Split Second - Catherine Coulter [49]
“You seem, well, preoccupied, I guess, like you’d really like to see me out of your hair.”
“No, never that. Don’t forget Kirsten Bolger. She’s alive and well, and very likely regrouping as we speak. I’ve just got a lot on my mind.”
“I wonder what your father would have thought about your moving in here.”
“Dad knew I loved this house. It’s why he didn’t sell after Grandmother died.” Now, that’s a big whopping lie. The reason he hadn’t sold the house was because he was saving it for her; he probably believed it would be worth three fortunes in another ten years or so.
“It surprised me when he didn’t sell it,” Uncle Alan said. “You said you were looking through your grandmother’s files? Have you found anything interesting?”
She shrugged, shook her head. “Perhaps in the future, when I’ve got some extra time, I’ll go through her papers more thoroughly. Like I said, I read through some of her files because they were a surprise, but to be honest here, Uncle Alan, I’m really not all that interested in speaking to dead people or aliens right now. Do you know of something that’s particularly interesting I should look at?”
“Well, I’m thinking lately that knowing more about those vampires on TV might put a spark in my marriage. What do you think?”
Lucy was smiling after she closed the front door until she walked back up the stairs to the attic. She’d give it maybe twenty more minutes of searching before she headed back down into the light.
CHAPTER 24
Lucy eyed the stacks of luggage in the far corner. Suitcases of all sizes and more than a dozen carry-ons, most of them older, without wheels, were all piled on top of one another in the front, the oversized luggage and duffel bags behind. Against the wall were a half dozen old-fashioned steamer trunks, all quite large, with an Art Deco feel of the twenties and thirties, looking like aging sentinels guarding all the assorted smaller pieces piled in front of them. She wasn’t all that hopeful about finding anything that would shed light on her grandfather’s death, but it sure beat going through boxes labeled OLD SILVERWARE, and besides, people always left stuff in suitcases. There was only one way to find out.
She lifted the first carry-on off the top of the pile, unzipped it, and found one stray safety pin, nothing else. The second carry-on was black, part of a set of luggage. She found an ancient toothbrush in a side pocket, and an old quarter. She flipped the quarter in the air and stuck it in her jeans pocket. She opened a dozen more of the small pieces and found nothing more than a dried-up bottle of red nail polish, an ancient hairnet that looked like a decaying spiderweb, some more change, and two old Sidney Sheldon novels from the seventies. She still had hope when she moved to the larger luggage, the great bulk of it black. The first of the larger suitcases held nothing more than a single pair of women’s cotton panties, a man’s black sock, and a stick of old deodorant. Her hope was nearly gone when she reached the third suitcase from the bottom of the pile and nearly dropped it, it was so heavy. Her heart began to pound. She unzipped it, threw back the top, and stared down at neatly folded men’s clothes—pants, shirts, suits, underwear, shoes, handkerchiefs, socks, belts. She picked up the handkerchief on top. It wasn’t monogrammed. Lucy looked over at the long clothes pole at the opposite end of the attic crammed with clothing in plastic bags. Why not hang these clothes as well? Why fold them in a suitcase? She’d seen a good half dozen boxes labeled MEN’S CLOTHES. Why were these clothes folded in a suitcase?
She opened the large suitcases that were left. More men’s clothes, mostly vested suits and dress shirts but also a beautiful Burberry coat, gloves, several men’s hats, three pairs of dress shoes. They were well made but hardly up-to-date—like clothes from an old movie set, in fact. She remembered her grandfather wearing clothes like this when she was a young child. Had his clothes been hidden away in these suitcases to make it appear