Chapter 5 - THE UNCLE WHO KNEW TOO MUCH
Mom started toward the door.
I caught her arm.
“Don’t.”
“That’s my brother.”
“That doesn’t mean he gets inside.”
Martin knocked again.
“Sarah?”
Julian was still on speaker.
“Do not tell Martin about the photograph,” he said.
Mom’s expression hardened.
“You don’t get to give orders.”
“I’m not. I’m asking you to be careful.”
Martin’s voice came through the door.
“I saw Claire’s car. Come on, Sarah. Open up.”
That bothered me.
Not because he knew my car.
Because Mom hadn’t told him I was visiting.
I approached the door but left the chain secured.
When I opened it three inches, Martin’s smile widened.
“There she is.”
“What are you doing here?”
He lifted the wine.
“Can’t a brother visit?”
“At nine-thirty at night?”
His eyes moved past me.
“Where’s Sarah?”
“Why did you say you wanted to talk about Dad?”
For the first time, his smile faltered.
Then he gave a little laugh.
“I figured your mom finally told you.”
“Told me what?”
Martin looked toward the living room.
“Sarah.”
Mom stepped into view.
He studied her face.
Something changed in his expression.
“Did you find it?” he asked.
Mom froze.
“Find what?”
Martin didn’t answer immediately.
Then his gaze dropped toward the hallway cabinet.
The same cabinet where Mom had kept Dad’s envelope.
I felt my entire body go cold.
He knew exactly where to look.
I closed the door.
Martin caught it with his hand.
“Claire, don’t be ridiculous.”
“Take your hand away.”
His voice lowered.
“This doesn’t concern you.”
“It concerns my father.”
Martin’s face hardened for half a second.
Then he released the door.
“Fine.”
He stepped backward.
“But when your mother realizes who she’s been dating, she’ll call me.”
He walked toward his car.
Mom whispered:
“What did he mean?”
I locked the deadbolt.
Before I could answer, Julian spoke through the phone.
“Check the box Martin brought.”
We looked toward the porch.
Martin had left the cardboard box beside the door.
I opened it carefully.
Inside was an old silver music box I remembered from childhood.
It had belonged to my father.
Mom lifted it with trembling hands.
“I thought David took this with him.”
She opened the lid.
The familiar melody began playing.
Then we saw something scratched beneath the velvet lining.
Four numbers.
Mom whispered them aloud.
“4-17-92.”
I stared at her.
“That date means something to you?”
May you like
She nodded.
“It’s the day Martin started working at Harlow.”
