by Sarah Jio
Moments later, a gray Volvo sedan barreled into the driveway; a woman with bobbed white hair sat behind the wheel. She stepped out of the car and greeted me with a warm smile. “You must be Claire.”
“Yes,” I said, walking toward her with an outstretched hand. “Thank you so much for meeting me here. I hope it wasn’t an inconvenience.”
“Not at all, dear,” she said, staring up at the old house, then exhaling deeply. “My, I have missed this place.”
“You raised your family here?”
“I did,” she said. “Two sons.”
“When did you and your husband move out?”
She paused for a moment. “My first husband died,” she said. “Some time ago. I remarried last year.” She sighed, looking up at the house. “I haven’t been able to bring him here. Of course, I want to share it with him, as I want to share everything with him, but I worry that I may need to keep this place to myself.” She shook her head. “Too many memories.”
“I can understand that,” I said.
“Well,” Lillian said, “listen to me blabbering. You’ve come to look for information, and I’d like to help you find it. My father had the most interesting career. He was a partner in the largest law firm in Seattle—Sharpe, Sanford, and O’Keefe—but he always had time for the little guy. He took on cases even when he knew he wouldn’t get paid for them. He was a good man.” She walked to the front door of the house, inserting a key into the lock. “Here we are, home sweet home.” Her voice echoed against the lonely walls.
I followed her inside, brushing a cobweb from the doorway. The hardwood floors creaked beneath my feet. Everywhere furniture was covered in white fabric. “It must have been a wonderful home to raise a family in,” I said, imagining the sound of little boys’ laughter in the air.
“Yes,” Lillian said, reminiscing. “We had so much happiness here.” She pointed to a hallway ahead. “My father’s records are down this way. He was fastidious about his files. Kept copies of every document relating to each case he ever took on. Few attorneys bothered with such documentation back then, but my father cared about details. Besides, there had been too many strange incidents with the police department. Corruption, Father believed.” She nodded. “He always kept records in case anyone tried to falsify a document.”
She stopped in front of a room at the east end of the house. I watched as she began to turn the door handle, pushing against it with her frail arm, but it stuck. “That’s strange,” she said. “It’s almost as if something’s blocking the opening.”
“Let me try.” I reached for the handle and gave the door a solid shove. Whatever lay behind it was heavy, but I pushed hard until the offending object budged, opening up enough space for Lillian and me to squeeze through.
Lillian gasped. “My God. What’s happened in here?”
Glass lay on the floor in jagged shards. “Be careful,” I said, pointing to a sharp piece right in front of her feet. A window had been broken; it didn’t have the look of an accident. On the floor lay dozens of overturned boxes, spilling out reams of paperwork and files.
Lillian raised her hand to her mouth. “Who would do this?”
I held out my arm to steady her. “Someone who wanted information your father had.”
She shook her head in disbelief. “All these years, the house has never been tampered with, not once, and now this?”
I knelt down, pushing some of the papers, ankle deep, aside. I picked up a page, holding it up to Lillian. “The State vs. Edward Ainsburg.” I sighed. “Talk about looking for a needle in a haystack.”
I attempted to sort through the paperwork before rising to my feet again. “Whoever was here was looking for something. Maybe they didn’t find it.” I turned to Lillian. “Any chance that he kept his files elsewhere in the house?”
“No,” she said, visibly startled by the disarray, the intrusion.
I knelt back down. “All right, it’s at least worth a try. Maybe I’ll get lucky.”
Lillian paused. “Wait…. Yes, there is one place we might look. How could I forget? Come with me.”
We walked up a set of stairs to a room filled with books. I marveled at the old leather-bound volumes that clung to the high shelves. If I lived in the home, I’d spend most of my time there, I decided.
“It’s Father’s old library,” she said, smiling. “After he passed, when Bill, my first husband, and I moved here, we kept this room exactly as it was. I wouldn’t let him remove a single book.” She closed her eyes. “I didn’t want to lose a single piece of him.” She ran her hand along the bookcase, reading every groove, every notch with her fingertips.
