thought they were wearing lifts. They left no prints and were so good that when the nursing trio went in to check on Stott a half hour after I left, they thought he was asleep. No blood and they’d superglued the incisions closed. Somebody heard something fall a couple hours later and that’s when they found Stott’s body on the floor.
The seventies guys were back in the current decade and long gone. They wouldn’t be found and while the cops and FBI were putting on a good show, nobody gave a crap. Doc said Stott had two months to live on the outside. He wasn’t going to trial. I got asked repeatedly who I thought might’ve murdered Bertram Stott. I played dumb, which is easy to do when your face is covered in bandages and the guy asking is looking at your breasts when he asks. And I didn’t know who killed him, but I damn well knew who ordered it. My vocal cords may as well have been cut ‘cause I was never ever going to say it.
When Fats came into the ER, I said, “Stott’s dead.”
She nodded, gave me a look, and that was it. Calpurnia Fibonacci let me investigate and she delivered the sentence. Justice and it was quick.
Two days later, I was curled up next to Irene and Lefty’s wood stove and there was a party going on. If you haven’t seen law enforcement celebrate, let’s just say, everything’s Irish and the stories never stop. And Tommy Watts was the biggest storyteller of them all.
Dad was in his element with the FBI agents, firefighters, locals hanging on his every word. I’d traded my recording of Stott and his switchblade for a statement at the press conference that the bureau had misjudged my father, they apologized, and welcomed him back into the fold where he always should have been. Mom was so happy she did the ugly cry and I got credited for assisting the FBI in their investigation into the death of Sister Maggie. Nobody had said I was a brainless dingbat so far and they wouldn’t if they wanted me to talk to Blankenship or any other psycho in the future.
It was all worth it just to see my parents smiling. Mom was out in public, not hiding or covering her mouth. The droop was still there, but even that seemed better. My dad was back with a vengeance and was already scheduled to teach a seminar on work/life balance while tracking murderers. One breakdown and he was an expert. Mom was in the kitchen making five kinds of bread pudding with Aaron and Grandma Janine in hopes that it would soak up some of the alcohol. Grandad was talking bachelor parties with Tiny and Fats.
When Tiny heard his beloved had suffered an injury on the news, he hightailed it down to St. Seb with The Girls in tow. My cousin, the big sweetheart, walked into Miss Elizabeth’s, took one look at the stitches on Fats’ face and dropped to one knee.
“Mary Elizabeth Licata, you are the woman I dreamed of and never believed existed, will you marry me?”
Fats tried to hold it but broke down in tears and dropped to her knees to kiss his face off. They had to get a room. I wish I could unsee that.
Later, when they emerged, she cornered me. “How did you do it?”
“I didn’t do it,” I said. “I’ve been a little busy, if you haven’t noticed.”
“You didn’t tell him about the baby?”
“No, of course not.”
Fats frowned, wrinkling her stitches. “Then why did he do it?”
“Oh, for God’s sake. He loves you madly.”
She got all shifty-eyed. “Ya think?”
“It’s not because he knows and he had to. He saw those stitches, thought about losing you, and did what he’s been wanting to do since he met you.”
“It was love at first sight,” she said.
“I know I was there.”
“Do you remember when we were in your truck and he said—”
I held up my hand. “Do not take me back. I’ve never heard anything so clean and dirty at the same time.”
She had a good laugh and then asked, “When should I tell him? I can hardly wait.”
“Wait,” I said. “Let him enjoy this moment fully. Then he can enjoy that one the same way.”
“For someone so uptight you can make sense every once in a while.”
“Thanks and I’m not uptight,” I said. “You’ve seen me on the DBD covers.”
“Those are just pictures, not who you really are,” said Fats.
It was my turn to get teary-eyed. “Thanks.”
“I wish I could do something about your face.”
“Haven’t got any spackle?”
“Not the kind that covers black eyes from hell,” she said. “You’re going to have to live with it.”
And I was living with it, but I didn’t mind so much. The bruises would go away. Doctor said the nose would be fine, but my arm was back in a cast. When I looked over at Grandad with his back covered in burns from Vietnam or Mom with her stroke issues, I just felt lucky. It could be worse and it was worse for a lot of the other people, including Millicent. She sat next to me, looking pale and weak. She should never have come down to St. Seb in that weather, but she insisted. She wanted to see me. She wanted to hear it from me.
