Chapter 7 - The House on Wren Street
Helen's house still had a crooked welcome mat and a jar of peppermints beside the door. Daniel couldn't get past the kitchen without remembering his mother dancing there with Emma, both of them wearing dish towels like royal capes.
Mallory had already packed the living room. Brown boxes lined the walls. "She took the pictures," Daniel said. "Like Mom was already somebody else's memory."
Nadia advised him not to disturb financial records until the trust issue was resolved. Grace, a beneficiary of a small personal bequest and the person Helen had asked to keep a spare key, walked through the rooms with them. She recorded everything on her phone.
In the study, a desk drawer hung crookedly. The brass lock had been forced. Inside lay a receipt for a shredding service dated the morning after Helen's death.
"Mallory didn't waste time," Grace murmured.
A knock startled them. Mrs. Iris Bell, Helen's former home aide, stood on the porch clutching her coat closed though the sun was out.
"I saw the moving boxes," she said. "I figured they were clearing her things. Is it true they attacked Claire?"
"Yes," Daniel said. "She's alive, but she's hurt."
Iris covered her mouth. "Helen warned me to keep copies. I thought she meant recipes and photographs."
She brought out a cheap plastic folder containing three bank deposit slips and a letter from Harbor House's accountant, Leah Hart. The letter had never been mailed. It said an outside company called Blue Iris Consulting had received nearly half a million dollars described as emergency housing services.
"Does this name mean anything to you?" Nadia asked.
Iris looked over her shoulder. "Blue Iris is the company that sent men to take Mrs. Price's furniture."
A crash came from the kitchen. Daniel rushed to the hallway and saw the back window shatter inward. A gloved hand reached through the broken pane toward the latch.
May you like
"Everybody out the front!" he shouted.
But the front door slammed shut before they reached it.