I took a step closer. “What are you looking for?”
Lost in thought, she didn’t answer. But a moment later, one of the shelves shifted. “Found it!” she cried.
I watched with anticipation as the shelf pushed inward, revealing a space behind the wall.
“It’s where he kept the family’s valuables,” she said. “Funny, I’d almost forgotten about this place. Come in and have a look with me.”
I crouched down and followed her inside the space, about the size of a typical bedroom closet. A sweet, musty scent lingered. Lillian pointed to a square shadow high on the shelf. “His cigars,” she said, taking the box down and holding it to her nose.
I turned back to the doorway, feeling the urge to wedge it open. I didn’t want to take the chance of being locked behind a wall. And if someone had broken into the home, what if they returned? What if they—
“It must feel a little spooky in here,” Lillian said.
“Well,” I replied, “a little.”
“I spent hours in this little room as a girl,” she said. “Father let my friend Martha and me play dolls in here while he worked. He’d light a little kerosene lantern for us. We had the most fun.”
My heart beat faster as I scanned the dim space, wishing for more light than the tiny stream from the room behind us provided. It didn’t take long for defeat to set in. The space had obviously been cleaned out at some point. What remained—a framed photo of a woman, a pair of faded opera tickets, a child’s wooden train—was merely memorabilia from long ago.
“I’m sorry,” Lillian said. “I had hoped you might find something of importance in here.” She turned to the doorway, just as something caught my eye.
“Wait,” I said. Shrouded in shadows, the outlines of a dark, rectangular shape came into focus. I knelt down and reached my arm out until my fingers touched what felt like leather. I detected a clasp and a handle. “Could this be an old briefcase?”
Lillian squinted to make out the shape. “Why, yes,” she said. “Father took it to work every day.”
I followed her back out to the library, opening the case with eager hands. Inside, a bundle of twine-bound papers waited, as neatly stacked as the day they’d been tucked inside. I tugged on the knot, but it didn’t loosen, so I attempted to pry it off from the sides, leaving a fresh paper cut on my index finger. “Ouch,” I said, shaking my hand.
I tried again, this time more carefully, and succeeded. Lillian leaned over me as I fanned the stack of pages, at least two inches thick. I shook my head in astonishment when I read the words on the first page: “Deposition of Sven W. Ivanoff.”
“My God,” I said, gasping. “We’ve found it.”
Lillian sat down on an upholstered bench near the door. It was a lot of excitement for someone of her age, and I worried about her.
“They’re the files you were looking for?”
“Yes,” I said. I skimmed the first page, nodding. “It seems your father may have represented the suspect in the murder case of Vera Ray, the mother of the little boy who went missing in 1933.”
Lillian’s face looked ashen. “I can’t believe this,” she said. “I’m trying to make sense of why he decided to hide them away here.”
I shook my head. “I think there’s more to this story than everyone believed, and perhaps your father knew that. Maybe he wante
d to prove it.” I looked at her. “Do you remember your father talking about any case more than another?
“No,” she said. “He suffered from dementia. It came early, in his sixties. We lost many good years with him, sadly. There might have been cases he intended to work on, but never got to. I’m not certain. But he wouldn’t have put something in the space behind the wall unless it held great importance to him.”
My grandfather had also had dementia. Grandma had started to notice when he kept putting cereal boxes in the refrigerator. Maybe Lillian’s father had simply tucked the files away for no apparent reason, or maybe he had known his mind was ailing and was attempting to preserve them before someone else destroyed the truth. The air in the room felt thick, eerily so. I tucked the loose pages back inside the briefcase and stood up. “Do you mind if I take these with me and go through them at the office? I’ll return them to you, of course. And I promise to keep them safe.”
“Yes, dear,” she said. “If you feel you can bring the truth to light, keep them. My father would be glad to know they’re in good hands.”
