PART 3
It wasn’t anger.
It wasn’t surprise.
It was fear.
Then it disappeared.
He walked toward us.
“Maggie,” he said, too casually, “what are you doing with that?”
I held the envelope against my chest.
“What’s behind that door?”
He stopped.
The locksmith glanced between us.
“Mr. Mercer said the house was vacant,” the man said. “I was told no one was inside.”
Dale’s jaw tightened.
“It is vacant.”
Knock.
This time, louder.
I flinched.
Mrs. Pruitt whispered, “Somebody’s in there.”
Dale took two quick steps toward the back door.
I moved in front of him.
He stopped inches away from me.
“Move.”
“No.”
“Maggie.”
“No.”
His voice dropped.
“That is not your house.”
I felt something cold settle in my stomach.
“It’s Grandma’s house.”
“Not anymore.”
“Who owns it?”
He didn’t answer.
I pulled the deed copy from the envelope.
“You want to explain this?”
He looked at the paper.
His eyes went immediately to the legal description.
Then to my name.
For a moment, his face went completely blank.
“Where did you get that?”
“Inside Grandma’s angel.”
His mouth opened slightly.
Then closed.
Mrs. Pruitt let out a little breath.
“Oh,” she whispered. “Oh, honey.”
Dale stared at me.
“You opened that?”
“I did.”
“You had no right.”
“Neither did you.”
His face reddened.
“You don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Then tell me why Grandma left me six point seven acres.”
Silence.
Knock.
Knock.
Knock.
The sound came again.
This time there was a voice.
Very faint.
“Margaret?”
Everything in me went still.
It was a woman’s voice.
Old.
Weak.
But familiar.
Mrs. Pruitt grabbed my arm.
“Did you hear that?”
I nodded.
Dale went pale.
The voice came again.
“Margaret Anne?”
I knew that voice.
I had heard it my whole childhood.
I had heard it over Sunday dinners.
Over birthday cakes.
Over Christmas mornings.
I had heard it when Grandma called me in from the garden.
“Margaret Anne, dinner.”
I whispered, “Grandma?”
The locksmith stepped backward.
Dale grabbed his arm.
“Don’t.”
The locksmith frowned.
“You told me the house was empty.”
“It is.”
“Someone is definitely in there.”
Dale pulled him farther from the door.
“We need to leave.”
I looked at him.
“Why?”
He didn’t answer.
And that was when I understood something.
Dale wasn’t scared of the person inside.
He was scared of the person coming out.
I stepped toward the door.
Dale grabbed my wrist.
“Don’t.”
I tore my arm away.
“You knew.”
“Maggie, listen to me.”
“No.”
“You don’t understand what you’re getting yourself into.”
“Then explain it.”
He looked at the envelope.
Then at the deed.
Then at the house.
“I was going to handle it.”
“Handle what?”
He said nothing.
I raised my voice.
“Who is in there?”
The voice answered before he could.
“Someone who has been waiting for you.”
I felt every hair on my arms rise.
The locksmith put his tool case down.
Mrs. Pruitt whispered, “Call the sheriff.”
I reached for the door handle.
Dale blocked me again.
“Move.”
“No.”
“Dale.”
“You need to hear me before you do this.”
I stared at him.
He looked older suddenly.
Not thirty-eight.
Not the confident cousin who had always gotten his way.
He looked tired.
Cornered.
Like a man who had been running from something and had finally reached the end of the road.
“Grandma didn’t trust me,” he said quietly.
“No,” I replied. “She didn’t.”
His eyes hardened.
“She knew about the money.”
“What money?”
He swallowed.
“That’s the problem.”
Behind the door came a soft cough.
Then footsteps.
Slow.
Dragging.
Toward us.
Dale stepped away.
The locksmith moved toward his truck.
Mrs. Pruitt gripped my shoulder.
The back door opened.
An old woman stood there.
She was thin, pale, and wrapped in a brown cardigan.
Her silver hair was braided over one shoulder.
She looked directly at me.
Then she smiled.
“Maggie.”
I couldn’t move.
I couldn’t speak.
The woman held out her hand.
“Come inside.”
My knees nearly gave out.
Because she looked exactly like Grandma.
Not a little like her.
Exactly.
Same blue eyes.
Same narrow chin.
Same tiny scar above her left eyebrow.
The scar I’d kissed when I was six after Grandma fell from the porch.
But Grandma Elsie had been dead for eleven days.
I took one step backward.
“Who are you?”
The woman smiled sadly.
“Your grandmother’s sister.”
Dale whispered something I didn’t hear.
I looked at him.
“You never told us Grandma had a sister.”
His eyes dropped.
The woman at the door said, “That’s because he wasn’t supposed to.”
She opened the door wider.
“Come in, Margaret. We have very little time.”
I stepped across the threshold.
The house smelled exactly as Grandma’s house always had.
Cedar.
Lavender.
Old coffee.
And the faint cinnamon smell from the kitchen.
My chest tightened.
Everything looked untouched.
The clock on the wall was still ticking.
Grandma’s slippers were beside the recliner.
A half-finished crossword sat on the side table.
Except there was one thing I knew immediately.
The house had been searched.
Drawers were open.
Cabinet doors hung crooked.
A lamp was knocked over.
The carpet near the hallway had been torn.
Someone had been looking for something.
The old woman closed the door behind me.
“My name is Evelyn.”
I stared at her.
“Why were you hiding here?”
“Because your grandmother asked me to.”
“Asked you to do what?”
“Wait.”
“For me?”
She nodded.
“She knew they would come for the house.”
“Who?”
Evelyn looked toward the windows.
“The people who have been taking things from your grandmother for years.”
I thought of the silver.
The clocks.
The cedar chest.
Dale.
“You mean him.”
Evelyn didn’t answer immediately.
Then she said, “Dale is only one part of it.”
My stomach twisted.
“What does that mean?”
She walked toward the dining room.
“Close the curtains.”
I did.
Mrs. Pruitt came in behind me.
The locksmith stayed outside.
Dale remained on the porch.
He wouldn’t cross the threshold.
Evelyn noticed.
“He knows.”
“Knows what?”
“Why your grandmother transferred the land to you.”
I unfolded the deed copy.
“She didn’t tell me.”
“She couldn’t.”
“Why?”
“Because she knew you would tell the family.”
I felt a sharp pain in my chest.
“Grandma trusted me.”
“She trusted you more than she trusted anyone.”
Evelyn reached beneath the dining room table.
Her fingers found something taped underneath.
She pulled out a small metal key.
Then she placed it in my palm.
“Your grandmother told me to give you this only after the angel was opened.”
I stared at it.
“What does it open?”
“The place Dale couldn’t find.”
I looked toward him.
He had his phone out.
Probably calling someone.
Mrs. Pruitt stepped closer.
“Who exactly is that man?”
Evelyn looked at Dale through the curtains.
“He is your cousin.”
“I know.”
“No.”
She shook her head.
“He is your cousin by blood.”
I frowned.
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
She sat down.
Then she said something that made my entire understanding of my family begin to crack.
“Your grandmother had a brother.”
I waited.
Evelyn continued.
“His name was Thomas.”
I had never heard that name.
“My grandmother never mentioned him.”
“She mentioned him to you once.”
I searched my memory.
“She did?”
“She called him the man who left.”
I remembered.
A summer afternoon when I was twelve.
Grandma had been crying in the kitchen.
I’d asked why.
She told me about a brother who had disappeared.
She said he had made terrible choices.
I thought she meant he had died.
Evelyn corrected me.
“He didn’t disappear.”
“What happened to him?”
“He was murdered.”
The room became silent.
