Page 13 of Lost Cause
Inside, the air was thick with heat and rotting vegetation. Overgrown vines curled across the dirt floor. A broken bench lay beneath a tangle of weeds, faded blossoms gray with dust.
And in the center of the floor?
A single shoe print similar in size to the prints located outside the dungeon exit. Had the person started here and gone to the mansion or vice versa? Seemed likely.
Next to it lay a piece of torn velvet, deep purple, embroidered with a decorative pattern using antique gold thread.
A noise sounded behind him. He spun to find Abby standing at the doorway.
Of course she didn’t stay put, but he wouldn’t take time now to argue about it. He held up the scrap of velvet. “Could be part of the crown’s case.”
She showed no interest in the velvet, but stared over his shoulder.
He swiveled, seeing nothing unusual. “What is it? What do you see?”
“Look at the overturned planter.”
He squinted and made out an item barely poking out beneath the rim.
Abby picked her way through weeds to drop to the ground. She pried the pot free and tipped it over, then pawed through the weeds and soil like a frantic dog. Suddenly, she stopped and glanced back, her face alive with excitement.
He crept closer. Closer. Until he caught a faint hint of her sweet perfume.
She snatched an item up and held it to a shaft of moonlight, illuminating a small brass locket.
She examined the necklace front and back. “What could this possibly be doing here?”
“Look inside,” he said, catching her excitement. “A picture might help explain it.”
She wiped the dirt from her hand on her knee and dangled the chain over her palm, then maneuvered the locket between her fingers.
Neither of them spoke, the suspense keeping them both waiting.
He lifted the bright beam of his flashlight to the locket, the light revealing cracks and a burnished finish that could only come with age. She pinched the edges, and the top flipped open.
One side of the frame held a faded, water-stained image of a woman. The other, a picture of a much younger Victor.
Burke shifted his light to better illuminate the locket. “See the frayed paper edges behind her picture? There’s something back there. Can you take it out?”
She picked at it with a fingernail, releasing the photo. She turned it over and gasped.
“It’s a name etched in script.” He bent closer to make out the name. “Estelle Lemoine. Likely some relation to Victor, right?”
“His wife.” Abby’s voice trembled. “I saw her picture in a story and it looked just like this one.”
Not the reaction he expected. “Why is that upsetting you?”
“I read in an article that she vanished forty years ago. No hint of where she’s been.”
Burke stood slowly, the implication settling in. Sure, the locket could simply have been dropped here years ago and accidentally buried, but couple that with her disappearance, and it would be too coincidental. He didn’t believe in coincidences. If a woman lost such a sentimental piece of jewelry, surely she would go looking for it.
No, it looked more like someone had come to dig it up tonight, but they’d been interrupted.
Abby’s expression mirrored his thoughts.
“This just became more than a theft,” he said, but wished he didn’t have to. “We could be dealing with Estelle’s murder, and Victor might know something about that too.”
4