We walked out to the stairway, and I looked over my shoulder, feeling the urge to run, to leave the home as quickly as my feet could carry me, but I kept my pace slow and steady.
When we made our way back outside, where the birds chirped and the sun shone down on my face, I breathed a sigh of relief.
“Can I drive you back, honey?” Lillian asked, walking to the car.
“That would be wonderful, thank you,” I said, opening the passenger door of the Volvo. I turned to look at the house a final time, eyeing the upper bedrooms cautiously. Are we being watched? Silly, I told myself. As Lillian pulled the car out of the driveway, I clasped the briefcase tighter in my arms, knowing I was in possession of something very important. It was up to me to find out why.
Just as I sat down at my desk back at the office, my phone rang. I picked it up, annoyed. I didn’t want to do anything but immerse myself in the contents of the briefcase.
“Claire?” Ethan’s voice sounded far away. A world away. “Honey.”
My heart softened, but I remained silent.
“I tried you at home. I didn’t think I’d find you in the office on a Sunday. I miss you.”
He got my voice message. “I’m working on a story. I miss you too,” I said, caving, willing away the jealousy, the anger that had taken up residence in my heart. I wanted to ask him what he was doing in Portland, and whether Cassandra was part of the equation, but I bit my tongue.
“I spent all day yesterday interviewing candidates for the Journalists’ Guild Scholarship,” he said. “It was grueling.”
“Oh,” I said, feeling relieved. “I thought you were—”
“I’m coming home on the train tonight. I’d love it if we could have dinner.”
My eyes brightened. “You would?”
“Yes,” he continued. “That is, if you want to.”
“I do.”
“Seven o’clock, the Pink Door?”
“Yes,” I said. “I’ll be waiting.”
I hung up the phone and redirected my attention to the briefcase. Lillian’s father had carried it with him every day of his working life, no doubt. It felt a little like looking inside an old doctor’s bag. You couldn’t pull out the stethoscope without thinking of the physician who had held it up to hearts hundreds of times over. Yes, I could feel Lillian’s father’s presence. Secrets waited inside this case, and I think he wanted me to find them.
Chapter 17
VERA
Lon slept till noon. I watched the clock tick above his head, praying he’d wake soon so he could make the calls he’d promised to make on Daniel’s behalf. People listened to Lon. He was a powerful man.
I sat up straight in my chair as he opened his eyes. He held his hand out to me, gesturing for me to come toward him. The hand that had ravaged me last night. I felt my stomach turn.
“Come here, dollface,” he said, rubbing his eyes. “Come lay down beside me.”
“Lon,” I said as sweetly as I could, “you promised that you’d help me find my son. I’ve been very patient.”
“Sure, beautiful,” he said, yawning. “But I don’t get out of bed without breakfast, and”—he winked at me—“a woman.”
I shook my head. “No,” I said firmly, “you promised.”
Lon sat up. His eyes switched from playful to angry. “Who do you think you are, giving me orders like that?”
My hands began to shake. “I, I—”
“Do you think for a moment that I care about your damn son?” he said, laughing sinisterly. “For God’s sake, how can you even think he’s still alive? It’s been days.” He reached for the half-empty bottle of champagne on the bedside table and took a swig.
I felt as if I had stepped out of my body and was watching the scene unfold in the suite as an outsider. Lon’s lips moved, laughing, mocking me. I sat there, frozen, frightened, for the first time feeling complete and utter hopelessness.
Lon stepped out of bed. I averted my eyes from his naked body. “Now, if you know what’s best for you, dollface,” he said, taking a step toward me, “you’ll give up on this nonsense about finding your son and come to bed with me.” My God. I have to get out of here.
I eyed the door. If I was quick, I could run. I could get there before he got to me. He wouldn’t chase me down the hallway without clothes on. I could escape.
“Dollface,” he said again, fingering the trim of my dress.
