“I bet you’re just like your aunt,” James says as he follows me into the kitchen.
“I’m not sure what you mean.”
“Right.” He laughs nervously. “Of course.”
I brush salt off the table, left from Harrison’s French fries last night. “Do you want coffee?”
“No, thank you.”
I nod again and let go of Hunter, plugging in my coffee pot. I need coffee. James is setting papers out on the table when I join him.
“I’m sorry,” I start, looking at a bank statement. “How did my aunt come into all this money?”
“Your aunt was very good at investment and playing the stock market.” I don’t know what playing the stock market means, so I just nod again. He slides another paper in front of me. “Here are her, uh, predictions, for you. It tells you when and what stocks to buy, as well as when to sell.”
The list is written in Aunt Estelle’s tiny handwriting and is pretty straight forward, with her “predictions” going for the next twenty years. I’m busy looking at the paper when James slides another over, snatching his hand back.
“This is from her,” he tells me, and I pick up the envelope. My name is written in the center in tiny cursive that I recognize at once. I grab it and flip it over. It’s closed with a wax seal, and the same triple moon symbol is pressed into the wax. I use my nail to break the seal. Carefully, I unfold the letter.
My dearest Anora,
I’m dead, which you already know by now. Well, assuming James has done his job. He’s a bit of a coward, but you can trust him. He will assist you with all of the legal doings that neither you nor I know anything about.
Now, if you are reading this particular letter, it means I never got the chance to explain things to you. Don’t be angry at me, my dear. I did what I thought was best to save you from a world of heartache. I may be dead, but in time I will tell you everything.
I am very proud of the young woman you have become.
Much love,
Estelle
What the hell? I bite my lip and move my eyes to the top of the letter, needing to read it again. Before I can, James has more papers to carefully push in front of me.
“Your aunt lived in an assisted living facility for the last three years, so the house has sat empty.” He gives me another paper. “Per her wishes, an inspection was done just a week before her death. Everything is up to code now.”
“The house is old, right?”
“Yes. It was built in 1903.”
A few seconds of silence tick by. “When is her funeral?”
“It was your aunt’s wishes not to have one. Her body was cremated immediately after she died.”
“Oh.” I look at the papers again, not able to concentrate to read anything. “Does my mom know?”
James looks at me as if that’s a completely irrelevant question.
“It was her aunt,” I quickly explain. And at least Mom remembers meeting Aunt Estelle, unlike me. “Or my grandma? Estelle was her sister.”
“No, you are the only one I was told to inform.”
Neither of us say anything for a moment. The long silence is awkward.
“So where exactly is this house? I know she lived in Indiana, but that’s it,” I admit shyly.
James gets out a map. Man, he has everything in that briefcase. Up in the left top corner of Indiana is a star.
“Northwest Indiana.” He points at the star, as if I couldn’t figure out that is where I am supposed to look. “It’s a bit of a funny situation, really. The street your house is on is the divider from one town to another. The house is in Paradise Valley, but your mailbox is across the street in Thorne Hill.”
Your house. Your mailbox. This is all so weird.
“So the mailing address is Thorne Hill, but I believe you have Paradise Valley trash pickup due to the routes the trucks take. I’ll clarify on that when we’re back in Indiana.”
“Back in Indiana?”
“Yes, I was under the impression you’d want to finalize all the paperwork as well as see your house.”
“Oh, right. I, um, I do,” I say, eager to go into the old house and see if it jogs my memory.
“Let me know when and I will arrange transportation to the airport for you as well as book your flight.”
I stare at him, blinking. “I’m sorry.” I shake my head. “This is just…just a lot to take in.”
“I can imagine.” He forces a smile and pulls out a folder and a pen from his briefcase. “Now, shall we get the ball rolling?”
“Um, sure,” I say and pick up the pen. Aunt Estelle wrote that I can trust him. But since when do I trust Aunt Estelle?
Chapter Seven
“Hey, Mom.” I put my Prius in park in the hospital parking lot. “Do you have like five minutes?”
“I actually do. What’s wrong, honey?” she answers.
I turn the car off and switch the call from my car Bluetooth to my phone. “Why do you assume something is wrong?”
“You called to talk. You hardly ever call to talk.”
“I call you,” I counter. “And I was hoping I could see you. Dad said you were seeing patients and updating files today.”
“Now I’m worried.”
“Are you in your office?”
“What’s wrong, Anora?”
I get out of the car and close the door behind me. “I’m pregnant.”
“Hilarious,” Mom deadpans. “What’s really wrong?”
“Aunt Estelle died.”
“Oh,” Mom replies. “Well, she was quite old. How do you know?”
“A lawyer came to my house this morning and—I really need to show you something.”
“Okay,” she says. “I’m about to check on a patient in the PACU but will be back in my office shortly. I’ll meet you there. Bye, honey.” Mom ends the call and I shove my phone in my purse. With the papers from James tucked under my arm, I brush hay off my breeches and walk into the hospital.
I spent the morning at the barn and everything was normal. If it wasn’t so damn hot out, I would have brought Hunter to help calm my nerves. I blamed my jitters on too much coffee paired with the humidity of the morning. I’m not sure if anyone bought it, but no one was going to accuse me of being nervous because a monster spooked Mystery in the woods yesterday and the resident ghost went rogue.
I’m not sure what I expect Mom to tell me. She didn’t know Aunt Estelle very well, but I’m having a hard time believing little old Aunt Estelle was a closet millionaire to the entire Fowler family. Getting in an elevator to go up to Mom’s office, I look over the papers again, rereading the letter from Aunt Estelle for the hundredth time. I haven’t found a hidden message in it yet, but maybe—just maybe—if I read it again I will.
Still looking at the letter, I step out of the elevator and crash right into someone’s firm chest.
“Anora.” Ethan’s hands land on my shoulders, steadying me.
I look up, lips parting, but I’m unable to form a coherent sentence. Ethan takes a step back, and lets his hands fall from my shoulders, fingers running down my arms. “I…I’m not drunk,” I finally blurt and then mentally kick myself.