Page 34 of The Silence of Hell

“You’re overwhelmed here, aren’t you?” Tatum said shrewdly.

“Tatum, I didn’t grow up with this. I was meant to, but my parents had a falling out with my Great Aunt. This isn’t something I know what to do with, it’s completely confusing to me,” I replied.

“And you aren’t sure how to handle the sudden influx of wealth,” Tatum commented insightfully.

“Nope. I thought it was the estate, and everything else appeared. By now, Tatum, you’re aware there are other collections here.”

I wrapped my arms around my body, feeling overwhelmed and lost in the grand scheme of things.

“Lavender, you are handling it better than others. I’ve been called into places where the heir is selling everything and purchasing tacky shit. Or they’re going nuts buying crap and will bankrupt the estate within a few years. From what I’ve seen, Lavender, you want to preserve this. That is sensible, and not rushing out and selling everything also smacks of respect. My advice? Keep doing what you’re doing, and be proud of it. Although, your family were hoarders!”

I laughed at Tatum’s last words. “There’s so much truth in that statement I don’t know where to begin unpacking it!”

“One box at a time,” Tatum said and nodded to a guard. “Lavender, be careful who you trust. Once word gets out, thieves and fortune hunters will descend. Make sure security is as tight as possible and then double it.”

“Thanks.”

“You’re welcome. And please consider joining our group.”

“I will.”

Tatum disappeared inside, and I took the chair he’d been sitting on. A few moments later, Chatter roared up on a motorbike. He booted the kickstand down and headed towards me.

“Have you ever ridden before?” he asked as I walked down the steps.

“Yes,” I replied. Chatter nodded and led me back to the Harley.

Chatter held out a helmet and a riding jacket, and I took them. “They’re Chey’s, but I guessed you were the same size.”

“Chey?”

“Celt’s old lady.”

“Oh.” I shrugged the jacket on, and it was a good fit. I donned the helmet and waited for Chatter to mount the bike. As soon as he’d done so, I swung up behind him and wrapped my arms around him.

“Tap twice if you need me to pull over,” Chatter called.

I held a thumbs up. The bike roared, and I laid my head on Chatter’s back, and we headed down the drive.

Chapter Eight.

Lavender

Chatter isn’t wrong. Riding behind him cleared the cobwebs from my mind. Slowly, I began unravelling my tangled thoughts. For certain, there were fortunes in the collections I owned. But they were my responsibility, and I wouldn’t ignore them. I had several options: donate them, sell them, display them, or lock them up somewhere safe.

I ignored the first possibility, although that was probably the wisest. My family had collected this, and while that meant nothing to my parents or Janice, it did to me. That took care of donating; it wasn’t happening. Selling them wasn’t an option. The duplicated train sets bothered me. Clearly, one was intended to be set up, and the other kept as a valuable item.

There’d been a plan. I was just unsure what. Of course, I’d run through the house as a kid, but that was twenty years ago. Honestly, my memories were frayed and of a child. But some rooms were locked. It was possible they were the same ones that held the other items apart from dolls.

Displaying them was an option, but Ravenberry clearly couldn’t display everything. And locking them up didn’t seem right. They were made to be seen. Which brought me back to the idea of museums. The alcohol, once valued, would stay with the estate. No point in exhibiting that. But there were enough items to open a museum for each collection. Or maybe combine several into a big building, dedicating a floor to each.

One museum would house the toy cars, Star Wars, Steiff Teddys, and second Astolat Dollhouse Castle. A similar-sized structure could hold the eggs, perfume bottles, coins, and pill boxes. A third for the Barbie and Sindy collections. And a train set museum. And I believed there was enough clothing to open a fifth one for that. Then, a sixth massive structure for the dolls.

I needed an architect who understood the scale of the exhibits and who’d build with the highest security in mind. Such as heavy-duty shutters that fastened in place nightly and secured the collection from thieves. The same with rooms, having metal doors that locked and only opened from the security office. Lazers and lord knows what else. Security wasn’t my strength. But it would need to be state-of-art.

The cars needed a showroom, too. Another museum. I didn’t want them erected on the estate and remembered the field. They could be built there—and the field had public access. The trust fund would absorb the cost of running them without even flinching. Shit, the interest alone on it would sustain them.

My mind swapped to the dolls. Aunt Aggie had realised what my future held and had made steps to ensure I’d have a career from this house. Why? Why did Aunt Aggie need me to be here constantly? What was in Ravenberry that needed a keeper? There was a crucial element I was missing. I sat up straight as the thought hit me.

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