Page 36 of Courting Catherine
C.C. sat cross-legged in the center of an ocean of papers. Her assignment—whether or not she’d chosen to accept it—had been to go through all of the notes and receipts and scraps that had been stuffed into three cardboard boxes markedmiscellaneous.
Nearby Amanda sat at a card table, with several more bulging boxes at her feet. With her hair clipped back and reading glasses sliding down her nose, she meticulously studied each paper before laying it on one of the various stacks she had started.
“This should have been done decades ago,” she commented.
“You mean it should have been burned decades ago.”
“No.” Amanda shoved the glasses back into place. “Some of it’s fascinating, and certainly deserves to be preserved. Stuffing papers into cardboard boxes is not my idea of preserving family history.”
“Does a recipe for gooseberry jam rate as family history?”
“For Aunt Coco it does. That goes under kitchen, subheading menus.”
C.C. shifted then waved away a cloud of dust. “How about a bill for six pairs of white kid gloves and a blue silk parasol?”
“Clothing, by the date. Hmm, this is interesting. Aunt Coco’s progress report from her fourth-grade teacher. And I quote, ‘Cordelia is a delightfully gregarious child. However, she tends to daydream and has trouble finishing assigned projects.’”
“That’s a news flash.” Stiff, C.C. arched her back and rotated her head. Beside her, the sun was streaming through the smudges on the storeroom window. With a little sigh, she rested her elbows on her knees and studied it.
“Where the devil is Lilah?” Impatient as always, Amanda tapped her foot as she grumbled. “Suzanna had dispensation because she took the kids to the matinee, but Lilah’s supposed to be on duty.”
“She’ll show up,” C.C. murmured.
“Sure. When it’s done.” Digging into a new pile, Amanda sneezed twice. “This is some of the dirtiest stuff I’ve ever seen.”
C.C. shrugged. “Everything gets dirty if it sits around long enough.”
“No, I mean really dirty. It’s a limerick written by Great-Uncle Sean. ‘There was a young lady from Maine, whose large breasts drove the natives insane. They...’ Never mind,” Amanda decided. “We’ll start a file on attempted pornography.” When C.C. made no comment, she glanced over to see her sister still staring at a sunbeam. “You okay, sweetie?”
“Hmm? Oh, yeah. I’m fine.”
“You don’t look like you slept very well.”
C.C. shrugged then busied herself with papers again. “I guess the séance threw me off.”
“Not surprising.” Her lips pursed as she sorted through more receipts. “I never put any stock in that business. Bianca’s tower was one thing. I guess we’ve all felt something—well, something up there. But I always thought that it was because we knew Bianca had tossed herself out of the window. Then last night...” When the shiver caught her, she rubbed her chilled arms. “I know that you really saw something, really experienced something.”
“I know the necklace is real,” C.C. said.
“I’ll agree itwasreal—especially when I have a receipt in my hand.”
“Was and is. I don’t think I would have seen it if it had been pawned or tossed into the sea. It might sound loony, but I know Bianca wants us to find it.”
“It does sound loony.” With a sigh, Amanda leaned back in the creaking chair. “And what’s loonier is that I think so, too. I just hope nobody at the hotel finds out I’m spending my free time looking for a buried treasure because my long-dead ancestor told us to. Oh!”
“Did you find it?” C.C. was already scrambling up.
“No, no, it’s an old date book. 1912. The ink’s a bit faded, but the handwriting’s lovely—definitely feminine. It must be Bianca’s. Look. ‘Send invitations.’ And here’s the guest list. Wow, some party. The Prentises.” Amanda took off her glasses to gnaw on the earpiece. “I bet they were Prentise Hall—one of the cottages that burned in ’47.”
“‘Speak to gardener about roses,’” C.C. read over her sister’s shoulder. “‘Final fitting on gold ball gown. Meet Christian, 3:00 p.m.’ Christian?” She laid a tensed hand on Amanda’s shoulder. “Could that have been her artist?”
“Your guess is as good as mine.” Quickly Amanda pushed her glasses back on. “But look here. ‘Have clasp on emeralds strengthened.’ Those could be the ones.”
“They have to be.”
“We still haven’t found any receipts.”
C.C. gave a tired look at the papers littering the room. “What are our chances?”
