Chapter 3 – THE MAN IN THE ROOM

My blood ran cold.

“What man, Leo?” I grabbed his small shoulders, perhaps a little too tightly. “Who is in my room?”

“Claire, let him go, you’re scaring him!” Melissa lunged forward and pulled Leo against her hip. She glared at me, but her hands were shaking.

“Someone is in the house,” I said, standing up and grabbing the heavy iron fireplace poker from the hearth.

I didn’t wait for them to argue. I walked down the narrow hallway, my heart hammering against my ribs. The floorboards creaked under my feet. The door to my bedroom was ajar. A sliver of pale moonlight spilled onto the hallway carpet.

I pushed the door open with the tip of the poker.

The room was empty.

The window was wide open, the sheer curtains fluttering in the cool night breeze. I ran to the window and looked out into the backyard, but saw only the shadows of the old oak tree and the overgrown hedges.

Whoever it was had gone.

I turned back to the room. My bed was unmade, just as I had left it at 4:00 AM for my shift. But on the center of my pillow sat a small, black velvet box.

I lowered the poker. My hands were shaking as I reached for the box. I flipped the lid open.

Inside was a delicate pearl necklace. It belonged to my grandmother. My mother had sold it fifteen years ago to pay for a new roof.

I walked back into the living room, carrying the box. Mom was clutching Leo, and Melissa was pacing frantically.

“Did you find him?” Melissa demanded.

I held up the velvet box. Mom gasped, her hand flying to her mouth.

“My mother’s pearls,” she whispered. “Where did you find those?”

“On my bed,” I said. I looked at Melissa. “Did Thorne have these?”

Melissa shook her head violently. “No! I’ve never seen those before. Thorne just wants money. He doesn’t deal in jewelry.”

“Then who was in my room?” I asked.

Leo tugged on Mom’s cardigan. “Grandma,” he said quietly. “The man smelled like your medicine.”

Mom froze. All the color drained from her face.

“Mom?” I asked. “What does he mean?”

Mom slowly reached into her cardigan pocket. She pulled out a small, orange prescription bottle. It was her heart medication.

“I… I didn’t tell you, Claire,” she stammered, looking at the floor. “Because I knew you would be angry.”

“Tell me what?”

“About your father’s brother. Uncle David.”

I stared at her. “Uncle David died in prison twenty years ago.”

“No,” Mom said softly, a tear sliding down her cheek. “He got out three months ago. And he’s been coming here while you’re at work.”

She reached into her pocket again, but this time, instead of medicine, she pulled out a crumpled, yellow pawn ticket.

“He’s the one who pawned your father’s watch,” she whispered. “And he’s the one who bought it back.”