As promised, I didn’t tell her everything, but a reporter managed to get a shot through a window at a table in the police station and got a clean photo of the series of autopsy sketches from Maggie’s file. It was all over the news and Stratton was forced to make a statement. The news had hit The Girls hard and Millicent had cried herself to sleep. She was so weak the next morning I wasn’t sure she could walk, but she surprised me by coming down for the party. She sat next to me and petted Moe, who was curled up on my lap. The pocket dog had some cracked ribs and some stitches, but she’d be fine, especially with the special pâté Aaron had made her.
“Mercy?” Millicent said softly.
I leaned over to hear her better over the toasts to justice and booming laughter. “Are you okay?”
“I am. Myrtle told me this morning that she hired you to…to find out what happened to dear Maggie. She’s very torn up about it. She assumed the man was dead. She didn’t think you would get hurt.”
I took her hand and squeezed. “He is dead. She wasn’t wrong.”
“But it was so much bigger and the church…I never imagined even with the way the bishop behaved after it happened that he…”
“Bishop Fowler was a thief and now the world knows it.”
That was an understatement. Details on Maggie’s murder came out fast, thanks to Gordon and Gansa enjoying their time in the limelight. The church had a new scandal to reckon with and it had gotten so much press attention that Pope Francis had made a statement about it. That appeased the press and it didn’t take long for them to focus on Chief Woody Lucas, his lack of investigation, and why. The alcoholism and loyalty might’ve helped him believe that distraught Father Dominic did it, instead of a college-bound boy of prominent family, but long-term guilt and a little blackmail persuaded him to end his own investigation. The New York Times wasted no time in digging up the history and it was horrid to say the least.
Chief Lucas and the St. Sebastian Sentinel editor, Barney Scheer, were in Joseph Snider’s platoon in the Pacific. Joseph, injured, somehow ended up in a Japanese tunnel where he was captured and I’m told there was cannibalism. I didn’t read the article. I had nightmares enough.
It didn’t get much worse than cannibalism and Davis Snider held his brother’s horrific death over the heads of the police chief and the newspaperman. There was a question as to whether Joseph was abandoned by his platoon to save themselves and that was enough to get Lucas and Scheer to look the other way when Maggie was murdered. Robert Junior’s uncles confirmed his version of events and said they didn’t know Robert had killed Maggie until years later when he confessed to them while drunk. According to them, their parents, Davis and Helen, had a hard time believing Robert did it, even after the confession. They’d only been trying to protect Robert from the taint of being mentioned in relation to a murder at the time and that Chief Lucas and Barney Scheer didn’t want to believe that the clean-cut Robert was a murderer any more than they did.
By the time Kenneth Young was kidnapped, Chief Lucas was dead, but we could safely assume that Barney Scheer told Davis or Robert what his intern was up to. No one else but Desmond Shipley knew. Whether Barney meant for Kenneth to be killed will probably never be known. Former Chief Melanie Gates said she knew nothing about it at the time, but that her father had warned her to never cross the Sniders and she made sure she didn’t. Melanie took a lie detector test about Kenneth Young’s murder and passed with flying colors.
Every news outlet in the country and a good number abroad were leading with how a serial killer could’ve been stopped if the horrors of WWII hadn’t interfered. They weren’t wrong, but a lot of people could’ve stopped Bertram Stott. If someone had stepped up, the network of killers he founded would never have happened. One murder became dozens, maybe hundreds. A small time crime Chief Lucas called it. Maybe one murder did seem small to a man who lived through Iwo Jima and Sugar Loaf Hill. But that one crime became big and it didn’t have to be that way.
“I hope you’ll be okay, dear,” said Millicent. “You shouldn’t have been asked to look into it.”
“I hope you’ll be okay,” I said.
“It will get better now that we know the truth.”
Will it?
The door opened and Clarence walked in. She wasn’t alone.
“Or it could get worse,” I said.
Millicent kissed my cheek so lightly it was like a butterfly kiss. “It can’t get worse. I refuse to let it.”
“Aunt Miriam’s here.”
It might’ve been my imagination, but Millicent seemed to go a shade paler. “She does love you.”
“Are you sure about that?” I asked.
Aunt Miriam shot me the stink eye and Millicent hesitated. “I’m sure.”
“She asked me to leave it alone and I didn’t.”
“You did the right thing. Don’t let anyone tell you different. Look at how proud Tommy is.”
“He’s talking about himself, Millicent.”
She smiled. “And you. You’re in there.”
