Chapter 2 - The Seahorse
Margaret did not sleep.
At 5:40 the next morning, Laura began calling.
Margaret watched the phone vibrate across the bedside table.
Then Eric.
Then Laura again.
At 6:12, a text appeared.
This is childish. Come home.
Three minutes later:
Sophie is upset because of you.
That one almost worked.
Margaret started typing.
Then stopped.
Henry had always said Laura could locate Margaret’s guilt faster than anyone.
At 6:40 another message arrived.
Eric has an important paper he needs you to sign today.
Margaret stared at the words.
Evelyn’s warning returned.
Do not sign anything Laura or Eric gives you.
She called Evelyn.
“I need you at Seabriar.”
“When?”
“Eight.”
“I’ll be there.”
Margaret drove home just after sunrise.
Seabriar looked deceptively peaceful.
Gray shingles.
White trim.
Long windows reflecting the sea.
Henry had planted beach roses along the drive twenty-seven years earlier. They were bare now, thorny branches rattling in the wind.
Margaret opened the front door with her own key.
Laura appeared immediately.
She wore leggings and a cream sweater.
“Where have you been?”
“A hotel.”
“For God’s sake.”
Eric entered from the breakfast room holding a folder.
“There she is.”
He said it as if Margaret had returned from a tantrum.
Sophie sat behind him eating cereal.
She looked down when Margaret entered.
Margaret noticed.
“Good morning, Sophie.”
“Hi.”
Laura crossed her arms.
“Do you have any idea how worried we were?”
Margaret looked at her.
“No.”
Laura blinked.
Margaret continued toward the library.
Eric followed.
“Before you disappear again, I need your signature.”
He held out the folder.
Margaret did not take it.
“What is it?”
“Insurance.”
“What insurance?”
“A restructuring.”
“What does that mean?”
Eric’s impatience appeared instantly.
“The coastal premium increased. I found a better arrangement, but because the property is technically still in your name, you have to authorize it.”
Technically.
Margaret looked at the folder.
“What company?”
“Margaret, it’s seven in the morning.”
“You brought me a document.”
“Yes.”
“Then you should be able to explain it.”
Laura entered behind them.
“Mom, stop treating Eric like a criminal.”
Margaret looked at her daughter.
“I asked what I’m being asked to sign.”
“It’s insurance.”
“So he says.”
Eric laughed.
“This is exactly what I mean. You’re getting suspicious about everything.”
Margaret’s stomach tightened.
Getting suspicious.
Not being careful.
Not asking questions.
Suspicious.
She pushed open the library door.
“You can leave the document with Evelyn.”
Eric’s smile disappeared.
“Evelyn Shaw?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“Because she’s my attorney.”
Laura looked annoyed.
“You don’t need a lawyer to look at an insurance adjustment.”
Margaret turned.
“Then it shouldn’t bother you.”
Nobody answered.
The library smelled faintly of cedar and old books.
Henry’s chair still faced the windows.
Margaret had not moved it.
The stone fireplace dominated the far wall.
Above it ran the hand-carved oak mantel Henry commissioned from a Cape Ann woodworker.
Seashells.
Ropes.
Waves.
At the center, the wooden seahorse.
Margaret approached it.
Eric remained in the doorway.
“What are you doing?”
“Something private.”
“This is my home too.”
The sentence was so casual that Margaret almost missed it.
She turned slowly.
“No.”
Eric frowned.
“You know what I mean.”
“I do.”
Margaret walked toward him.
“That’s why you need to leave the library.”
Laura stared.
“Mom.”
“Both of you.”
Eric laughed.
“You’re throwing us out of a room now?”
“Yes.”
Laura’s face hardened.
“We moved here to help you.”
“I remember.”
“And now you’re acting like guests aren’t allowed to walk around.”
“You are guests.”
The words landed.
Sophie had wandered into the foyer.
Margaret saw her beyond Laura’s shoulder.
The girl looked confused.
Margaret softened nothing for the adults.
“Please leave the library.”
Eric started to argue.
Then the front bell rang.
Margaret smiled faintly.
“That will be Evelyn.”
Evelyn Shaw entered carrying a leather briefcase and wearing a navy coat over a charcoal suit.
She was sixty-four and had represented Henry’s construction company for twenty years before moving into private estate practice.
Eric’s face changed when he saw her.
Interesting.
Evelyn greeted Laura politely.
Then Eric.
“Good morning.”
Eric gave a stiff nod.
Margaret noticed.
“You two know each other?”
“We’ve met,” Evelyn said.
Eric answered at the same time.
“Barely.”
Evelyn looked at him.
Margaret stored that contradiction.
Eric handed Evelyn the folder.
“If Margaret insists on wasting money, you can review this.”
Evelyn accepted it.
“Certainly.”
Eric left.
Laura hesitated.
“You’re making this ugly.”
Margaret looked at her daughter.
“No, Laura.”
Her voice stayed calm.
“I am finally looking at what was already ugly.”
Laura walked out.
Evelyn shut the door.
Then locked it.
Margaret looked at her.
“That necessary?”
“I don’t know yet.”
Evelyn placed Eric’s folder on the desk without opening it.
“Show me.”
Margaret approached the fireplace.
Turn the tail first.
She twisted the wooden seahorse’s tail to the left.
A soft mechanical click sounded.
Then she pressed its body.
A narrow section of carved paneling beside the fireplace released.
Margaret stepped backward.
“Henry.”
Behind the wood was a steel compartment no larger than a medicine cabinet.
Inside were three objects.
A brass key.
A sealed envelope bearing Margaret’s name.
And a small black digital drive.
Margaret reached for the envelope.
Her hands began to tremble.
Evelyn remained several feet away.
“This part is yours.”
Margaret broke the seal.
Henry’s handwriting filled the first page.
Maggie,
If you are reading this, then someone has made you feel like a guest in the life we built. Before you believe them, remember something simple: Seabriar is yours. Not eventually. Not technically. Not until someone decides you are too old. Yours.
Margaret covered her mouth.
Evelyn looked away.
Margaret forced herself to continue.
I discovered things about Eric that worried me. I also learned that Laura knew more than she admitted. I did not tell you because you were caring for me, and I could not bear to make my last months another crisis you had to manage. That may have been a mistake.
Margaret stopped.
Laura knew.
Her vision blurred.
Then came the next line.
The brass key opens the storm archive below the old wine cellar. Everything you need is there.
Margaret lowered the letter.
“The what?”
Evelyn frowned.
“Storm archive?”
“You didn’t know?”
“No.”
Henry had renovated Seabriar so many times that secret rooms did not sound entirely impossible.
Margaret turned the page.
Henry had added one final instruction.
Do not confront anyone until Evelyn has seen what is inside.
Margaret looked at the attorney.
Evelyn sighed.
“He always was bossy after death.”
Margaret laughed through tears.
Then someone tried the library door.
Once.
Twice.
Eric’s voice came from outside.
“Why is this locked?”
Margaret folded Henry’s letter.
For the first time since dinner, she felt something other than humiliation.
Not triumph.
Control.
“My library,” she said quietly.
May you like
Then she and Evelyn went looking for the storm archive.
---
