Chapter 3 – THE THINGS MONEY CANNOT REPLACE

“Dispose of it?”

Anna repeated the words as though she wasn’t certain she’d heard correctly.

Bianca looked uncomfortable.

“The books had been stored in a damp room for years. Some were damaged. The contractor recommended removing anything that might have mold.”

Anna looked at her brother.

“Mom’s books.”

Marco didn’t move.

I had seen him angry before. I’d seen men twice his size become quiet when he entered a room.

But now he appeared almost helpless.

Because there was nothing he could do to replace the small, ordinary things that had belonged to his mother.

“Which contractor?” he asked.

Bianca handed him an invoice.

“The same company that inspected the roof.”

“Who authorized the disposal?”

“I did.”

“Without asking either owner?”

“I believed you’d given me permission to handle the clearance.”

Marco stared at her.

“Permission to protect the property. Not to empty it.”

Anna sank into her chair.

I moved the untouched cider away from the edge of the table before she knocked it over.

She looked at me with a tired little smile.

“Thanks, Katie.”

Then she said, “When I was twenty-three, I stole a twenty-dollar bill from Mom’s purse.”

The room went quiet.

Marco turned toward her.

“Annie, you don’t have to—”

“Yes, I do.”

She kept her eyes on the table.

“I was drinking again. I’d already disappointed her so many times I couldn’t stand looking at her.”

She rubbed the edge of her bronze sobriety coin.

“Three days later, I brought the money back. She was in the kitchen, making coffee.”

Her mouth trembled.

“She didn’t ask where I’d been. She just told me to put the twenty in the church donation envelope.”

Marco sat beside her.

“I remember.”

“I asked why she hadn’t called the police.”

Anna gave a weak smile.

“She said, ‘Because I want my daughter back. Not my twenty dollars.’”

I saw Marco’s eyes fill.

Anna looked at Bianca.

“Those books were how she loved people. She’d find a story she thought somebody needed and send it home with them.”

Bianca lowered her gaze.

“I didn’t know that.”

“You never asked.”

The words weren’t loud.

They were worse than shouting.

Marco examined the invoice again.

“There’s a storage reference number here.”

Bianca nodded.

“Yes. Some things went to storage.”

“Then we’re going to find out what survived.”

He turned to me.

“Katie, would you get my coat?”

I hesitated.

It was late. The guests had gone home, and the staff had finished clearing the drawing room.

Usually I would have been dismissed long before midnight.

But Anna was looking at me.

“Could you come too?” she asked.

I glanced at Marco.

He didn’t answer for her.

It was a small thing, but I appreciated it.

“I’d like that,” I said.

I didn’t tell either of them that my grandmother would probably be awake, watching television in her hospital room, and that I had promised to call her before bed.

For the moment, Anna needed someone who hadn’t been part of the lies.

We drove to Hawthorne Street.

I sat in the back beside Anna while Marco drove. Bianca came with us because he insisted she show him exactly what had been done.

Nobody spoke much.

Anna held the brass key in her lap.

When we entered the old brick house, the first thing I noticed was the smell.

Fresh paint.

Dust.

And something cold underneath, the scent of a building that hadn’t been lived in for too long.

Anna stopped in the hallway.

The wallpaper was gone.

So were the family pictures that had once lined the stairs.

The rooms looked bigger without furniture.

They also looked terribly lonely.

“Mom hated white paint,” Anna said.

Marco looked around.

“She used to call it landlord white.”

Anna laughed softly.

“Because it meant somebody didn’t care enough to pick a color.”

For a moment, they both smiled.

Then Anna walked into the kitchen.

The old dining table was gone.

Pale rectangles marked the walls where cabinets had been removed.

She reached toward the empty space beneath the window.

“Her chair was here.”

Marco stood beside her.

“I know.”

“She sat there every morning with her coffee. Even when her knees got bad, she wouldn’t let me move it closer to the stove.”

He nodded.

“She said she liked the light.”

Anna looked toward the bare window.

“I thought I’d have time to come back.”

Marco’s face changed.

“So did I.”

Bianca remained in the doorway.

She had taken off her diamond earrings and was holding them in one hand.

For the first time all evening, she looked less like a wealthy man’s fiancée and more like a tired woman who had made a terrible mistake.

“The contractor said the furniture was vulnerable to moisture,” she said.

Anna turned.

“Were the books wet?”

“Some of the boxes were.”

“Did anyone open them?”

Bianca hesitated.

“I don’t know.”

Marco held up the invoice.

“Then we’ll ask the company for the disposal records.”

He turned toward the hallway.

That was when I noticed something.

A narrow door beneath the stairs stood slightly open.

Inside was an old utility closet.

Through the gap, I could see the corner of a cardboard box.

“Mr. Vitale?”

He turned.

“There are still some things here.”

Anna came over.

The box was covered in dust. Someone had written KITCHEN — PERSONAL ITEMS across the top.

I lifted it carefully onto the kitchen counter.

Inside were mismatched mugs, a cracked casserole dish, a bundle of dish towels, and a battered metal tin.

Anna made a small sound.

“Oh.”

She picked up the tin.

It was blue, with faded yellow flowers on the lid.

“Mom kept her recipes in this.”

Marco moved closer.

Anna opened it.

There were handwritten recipe cards, newspaper clippings, and several folded notes.

She lifted the first card.

“Lemon cake,” she whispered.

Marco smiled sadly.

“Of course.”

Anna turned it over.

Her mother’s handwriting covered the back.

Anna likes extra lemon. Marco says he doesn’t, but he always takes the biggest slice.

Anna laughed through her tears.

I looked away to give her privacy.

Then a folded piece of paper slipped out from beneath the cards.

It wasn’t a recipe.

It was a small handwritten list.

Marco recognized the writing immediately.

“That’s Mom’s.”

Anna unfolded it.

Across the top were three words.

THINGS TO KEEP.

Below them, their mother had written:

The kitchen table.

The silver watch.

The books in the front room.

The house, if the children still want it.

Anna pressed the paper against her chest.

Marco looked toward the empty kitchen.

His expression made my throat tighten.

Bianca stepped closer.

“I never saw that.”

Anna didn’t answer.

I began putting the recipe cards back into the tin.

Underneath them was a narrow envelope bearing the name of the company that had handled the house clearance.

Inside was a receipt.

I glanced at the date.

It was from six weeks earlier.

Then I saw something that made me stop.

The receipt wasn’t only for removing furniture.

At the bottom, beneath the list of services, was another entry.

I looked at Marco.

“Sir, I think you need to see this.”

He took the receipt.

His face went hard.

Then he looked at Bianca.

“You told me this house was being repaired. Why was someone preparing it for a buyer?”

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