“You are the nicest person I know.”
“I doubt that, but I’m going to go say hello to Miriam.” Millicent tried to stand, but Tiny and Fats had to rush over to help her up and take her to Aunt Miriam.
Myrtle and I exchanged a glance across the room past the cheerful firefighters, cops, neighbors, and FBI agents. No one else felt the way we felt. She asked me and I did what was asked. The two of us did that together and now Millicent looked like the pain of it would pull her under.
Millicent spoke to Aunt Miriam briefly before Fats picked her up and carried her from the room. She needed to go back to bed. I wasn’t entirely sure she didn’t need to go to the hospital, but she’d already rejected the idea.
Aunt Miriam stood next to the door with her purse that no doubt had a brick in it and her cane. Clarence tried to soothe her, but she kept giving me the hairy eyeball until I hoisted myself to my feet and came through the crowd to take my medicine.
“Alright. Go ahead,” I said.
“Mercy,” said Clarence, nervously. “Guess what I just found out.”
With effort, I refocused. “What’s that?”
“The St. Sebastian Catholic High School is going to be renamed the Sister Margaret Mullanphy Catholic High School and they’re going to build a memorial garden for her. Isn’t that wonderful?”
“It really is,” I said. “I think she’ll like that.”
“Do you think the toilets will stop overflowing now and all the other stuff?” asked Clarence.
“The toilets will be over, but the comforting won’t stop,” I said. “She’ll always be with them. This is St. Sebastian.”
“I think that’s a good thing.” Clarence’s eyes sparkled. “I was on the news. Can you believe that? Me.”
“I totally believe it.”
“My principal called me and she said she was impressed. Parents are calling and asking to have their kiddos in my class next year. Nobody’s going to say I don’t know anything about the real world anymore.”
“You rock, Sister,” I said.
Clarence beamed at me and Aunt Miriam pursed her thin lips.
“Now to the bad news,” I said. “Let me have it.”
Chuck rushed over and got between me and that cane. He’s a good man, but it wasn’t necessary. “Everything alright?”
“Probably not.”
“Mercy did good,” said Chuck. “You have to know that.”
Aunt Miriam made a throaty growl that made both Clarence and Chuck take a step back. For someone so old and tiny, she was pretty freaking scary. But not to Moe. The pocket dog growled right back and I considered trying to steal her from Fats. You gotta love a dog that doesn’t give a crap.
“How about you get me another hot chocolate?” I asked Chuck.
“Are you sure?”
I was and I sent Clarence to Myrtle, since she looked like she might need a gentle hand to sit her down.
Clarence hugged me before going. “We did good. I’m so proud.”
It doesn’t feel good, but it is good.
“We did.”
Clarence and Chuck left me with my elderly, angry aunt and I got myself ready for war or, at least, a minor skirmish.
“Okay,” I said with a good amount of belligerence. “You’re pissed. You know what? Don’t care. A serial killer is dead and victims’ families are going to get the answers that they’ve been waiting decades for. So, as Grandad says, put that in your pipe and smoke it.”
“You went against the family,” she said in a low hiss that made the hair stand up on the back of my neck.
“I did not,” I said. “The Girls are my family and you know it.”
“I know no such thing.”
“Whatever. Can I ask you a question?”
“No.”
“I’ll tell Clarence,” I threatened.
Aunt Miriam’s wispy brows shot up. “Clarence loves me. I’m her mentor.”
“She helped me, Aunt Miriam. She’s here because she thought this should happen. Sister Frances sent her and she wanted to do it.”
Her lower lip trembled. “I don’t know about that.”
“I do,” I said. “Why didn’t you save me the trouble and identify Sister Maggie’s medal? You knew it was hers.”
Chuck brought us mugs of hot chocolate, took one look at our faces, and said, “I’ll just be waiting over there.”
“Tell me,” I said.
“You don’t deserve anything from me,” she said.
“Look at my arm and face and say that again.”
She flicked a brief glance at me and looked away to Myrtle, who was in a quiet conversation with Clarence. “I didn’t want to know.”
“What? Who really did it?”
“I knew who did it.”
“Father Dominic? Seriously?” I asked.
Aunt Miriam forced her watery blue eyes to look at me. “I knew what no one else did. Maggie told me a couple of days before she disappeared that she’d decided not to abandon her vows. She wasn’t going to run off and marry Dominic.”
“So?”
“She was scared, very worried about what he would do when she told him,” she said.