I pulled away from him, and the force tore the fabric. A flap hung down at my side, revealing my corset underneath. “Don’t you call me dollface!” I screamed, running toward the door.
I felt his anger behind me, burning hot like a dry oak log in the fireplace, stoked and crackling. I have to get out of here. I tripped on the rug and lost my shoe. With no time to retrieve it, I reached for the doorknob and flung the door open, running into the hallway with such speed, I surprised myself.
“Don’t walk out on me, you whore!” he shouted. “Come back here right now!”
His voice echoed in the hallway. Is he chasing me? I didn’t turn around to look. Keep running. I knew the hotel well, every crevice, every mouse hole. Just ahead was a maid’s closet. He’ll never look for me there. I opened the little door near the Rainier Suite and stuffed myself inside. Lon’s voice had quieted. There was just silence and the sound of my heart pounding in my chest. A bead of sweat fell from my forehead and trickled down my cheek. Then I heard footsteps outside. I held my breath. A moment later, the doorknob turned. I clutched a mop. If he came near me, I’d strike him.
The door opened with a squeak. There, peering inside, stood Gwen. “My God,” she said with a gasp. “You nearly gave me a heart attack, Vera.”
Never in my life had I been so grateful to see the face of a friend. Once I started to cry, I couldn’t stop.
“Oh, honey, let’s get you out of here,” she whispered.
Gwen unlocked the Rainier Suite just ahead, and we hurried inside. “Vera,” she said, surveying my torn dress, much fancier than the ones I used to wear, and tear-stained cheeks, “what happened to you?”
“I made a terrible mistake coming here,” I said, “with him.”
“You mean Lon?”
I bit my lip. “You know?”
She nodded, handing me a freshly pressed white handkerchief from a silver tray by the bed. “You know how the maids talk.”
I blew my nose. “I can’t imagine what you must think of me, Gwen.”
“I think you’re a good mother, that’s what,” she said before pursing her lips. “And I think the hotel ought to throw that monster out for treating women the way he does.”
I took a deep breath. “He promised to help me find Daniel. And I believed him.”
“The man’s a rat,” she said. “After what he did to Susie, sending her away like that when she was to have his child. Just despicable.”
I nodded. “I knew better. My mind was clouded by the
hope of finding Daniel.”
“Oh, honey, do not blame yourself. Not for a single minute. You did what you had to.”
I sighed in defeat. “But I failed.”
Gwen shook her head. “I won’t let you talk that way. You did what you had to do,” she repeated emphatically.
I sat down on the big, fluffy bed, laying my head against the headboard. “Look at me,” I said, “dirtying this room, creating more work for you.”
“You certainly are not,” she countered. “Besides, the room’s vacant tonight. And Estella’s off today. So stay as long as you want. I’ll have Bruce bring you a tray of food. You’re skin and bones.”
I looked down at my arms, pale, bony, with a fresh bruise developing on my right wrist. “Only if it’s not too much trouble,” I said. “I don’t want to burden anyone.”
“You don’t worry about a thing,” she said. “Now, rest. You’re safe. He can’t find you here. Pretend you’re a hotel guest for a moment. Maybe take a nap. I would if I were you, honey.”
I eyed the bed, so luxurious and warm. I hadn’t slept a wink last night, not with that monster slumbering beside me. “Thank you, Gwen,” I said, setting my heavy head down on the pillow. I let my eyelids close. Just a few minutes. Then I’ll go. Then I’ll leave this place and find my son. When I closed my eyes I saw, as I always did, my Daniel.
It was half-past eight when I opened my eyes. How had I slept so long? I sat up quickly, smoothing my dress. In my haste to leave Lon’s room, I hadn’t brought a sweater. I walked to the mirror on the wall and took a long look at myself, ashamed by the image of the scantily dressed woman before me. I didn’t have time to fret. I surveyed the sky outside the windows. Dark clouds had rolled in. I have to get out of here.
