The sound of her name being called jolted her from her trance.
“Did you hear that?” she whispered, uneasiness creeping into her voice.
“What?” Max replied over his shoulder, still looking through the eyepiece. “This is a very unusual setup for a safe room, I should think. I expected blankets and crates of food. This looks more like a small parlor.”
“D-did you hear that? S-someone called my name,” she stammered, uncertainty and fear waging war on her confidence. Maggie drew back and surveyed the room. Nothing made sense. Was that her mother’s voice? Her heart and soul craved to hear it again. She thought back on Lady Worsley’s comments on the drive to the house. Could she have been right? Could her mother have stayed behind as a ghost? The thought both comforted and unnerved her. Maggie gripped Max’s arm. “I am frightened.”
* * *
Max carefully laid the lockbox on a shelf and enveloped her in his arms. His reaction was more of an impulse than anything else. This was not becoming a good habit. She was frightened, but had it been her mother’s voice? His mother had gone to great lengths on the way over to detail her beliefs on the subject—which he had wished she had kept to herself.
Her hair smelled of lilacs and reminded him of days they had picnicked in the warm sunshine. There had been so much laughter and joy. He wanted that joy back in his life. I cannot allow myself to fall for Meg. Who am I kidding? I already have fallen for her…again. Feeling the need to breathe her into his very being, he pulled her closer. The familiar feel of her made his arms ache.
He wanted to keep holding her, but there were more sounds from the room next to them. An intruder? Surely no one had followed them. Where were Nizal’s men? They would have seen anyone outside. If this was her mother’s ghost, it would not be so obvious. Would it? He knew nothing about ghosts. He had thought it a topic he could live in ignorance of, but it seemed not.
“I hear movement, and we both looked in there. I saw nothing. Did you?” His fingers drew soothing circles about her shoulders.
“No. I saw nothing moving. But the room looked different…almost lived in.”
“What do you mean lived in?” A shiver of awareness ran over him. She had stayed in this house alone, with only her dog. Or at least he had thought them alone.
“There were only pillows and blankets in the room when Shep and I stayed there. Now Mother’s chair, a table, and a tea set occupies the space.”
“Yes. Odd that.” He gently touched her cheek. “Do you think the pot is warm? I should like a cup of tea. Perhaps if it is your mother’s ghost, surely she would be friendly.” A smile tugged at his lips.
She pulled back and playfully slapped the air in his direction. “Be serious, Max,” she whispered. “First the piece of wool that belonged to Slade, now there is tea?”
“If your mother’s ghost is here, it was most likely here before and did not alarm you. I prefer to think she is here to help. What are we not seeing that we should see—besides her ghost?” He peered back into the room. “A stack of books is in the chair.” He looked into the corner next to where Shep was sleeping and heard his heart beating loudly in his ears. How is it I am standing here quietly when I want to run from here? Her mother’s ghost must be real. “The Shakespeare books disappeared from the pile. Now they are in the safe room. It is as if someone is trying to tell us something.” He swallowed hard. This would be exactly how he would have thought if he were on assignment. “We should keep our wits about us. There will be an explanation. We just have to find it.”
“Let me see.” Her voice had a tremor. Maggie stepped in front of Max and peered into the room. “We still have not opened the box.”
Maggie handed him the box and withdrew the keys she had been holding. “The rose key should open it.” She handed the keys to him and watched while he made short work of the lock. “Mother’s favorite flower was roses.”
The box opened easily, and several of its papers spilled out. “This looks like he filled it to capacity.” He felt around and pulled up a blue velvet bag of money. “Perhaps this is the golden egg that Slade was seeking.” He did not know how much was in there, but it felt heavy.
“Perhaps. But he seemed like he was searching for more than money. I guess it could be money, but I think he is seeking more. I am curious about these papers. Father mentioned his will and a deed. But this seems to be much more than that.”
“Here. Put this away. I am sure that your father would want you to have it.” Max handed her the velvet bag, and she tucked it into her reticule. “This appears to be his will. And here is the deed to the house.” He held the second document and shook it open. “It is as your father told you. Your grandmother bequeathed it to your mother, then to you. You own this house.” He read further. “Wait. Here is something revealing. If you died without issue, the house would pass to the nearest living relative…would that be your uncle?” Max folded it without comment and opened a third document, a weathered, folded parchment. “I need more light.” He walked to the window with the document. “This appears to be a birth certificate. The ink looks very faded. I think we