I almost couldn’t respond. “Maggie thought Dominic might kill her?”
“No. Pay attention, Mercy.”
“I am.”
“She thought he might hurt himself. She was very scared about that and I thought with the way he acted that he must’ve hurt her instead and was wracked with guilt.”
“But what’s that got to do with identifying the medal?” I asked.
“I didn’t know where her medal went. We never found Dominic’s body. Someone could’ve gotten it out of the river or maybe he gave it to someone. Maybe she lost it. I didn’t know. The way he was after Maggie was found…”
“Did you think he might not be dead?”
“No. Of course not.” She raised her voice and the whole room turned and looked. “You still aren’t paying attention.”
I bent over to her. “I am listening. I’m trying to understand.”
A tear rolled down her cheek. “I knew that she was going to tell him no. I knew, only me, and I wanted to tell Mother Superior about it, but Maggie asked me not to and I didn’t. I felt in my heart I should, but I didn’t, and she died. Then he died. I could’ve prevented it. I had a feeling something wasn’t right. She was so worried and upset. She wasn’t sleeping. Something was coming and I ignored it.”
“You had a feeling, like Dad gets,” I said astonished.
“And you get.” She glared at me. “Except you wouldn’t have ignored it.”
“Er…maybe.”
She snorted.
“Okay. Probably not.”
“I let my friend and mentor die because I didn’t follow my instinct. Seeing that medal brought it all back. The way she looked when she told me her decision. Dominic’s uncontrolled grief. I just couldn’t and I didn’t think it would do any good. How could that terrible place in Kansas have anything to do with Maggie? It didn’t seem possible. Dominic did it. I was sure and bringing all this up again would just hurt Millicent and Myrtle. They would have to know that I had let Maggie down. Did you see Millicent? She’s heartsick. The thought of what that man did to Maggie—”
“Don’t think about it,” I said. “Don’t give him the satisfaction wherever he is.”
“Burning in hell,” said Aunt Miriam with complete conviction.
“Exactly. Let him burn.”
“And what about you?”
“Me?” I asked.
“They said on the news that the other one told you all the things he did. You heard it all.”
“It is what it is.” I risked gently touching her arm and whispered, “How are you feeling?”
“Very well, thank you,” she said primly.
“So I may have—”
“Told Sister Clarence and Sister Frances about my predicament? Yes, I know and I do not forgive you.”
“They understand.”
“Frances says that she will attend my next appointment thanks to you.”
“She can help,” I said.
She brushed my hand off her arm. “You’ll be the one to help.”
“Huh?”
“I hear you will be running the fish fries during Lent,” she said.
Oh, no! Oh, no!
“Well, actually I won our bet,” I said. “So no fish fries.”
“Is Frances coming to my appointments?” Aunt Miriam asked.
“Er…yes?”
“I’m glad we understand each other.” The stink eye was sizzling and I took a step back. “And, Mercy, you will come to the special mass tonight.”
“I guess,” I said.
“Wrong answer,” she said.
“Okay.”
Aunt Miriam left it at that, for the moment, but I had no illusions about my having a choice. I would be at mass, and if I had to guess, there’d be a lot of masses in my future.
She headed into the party that had switched to telling ghost stories and, unless I misunderstood, there was a vampire living at the bowling alley and witches a couple of towns over. Vampires and bowling alleys do not go together in any book I’d read, so I chalked it up to the tequila shots and whiskey ice cream.
I wasn’t feeling very raucous so I sucked down my hot chocolate and gave the mug to Aaron for a refill before I went out into the hall to have a breather, but Patton came dashing down the stairs and nearly bowled me over.
“Holy crap!” she exclaimed. “I’m sorry.”
“It’s fine. Everything okay?”
“Oh, yeah. I left the boxes on your bed,” she said. “I hope that’s alright.”
I drew a blank. “Boxes?”
“Oh. Um…Chief Stratton decided to release the evidence from your great grandparents’ crash to you. I thought you knew.”
“Somebody said something,” I said. “So it’s Chief Stratton now?”
“Yeah, Will resigned and she took the reins. It’s about time.”
“How’d that happen?”
“He saw himself on the news and it was so bad. He’s going to rehab. We’re crossing our fingers.”
“Here’s hoping,” I said.
“How’s your uncle? Did the surgery go okay?”
