“Don’t expect me to get involved.”
“Layla, I’m at your grandma’s house.”
“What? Why?”
Maybe he’d come around. Maybe he wanted to surprise me.
“I found something. I don’t even know what to say.”
My stomach dropped. Water damage? Mold?
“What did you find?”
Maybe he wanted to surprise me.
“Just get here. Now.”
He hung up.
I drove too fast. He was waiting at the front door, pale and quiet.
Declan is never quiet.
“What’s going on?” I asked as I got out.
“Come inside.”
“Now.”
He led me through the house to the storage room off the living room.
Which is how I ended up staring at a hole in my grandmother’s wall and a stranger’s smile.
On the floor between us sat a small metal chest.
“Who is this?”
“Robert.” The man held out his hand. “I’m a real estate appraiser. Your husband asked me to look at the property.”
I didn’t shake it. I turned to Declan.
On the floor between us sat a small metal chest.
“You brought an appraiser into my house?”
“I wanted to know what it’s actually worth.”
“Why? I already bought it.”
“Exactly. I wanted to know how much of your money we could get back.”
“You were going to sell it behind my back.”
“I never said sell! I wanted numbers. So you’d see reason.”
“You brought an appraiser into my house?”
“He did ask what it would go for as-is,” Robert added.
Declan glared at him.
“Thanks, Robert,” I said. “Now explain the wall.”
“There was plywood over an old built-in closet. Behind it, shelves of junk. Jars, rusty tools. Your husband pulled the plywood off so I could check the wall.”
Robert glanced at Declan.
“Now explain the wall.”
“I understood your husband had authorization.”
“He didn’t.”
Robert looked genuinely uncomfortable.
“I’m sorry, Mrs. … Layla. I wasn’t aware there was a disagreement.”
He nodded at the floor.
“This was on the bottom shelf.”
“I understood your husband had authorization.”
The chest was the size of a shoebox. Rusty, scratched, no writing on it.
“It’s locked,” Declan said. “We tried everything. My screwdriver bent.”
“So that’s why you called me.”
“Obviously. I thought you might know where the key was.”
“Why would I? I haven’t been inside that closet since I was a teenager.”
“Maybe your grandmother mentioned it.”
The chest was the size of a shoebox.
“She didn’t.”
He shrugged.
“If we could have opened it, we would’ve.”
I stared at him.
“You’d have opened it without me.”
“It’s in your house, Layla! Somebody worked hard to hide it. It could be money. Jewelry.”
“It’s locked.”
“Other people lived here for years. I don’t even know who put it there.”
“It might not automatically belong to the homeowner,” Robert said carefully.
“Who cares?” Declan said. “Robert has a pry bar in his truck.”
“No.”
“Layla…”