Page 20 of One Last Breath

“For…” Damn it, Mary, think! “For… recipes.”

He lifts an eyebrow. “Recipes?”

“Yes. I thought that it might be nice to surprise the children with a homemade pie or cake, but I’m afraid I’m a mediocre baker. I thought that Lila might have notes somewhere. I know plenty of women who carry family recipes with them among their belongings. I thought I might find something among Lila’s.”

I can’t blame Christopher for not believing me. I don’t really believe myself. Recipes? Really Mary?

“I’ll talk to Chef Bronstein about giving you some pointers. In the meantime, it’s really bad form to comb through someone else’s things. Why don’t you pack the chest and suitcase up and leave them outside of your room? I’ll have Wharton dispose of them tomorrow.”

“Of course, sir. I apologize for intruding.”

“You don’t need to apologize to me,” he said. “Or to Liza, I suppose. Still, I think you should know better than to snoop through another person’s things, don’t you?”

My cheeks burn with embarrassment. “Quite right. I’m sorry, Christopher.”

His amused smile returns. “Well, I’ll leave you to clean up. I suppose our walk will have to wait.”

“Yes, of course, I’m sorry again.”

“No need to apologize,” he says, amused now rather than angry. “Just remember what curiosity did to a certain cat.”

He leaves me to ponder the meaning behind his warning. Curiosity, of course, killed the cat, but what does he expect me to find in Lila Benson’s belongings that could endanger me? Could he know what actually happened to Lila? He would have been at Harvard at the time, but if it happened on holiday, he might have been at the estate.

I play his words back in my head and gasp when I realize he mentions a suitcase and a chest. The suitcase and chest are inside the walk-in closet, out of view from the front door. Yet he knew that her belongings consisted of those two containers.

That raises a whole host of questions. If he knew that Lila left behind a chest and a suitcase, then why did he leave them in my room? Why did the family place me into Lila’s old room? Perhaps Elizabeth wasn’t aware of the leftover belongings, but it seems that Christopher did. Yet he says nothing about the leftover possessions until now. Did he expect me to simply ignore them? He might have expected that I would tell someone about them and have them removed, but it’s been two weeks, and I haven’t done so.

Maybe that’s why he came to the room. Maybe he wondered why he hadn’t heard anything about Lila’s belongings, and he came to see if they were still in the room. He made up a story about wanting to walk with me, but as soon as he discovered that the suitcase and chest—along with their contents—was still in my room, he abandoned the walk.

Could Christopher have something to do with Lila’s disappearance?

All at once, I’m glad I didn’t end up alone in the Glens with him. I shiver and go back through Lila’s belongings as I pack the suitcase and chest again.

I’m almost desperate. I’m convinced that I’m missing something, that something in those possessions has an answer to the mystery surrounding this family. This is my last chance to find something before it’s all taken from me. I dare not take any of the belongings from the containers for fear Christopher is familiar with the contents and will know if something is missing.

I’m about to give into my despair when I come across Christopher’s lesson book, the only one among the many lesson books in the chest. In a last-ditch effort to learn something of value, I skim through the pages of that book.

I find something on the rear dust cover of the book. A note, handwritten by Lila says, He may know too. Perhaps he’s protecting his mother. How far will he go? How far will they both go?

This phrase raises many questions of its own, but it does give me one crucial answer. Christopher is embroiled in the same mystery as Elizabeth, the mystery that intrigued Lila Benson so and possibly led to her demise.

I can’t help but grin as I take a picture of the note with my cell phone, then replace the lesson book into the chest.

Christopher may be right that curiosity killed the cat, but he has forgotten that satisfaction brought her back.

I take the suitcase and chest outside, leaving both just outside my door. I think I will poke my head outside and see if it's Wharton who comes for them or if Christopher returns to finish the job he started.

CHAPTER TWELVE

I head downstairs, intending to take some tea—hot and appropriately sweetened with cream or possibly a single lump of sugar rather than the monstrous iced brew of the American South—on the front porch. I think it’s a good idea for me to be seen outside of my room and not snooping. There’s little more I can do today, anyway, and I’d rather not be alone on the grounds with Christopher the only family member home.

I make it down the stairs and run straight into a priest. Sincerely, a priest. The man who jumps back, startled as I am at the near collision, wears the dark clothing and white collar of a Catholic priest. “Oh!” he cries. “I’m so sorry. Are you all right?”

His voice is mellow and smooth, a trait seemingly shared by all priests. Do they train to speak like that, I wonder? The rest of him is just as stereotypical. He has well-combed silver hair and kindly eyes that sit behind wire-rimmed glasses. He looks at me with the benevolent expression of one who has dedicated his life to the Church. That expression is a lie just as often as it’s the truth, but it will take more than just a first impression to know how truthful this man’s benevolence is.

“I’m quite all right, Father,” I assure him. “I assume you’re here to visit with the family?”

“Yes. I typically hear their confessions on the third Tuesday of every month.” He smiles wryly. “I should say, I typically arrive to hear their confessions on the third Tuesday of every month. Whether they happen to be here to keep their appointment is a surprise every month.”

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