I smiled, remembering the relief I felt at hearing Uncle Morty bawl me out over recovery time and not coming to the hospital through a blizzard and closed highways. He was doing fine but his family had finally gotten there. His mother insisted on sleeping in his room and you’d think she was poking him in the eyeball with a red hot fork.
“Good. But he can’t fly for a while,” I said.
“Bummer,” she said with a big grin.
A big burst of laughter erupted behind me and Patton headed in. Aaron had promised her a heavenly hot chocolate with spiced rum. She went toward bliss and I went up the stairs. Those boxes were calling to me. It was time. Ready or not.
I was afraid of what I’d find in the Lilac Room. Irene moved me there when Chuck turned up and it was one of those rooms that ghost-seeking guests sought out. Nothing had happened so far, but it couldn’t last. Miss Elizabeth thought I was interesting and she wasn’t likely to forget.
“Can you give me one small break?” I asked with my hand on the doorknob.
“No,” said the voice in my head.
“Ah, come on.”
Miss Elizabeth laughed and I opened the door. There on the foot of the bed were the evidence boxes, open with the contents arranged as if Agatha and Daniel would come in at any minute and get dressed.
“You kind of suck, you know that?” I asked.
“Yes.”
“Mercy?” Chuck came up beside me with a worried look on his handsome face. “Who are you talking to?”
“Me,” Miss Elizabeth said.
I glanced at him to see if he heard that, but he didn’t. Creepy was my department apparently. “Nobody. Myself. I might be losing it.”
“You are not losing it.”
“Thanks.”
“You already lost it a long time ago.”
“You skunk!”
Chuck wrestled me into submission—I didn’t try very hard—and carried me to the bed where he dumped me unceremoniously on the bed next to the evidence. I reached for the police report folder, but he stopped me.
“We need to talk,” he said. “That can wait.”
I bit my lip.
“It’s not bad.”
“Is it about moving?”
“Yes.”
Then it’s bad.
“Can’t that please wait? I know you have plans and listings and more plans, but I just—”
“Mercy, you promised,” Chuck said, standing in the Superman pose next to the bed. It totally suited him, but I was not in the mood for a power stance.
“Fine. I’ll just tell you then,” I said.
His eyelids went to half-mast and he watched me carefully. “Tell me what?”
Suck it up, buttercup.
“I’m not moving. I don’t want to and I’m not going to.”
“Hold on now.”
“You hold on. I am not moving out to some house in the sticks away from my family. Uncle Morty’s in the hospital and Millicent looks like a stiff wind could blow her away. My mother needs me and my father is…him so I’m not doing it.”
“Will you listen to me?”
“You listen to me. I love you but no. I don’t care where you found a perfect place or if it has outdoor space where you can grow kumquats. I can’t leave them.” Tears were rolling down my cheeks, soaking my bandages, but I didn’t care. I couldn’t look worse or feel worse than I already did.
“I did find the perfect place,” he said.
We’re going to break up over this. It’s happening. Fats is getting married and we’re breaking up.
“No,” I said totally heartsick, but I had to go with my gut.
“You’ll like it.”
“I won’t.” I looked up at the one I loved, expecting fury and seeing a hint of a smile instead. “Aren’t you mad? Aren’t we going to break up?”
“Break up?” Chuck laughed and kissed my forehead. “You’re not getting rid of me that easily.”
“But you want to move. You want space and to grow kumquats.”
“For the record, I don’t want to grow kumquats. I don’t even know what a kumquat is,” he said. “But we are moving.”
“You aren’t listening,” I said.
“To Hawthorne Avenue.”
Crap on a cracker.
“We are not moving in with my parents. Are you crazy? Did you take my painkillers?”
“I did not take your painkillers and I’m eighty percent not crazy.” Chuck grinned and my heart melted for a second.
“Eighty percent?” I asked.
“Hey, that’s pretty good. Have you met your father?”
“Good point. So…”
He sat on the bed and gave me a wad of tissues. “I’m not going to make you leave your family. I should’ve been paying attention before. You don’t belong anywhere else and they do need you. I see that.”
“We’re still not living with my parents,” I said.
“Correct. We’re moving into one of the apartments above the stables,” he said.
“Huh?”
“There are apartments above the stables at the Bled Mansion. You know that.”
I blew my nose as much as I could. “I forgot about that, but we can’t just tell The Girls that we’re moving in.”
“It’s all settled,” he said. “The Girls are thrilled. They promised to let me tell you.”
