“My father used this area as his office,” Sebastian said, walking past the fireplace and into the right-hand section of the library. “It was his favorite room, not counting the greenhouse.”
More bookcases, chairs, and couches took up this space, although I would have known it was Vaughn’s office thanks to all the models. Stone models were lined up on the fireplace mantel, and even more perched on the bookshelves and end tables. A few even hung from the ceiling like clusters of wind chimes.
I eyed the scale buildings, remembering how Vaughn had used his magic to shatter his miniature creations, before examining the rest of the room. A series of glass windows were set into the back wall, letting the evening sun spill over the large desk that stood in front of them—Vaughn’s desk.
My gaze locked onto the antique wood, which was covered with a computer monitor, mouse, and keyboard, several small blocks of stone, and, most important, stacks and stacks of papers. I didn’t spot the manila folder that Vaughn had put into his office safe, but this was the most likely place for it to be if Sebastian had emptied out the safe and brought the contents home.
“Well?” Sebastian asked, beaming with pride again. “What do you think?”
“I—”
A knock sounded on one of the open library doors, cutting me off, and Porter appeared. “Mr. Vaughn,” he said. “A word, please.”
Sebastian sighed. “Please excuse me.”
“Sure.”
Sebastian squeezed my hand, then moved over to see what Porter wanted. The two of them stepped into the left part of the library, out of my line of sight, and started murmuring. Their words were too low for me to make out easily, so I wandered around the office, pretending to be fascinated by the models. In truth, I was fascinated by them, but they weren’t my focus right now—the desk was.
While Sebastian and Porter continued to speak in low tones, I made my way over to the desk, running my fingers over the smooth wood, as though I were admiring it, even as I scanned the surface. The computer monitor, mouse, and keyboard had been shoved to one side of the desk, along with the blocks of stone, as though someone had wanted them out of the way. Piles of papers squatted in the center, a high mound in the middle that tapered down like a snowdrift spreading across the rest of the wood. It looked like Sebastian had started going through his father’s files already. It didn’t surprise me. Just because a family member died didn’t mean that the world stopped turning. There were still things to do, people to contact, funeral arrangements to make, bills to pay. In Sebastian’s case, there was Vaughn Construction to run. Still, maybe the papers or something else tucked away in one of the desk drawers would tell me more about Vaughn’s meeting with his cop buddy, Harry Coolidge.
I glanced over my shoulder, but Sebastian and Porter were still talking in the other section of the library, so they couldn’t see me. I pulled the chair away from the desk so I could have better access to the drawers for my quick search—
A pink sneaker peeked out from underneath the edge of the wood.
I froze, wondering whose shoe it was, and then I remembered. I wondered if she realized what I’d been up to. I hoped not, but there was nothing I could do about it, so I rolled the chair out the rest of the way and bent down.
Charlotte Vaughn peered out at me from underneath the desk.
In addition to her pink sneakers, she was wearing pink shorts and a white T-shirt with a sparkly pink heart in the middle of it. Her long black hair was pulled back into a French braid, showing off her pretty face. Apparently, I’d startled her as much as she had surprised me, because she stared up at me with wide, worried eyes.
I crouched down so that my face was level with hers. “Hi there, sweetheart. Do you remember me? I’m Sebastian’s friend from the barbecue restaurant.”
Charlotte stared at me and slowly nodded, her fingers curling around a book that was lying on the floor next to her. I tilted my head so I could see the title on the spine.
“Redwall by Brian Jacques.” I nodded my head in approval. “That’s one of my favorites.”
She stared at me for several seconds. “Really?” Her voice was a low whisper.
“Really.” I gave her a small smile. “I like to read too.”
A hint of a smile tugged up her lips. But the spark of happiness fled just as quickly, and her face turned sad again as she dropped her gaze to the book and stroked her fingers over the cover.
“My papa gave it to me,” she said. “Last week. We were reading it together.”
Charlotte kept staring at her book, so she didn’t see the smile fall from my face or the guilt that took its place.
Footsteps sounded, and Charlotte scrunched down even further, like a turtle retreating back into the wooden shell of the desk. I glanced up at Sebastian, who had finished his business with Porter and come back into the office. He stepped to one side so he could see what I was looking at.
He sighed. “You’re supposed to be in your room for the night, Charlotte. I told you that I was having a guest over.”
Charlotte stared up at her big brother, her eyes dark and troubled. She brought her book up to her chest and cradled it tightly, the way some kids might hug a stuffed animal.
Sebastian hesitated, like he wanted to say something else, but he shook his head and held his hand out to me again. “Let’s leave Charlotte to her book.”
“Of course.” I took his hand and let him help me to my feet before staring down at her. “ ’Bye, Charlotte.”
Her only response was to clutch her book even tighter.
“Come on, Gin,” Sebastian said.
I let him lead me away, although I glanced back over my shoulder. Charlotte was now standing behind the desk, still holding on to her book. For some reason, the look she gave me seemed even sadder than before, as though she knew some secret that I didn’t.
15
Sebastian escorted me out of the library and shut the doors behind him.
“I’m sorry about that,” he said. “Charlotte’s been having a . . . hard time dealing with our father’s death. More often than not, I find her hiding under his desk, almost like she thinks he’s going to come back at any second. I don’t think she really understands that he’s gone yet.”
I frowned. Charlotte was thirteen, hardly a little girl anymore. I’d known all about death, grief, and people not coming back at that age. But Sebastian was talking about her as though she couldn’t understand anything that was going on around her.