Page 115 of Here & There

I feel my cheeks heat. “Yes.” Of course she knows Mac. “And I take it this is your place? Are you Elizabeth?” I hold my breath.

“Indeed, I am. Help me with the groceries, would you?”

I don’t let that knock me down. She could have changed her name. Or maybe Shelby’s a diminutive I’ve never heard for Elizabeth. Besides, I already like her. She’s no-nonsense like my mom, but kind, not harsh. Lines radiate from her eyes like she’s been smiling her whole life.

The interior of the house is a marvel on its own. Its decor is what I’d call maximalist, with heavy brocade drapery, dark, moody wallpaper, and art in all forms covering every spare inch of open wall space. The furniture is heavy on the velvet and curly wood. It smells vaguely of patchouli and wood oil.

Frankly, I’m obsessed.

After I help her load the bags on the counter, she props her hands on her hips, her bracelets jingling. “So, I take it you don’t need a room?”

My stomach twists. The moment of truth.

“I don’t. I’m…actually I’m looking for someone, and I’m having some trouble. Bea, down at the library, suggested you might be the person to ask. I…” I trail off.

Elizabeth’s folded her arms, her eyes narrowing. “Beatrice mentioned me? Are you sure?”

“Yes.” My brows bunch in confusion. “That’s why I’m here.”

She sniffs. “I suppose you’re right. What did she say, exactly?”

“That you were a hippie and have lived here forever, and you might know about what happened to Shelby Fox.”

Now her brows pinch together. “Shelby Fox?”

My heart drops, just a notch. “You’ve never heard of her? Shelby Jessica Fox.”

There’s no recognition at all.

She’s not Shelby. In fact, Shelby would likely be in her eighties, and this woman looks to be younger than that. Not by much, but I’d peg her at around seventy-five. Still, I say, “She lived somewhere around here. She raised my mother here. But Mom left when she was eighteen. Moved to Vancouver and never spoke to her again. That was forty-three years ago.”

Do I imagine Elizabeth’s eyes widen? Or is it just her taking in this information?

Just then, there’s a loud banging on the door, and Elizabeth makes a tsking noise. “That will be my guests.”

“Right.” I’m embarrassed to find I’m fighting off tears.

“Oh, darling,” Elizabeth says. She briskly walks to the parlor and comes back shaking the folds out of a small white cloth. It’s an embroidered hankie.

“One moment,” she calls down the hallway.

“Miss—I didn’t get your name,” she says.

“Shel—Bryony,” I say, deciding on my given name in case that unlocks something in her memory. Though if she was everhere, my grandmother probably never knew I existed. “Bryony Shelby Jones.”

“Bryony, I’ll give this a think. How’s that? If anything comes to mind, I’ll let you know.”

“Actually I’m going by Shelby. Right now, anyway. Should I leave you my number?”

She doesn’t blink. “That’s all right, Shelby. I’ll find you.”

Elizabeth’s just breezing off to the front door when I call her name.

She pauses, her hand on the doorknob. “Yes?”

“Bea said something aboutOrlando?”

For a moment, she doesn’t move. Then she opens the door, greeting two people standing there.

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