“I don’t know about this. That stupid Brooks sued to get control of The Girls estate because he thought I had too much influence. What’s he going to say about this?” I asked.
“Brooks is a pinhead. While you were having your head examined, I called Lawton and the cousins. The Bleds are on board. They’ve been nervous since Lester got killed. Having a cop on the property suits them fine.”
I leaned back woozy. I don’t know if it was relief, painkillers, or Aaron’s spiked hot chocolate. “You’re serious?”
“It has two bedrooms and it’s three times the size of your apartment,” he said. “Are you in?”
I kissed him carefully so as not to get my soggy nose bandages on him. “You sure you want to take this mess on?”
“I’m all in.” He kissed me back, not at all worried about my moisture. “Now answer the question.”
“I’m in.”
Chuck leaned back on the headboard and kicked off his shoes. “That’s settled. What’s next?”
“Does there have to be something next?” I asked.
“It’s us.”
“True.”
There was a little metallic pop and Chuck sat bolt upright. “Did that purse…”
“Open on its own?” I asked. “Yes, yes it did.”
He shrugged. “That happens, right? I mean, it’s an old purse.”
“Well.”
The purse snapped closed.
Chuck looked at me, his eyes wide. “I think we should move now. Like right now.”
“I think we should open that purse,” I said.
“You first.”
“What a big scaredy-cat.”
“Guilty as charged.”
I crawled over the bed, scattering a bunch of plastic evidence bags, and pulled the purse into my lap.
Chuck got off the bed and crossed his arms. “Were those bags open when you found the box?”
“I think so. Fats didn’t tear anything open when she looked through them,” I said.
“Somebody’s already been through it,” he said.
“Well, killing Agatha and Daniel wouldn’t be enough to make sure The Bleds didn’t get any leads on what they had. My family should’ve gotten this stuff way back then.”
Chuck came over and rubbed my back. “Sometimes family can’t bear to pick up their loved ones effects.”
I tossed an evidence bag away. “This is all pointless. The Klinefeld Group was here first and there obviously wasn’t anything to be found or they wouldn’t have come back again and again.”
The purse popped open and shut again and Chuck jolted away. “That’s not right.”
“Like so many other things,” I said, reaching for the clasp.
“You’re just going to open that?”
I shrugged. “How bad can it be?”
“I saw floating eyeballs last night,” he said.
“It happens.” I snapped open Agatha’s purse, laying out the contents on the bed. There was nothing unusual, just the stuff you’d expect to find in an older lady’s purse. Antacid pills, a compact, a couple lipsticks, tissues, checkbook, and a fat wallet.
“That’s it?” asked Chuck visibly disappointed.
It couldn’t be. Miss Elizabeth knew her stuff and I thought she kind of liked me. I leafed through the checkbook and took everything out of the wallet. Nothing stood out. Then I turned the purse upside down. There was a little thunk.
Chuck took a breath and said, “Did you hear that?”
“I heard it.” I flipped the purse back over several times. Thunk. Thunk. Thunk.
“Check the lining.”
I felt around the silk lining of my great grandmother’s purse and found a slit on one of the sides. My hand fit in and tucked behind the side pocket was a slim packet. I pulled it out and we held our breath. It was a small manila envelope that was stuffed full and sealed.
“Should I open it?” I asked.
“Are you kidding?” Chuck asked. “You do it or I will.”
I forced my fingernails under the flap and it popped open easily. I dumped the contents on the bed and it took me a moment to process what I was seeing there. On top were two transatlantic steamer tickets from late November 1938.
“Do you think those are the tickets?” Chuck asked.
“They have to be,” I said.
Underneath the tickets, I found a letter from Florence Bled thanking Amelie and Paul for helping Stella and Nicky. There was some talk of reimbursement for expenses and a job for Paul at a very nice salary. At the end, casually, like it hardly mattered at all was a postscript. “Please send along the item we discussed. This address is the most appropriate.”
“That’s our house,” I said. “They sent it to our house.”
Chuck didn’t move or reach for the rest. He let me do it, but I almost couldn’t. It was too much to hope that the answer was there in front of me.
“Go ahead. See what that paper says.”
I picked up a tri-folded sheaf of papers, but at first I wasn’t sure what I was seeing. One sheet looked like an accounting ledger. It had elegant old-fashioned handwriting that was so faded I could barely make it out.
“It looks like a manifest,” I said. “The date’s right. Same ship. Here’s their names.”
