“Did you leave the backdoor open?”
“No, I’m sure I closed it. Someone was in here. I sense it. Someone has snooped around our place. I’m convinced someone has moved things around. I can’t be sure, but…”
“Stop, Elise, you are driving yourself crazy. I’m sure Prince would show us if someone had broken in.”
Sometimes Scottie is infuriating. “I’m sure if you’d teach him to write he would leave us a note with a rundown of what happened.”
Oh dear, that was the first time I’ve snapped at Scottie. Does that mean our relationship is going down the toilet, or does it mean our relationship is running in a more normal, everyday-people direction? Do I have to kiss and make up, or is this tiff something a solid relationship can endure? I wish I had answers because this is uncharted territory for me. Sky? Elise? Anybody?
But inside all is silent.
Chapter Eighteen
Lilly: 14 March 2017, Afternoon, Wright’s Homestead
I shouldn’t have snarled at Scottie. He looks pale like the silver moon I often admire hanging in the midnight sky.
“I think you should have stayed a few days longer in the hospital. Just this trip home took a lot out of you.”
This is perhaps the clumsiest attempt of an apology but it’s the best I can do.
He shakes his head. “Maybe, but I’m so worried about you. It’s not good for you to live out here all by yourself. Not with all this stuff going on.”
“You are like Tom, thinking I’m a helpless damsel in distress who can’t help herself. I’m not. Anyhow, you’re back so I’m no longer alone. I order you to lie down, be a good patient, and listen to what I’m saying.”
“Okay, madam charge nurse. Jeez. I’m not that bad. I only need some fresh air and sunshine to get my color back.”
If he thinks he can dismiss me that easily, he’s got some surprises waiting for him.
“I insist that you take a seat on the sofa.” I point to the messy bookshelf and dining table. “It’s clear that someone was in here. Even with Ama gone, I would never leave a place in this state.”
“Ama is gone? How so?”
“I don’t know. She faded away. I couldn’t see her anymore and I haven’t heard her voice since the last burglary when we fought off the intruder. It feels like she’s passed her compulsion to clean and cook on to me, and left.”
“You? Cook?”
He thinks that’s funny, but I’m not in the mood for silly games. Someone has been through my stuff and I’m not amused.
“I wish I knew what they were looking for.”
“Okay, promise, no more silly jokes. Tell me what you see.”
He sinks into the cushions on the sofa and puts his legs up.
“They were quite precise with the areas they searched. The laundry and my bookcase. There must be something about Wright’s that’s worth breaking in for. It’s not that we hid the family jewels somewhere.”
He nods and rubs his chin. “Perhaps your aunt has? And since you inherited the money from your parents, you are a wealthy woman. You could be the target. They might think you’re the money-under-the-mattress type.”
“Hilarious. Look around. Do I live like a wealthy woman? Can you see any Picassos hanging on my walls? They’ve been here before and gone through everything. I could understand if they had cut open my mattress in the hope to find money, but laundry? Multiple or not, there is nothing special about my dirty clothes.”
I’m sorting through the disorder on the dining table. Scottie lifts his head and watches me.
“Did they take anything?”
“Nothing important. They took a folder of paperwork, a letter auntie wrote, and copies of the title.”
I dig through the masses of paper for our plans for the extension and the copy of the building consent application. They are not there anymore.
“Imagine that, they also took our plans and the building consent application. What is interesting about that, I ask you?”
By Scottie’s frown I know he’s just as clueless as I am.
“Nothing, unless we are missing something .”
“How silly. Anybody can go to the council and look up the plans for our extension.”
“But maybe people didn’t want it known that they are interested in it. You have to admit that would give them away.”
“And breaking in and leaving a mess doesn’t?” It doesn’t make sense, whichever way I look at it. “Hm, a guy came to the door last week and wanted to buy the house.”
“You didn’t tell me about that. Who was it?”
“His name was Simon Barker, a real estate agent from Port Somers.”
I search through the papers on the table.
“His card must be here somewhere. He said the Gateway group would be interested in buying this place for their youth project.”
At the mention of Gateway Scottie sits up on the sofa. “Gateways? I knew they had something to do with it. It’s too much of a coincidence.”
“He talked about Auntie Amanda being the sister of my mother, who was a founding member of the Gateway community. It appears they’d always expected to use Wright’s for their youth project.”
“You can’t trust any of them.”
I’ve never heard Scottie lose his composure before but he speaks with such force that I take a step back.
“He wasn’t a Gateway person, just a real estate agent trying to make a living. He was friendly enough.” I shake my head. This is so nonsensical and over the top. I don’t know what to think.
“Why would they need to break in? I’ll go and check upstairs.”
I go upstairs but both bedrooms are untouched as far as I can make out.
“Up here everything is as I left it.”
I stop on the landing and look down, seeing him struggle to keep upright. It breaks my heart to watch him.
“I’m putting you to bed; you need to