Under Amelie and Paul’s names was a list of items that went on board, trunks, suitcases and one other thing.
I looked at Chuck. “A wooden crate already packed.”
“It doesn’t say what’s in it?”
“No, just the size. It’s pretty big. It has to be artwork.”
Chuck put his arm around me. “You always thought it would be art.”
“The Klinefeld Group was looking for a box. This is a pretty damn big box.”
“What’s that last thing?”
I unfolded the other paper. It was delicate, fragile like airmail paper, but it wasn’t a letter. It was a receipt. A shipping receipt.
“I can’t believe it,” I said.
“That can’t be right,” said Chuck.
“It has to be.”
The receipt said that an antique liquor cabinet had been packed up in New Orleans in January 1939 and shipped to Josiah Bled in St. Louis. There was only one liquor cabinet that I knew of, the one in our butler’s pantry. The cabinet was tucked into the built-ins like it was intended to be there with delicate wooden hands and vines that reached out of the other cabinets and held it fast. I thought the liquor cabinet was original to the house, but it wasn’t. It couldn’t be. And that cabinet wasn’t unknown. Josiah’s quirk of installing an 1800’s marquetry liquor cabinet into his house had been featured in magazines and newspapers. Josiah hadn’t hidden it. The cabinet was in a coffee table book produced in the eighties called Bled Family Architecture. Mom had that book. It was on our coffee table.
“I don’t understand,” said Chuck. “Is there something special about it?”
“There must be.” I gathered up the contents of my great grandmother’s packet and slid off the bed.
Chuck jumped up. “Where are we going?”
“You stay here. I’ll be back.”
I turned to go and he grabbed my arm, holding tight, grounding me. “Promise you’re not leaving this house.”
“Promise.” I went up on my tiptoes and kissed him, not worrying about my nose. “We’re moving in together. Think about what to pack.”
He grinned at me, glowing with the charm that always sucked me right in. “Everything.”
“No beer signs.”
“Especially the beer signs.”
I darted out the door and tossed over my shoulder, “We’ll discuss it later.”
“No, we won’t,” he called after me.
I laughed as I hurried down the hall. Stupid beer signs. So not happening. Who needs a giant Schlitz sign? We’re Bled people, for crying out loud.
I stopped in front of a room with “Miss Elizabeth” on the door and crossed my fingers. I had it on good authority that her room was the one you didn’t want to be in if you scared easily, or at all really, but The Girls took it and claimed they hadn’t heard a peep. Maybe two widows were just Miss Elizabeth’s speed.
“Come in,” Millicent called out in response to my knock and I walked in to find my godmothers sitting in a pair of rockers by the bay window that was missing a few panes and had been boarded over. Their faces were calm and dry, but I knew they’d been crying. I could feel it.
“I have news,” I said.
Millicent’s face lit up as much as it could. “You’re moving in. We’re so pleased to have you close.”
I hurried over and sat at their feet on an embroidered stool. “Yes, but it’s not that.”
“What is it, dear?” Myrtle asked with a warning in her voice.
“It’s good news.” I held up the receipt. “Stella shipped Josiah’s liquor cabinet back from Europe. That’s what it was.”
The Girls’ faces truly lit up.
“How extraordinary!”
“Marvelous. You must tell your mother immediately.”
“We’ll examine it.”
“You know how Uncle Josiah loved secret compartments.”
“We’ll find out what The Klinefeld Group wants.”
“We’re going to know.”
I hugged them both and showed them their mother’s letter. They touched their weathered fingers to her handwriting and to her signature especially.
“She knew,” said Millicent and some tightness left her thin shoulders.
“Of course, she did. Mother knew all Stella’s secrets,” said Myrtle, “and I imagine she had quite a few. We didn’t know about Bickford until a few days ago. Imagine what else we can learn.”
Millicent nodded and leaned forward to touch my hand. “Perhaps uncovering more about her will help us connect some descendants to pieces from her collection. We could return more to the rightful owners.”
“Can I use your phone, Millicent?” I asked. “Mine’s done for.”
“Of course,” she said. “What are you up to?”
“We haven’t called Dr. Wallingford for his friend’s list of the Bickford House Kindertransport children yet, have we?”
Millicent tilted her chin down and a thrill of excitement went through her. “We haven’t.”
“We should,” said Myrtle.
“Right now?” I asked.
“This minute.”
So we called with a new plan, discoveries and Stella ahead, and past pains firmly behind, just where we wanted them.
The End