Hope Between the Pages Pepper Basham (thriller book recommendations TXT) 📖

relationship with Sadie that he’d purchased a building for her? Uncle Julian’s accusations came back to mind. Had Granny Sadie been his lover? Was this payment for her services? A love gift from a wealthy man who would never marry her?

Clara shook her head, grabbed her purse, and pushed up from her chair. It didn’t matter. All she needed was proof that Blackwell’s belonged to her and Mom, not Mr. Long.

She rushed from the office, alerted Mom and Robbie of her plans, and headed directly for Mr. Lawson’s to see if the letter was enough to document ownership.

“Clara, I understand how important this is for you and your mother, and this document certainly helps your cause.” Mr. Lawson placed the paper on the desk that separated them, his kind eyes offering an apology he didn’t voice. “But I don’t know that it’s enough to stop an investigation.”

Clara leaned forward. “But doesn’t it prove that the building was purchased for Sadie? That a deed was forthcoming because payment had been made? Ezra Long’s signature is on the paper—a little faded, but still clear.”

He nodded, reviewing the paper again. “I’ll have to do more research, but usually we either need the actual deed, proof of registration of the deed, or more than one official piece of documentation to prove ownership.”

“Like what else?”

“Another correspondence with Mr. Long about the sale? Copy of a receipt of payment, if possible?” Mr. Lawson rolled his narrow shoulders in a shrug. “Something more that will link the two.”

After another encouraging comment or two from Mr. Lawson, Clara left the building, her mind spinning with questions about where else to look.

The darkened windows of the bookshop alerted her to the lateness of the winter hour. She glanced up at the sign hanging from two iron chains over the door front. Blackwell’s. Her family name. But how much longer would it be there?

With a long sigh, she slipped through the side door of the building into the apartment.

“Oh dear, from the look on your face, the news wasn’t as good as you’d hoped.” Mom stood from the table nestled at the juncture between their kitchen and living area. “What did Mr. Lawson say?”

“Please don’t share any news that will ruin the chocolate cake your mom just served up,” Robbie quipped, patting his flat stomach as he leaned back in his chair. “It was too delicious for bad news.”

She feigned a look of annoyance at her ridiculous cousin, who ate like a pig and still kept some semblance of a slender physique, and then she dropped down into a chair across from him. “The letter was certainly helpful, but he wasn’t sure whether it would be enough to prove ownership on its own.” Mom placed a glass of iced tea in front of Clara and a sudden weariness slid from her arms. “Thanks, Mom.”

“We need more?”

“He says we need some way of proving a solid connection between Oliver Camden and Sadie to strengthen the validity of the document. Whatever the connection was.” She reclined back in the chair with a sigh. “Were they married? Lovers? Did he give her Blackwell’s as a gift to keep silent? What?”

“And you’ve looked in every known place here.” Mom placed a slice of cake in front of Clara, the sympathetic tilt to her lips not as convincing as usual. “The attic. The storage room. Biltmore.”

“Yes.”

“Are there any other options? Even unexpected ones?”

“Right, like thinking outside the box,” Robbie added. “Or the country.”

Clara’s gaze shot to Robbie’s face. “What are you talking about? Outside the country?”

“Be quiet and eat your cake.” Mom nudged a fork into Clara’s hand. “And then go pack your bags.”

“Pack my bags?” Clara stared at her.

“For England, of course,” Robbie said, reaching for Clara’s uneaten cake. “If you’re just going to sit there with your mouth open, can I have a bite?”

“England?”

“I’ve thought it through, Clara.” Mom needled Clara with a stare while Robbie took a bite of Clara’s cake. “You have two weeks before Julian turns this into some atrocious legal battle. By the time you get to England, you’ll have…what? Maybe ten days, at most?”

Her mom was going crazy. “Mom—”

“It really makes great sense.” Or that’s what she thought Robbie said with half a cake in his mouth.

“The Westons have already agreed to it. Gillie and I sorted it all out, so you can do research—”

“I can’t just leave the country to go—”

“Do you have any other suggestions?” Mom folded her arms across her chest with one of those “you’re not as smart as me” looks.

“I can’t leave you here alone.”

“Hey, I’ll be here with her.” Robbie forked the last bite of cake. “And we have Faith and James helping with the shop, not to mention Kayne. I know he’s only been working here a week, but he’s catching on fast.”

Clara shook her head, the idea refusing to lodge into reality. “I…I have the children’s story contest.”

“Robbie can send the entries to you.” Mom waved her hand in the air as if her words worked like a magic wand. “You can judge them from there, and you’ll be back in time for the Christmas party.”

The two closest people in her life were insane. “It’s almost Christmas.”

“Almost only counts in horseshoes and hand grenades,” Robbie quoted, inciting an eye roll from Clara. “You’ll be back for Christmas. That’s what matters.”

“And just think of all the lovely decorations you’ll see while you’re in England. Fenwick, to be exact.” Mom tugged a small envelope from her wallet. “Isn’t that perfect?”

Clara opened her mouth to respond then snapped her lips closed before rallying again. “I can’t just take off to Eng—”

“Why not?” Robbie the rebel interrupted.

“I…I don’t do things like that. Besides, what do we know about this couple? You’ve talked with them for a little over a week and now you’re best friends?”

“They own a bed-and-breakfast, Clara. They’re used to taking people into their house.” Robbie pushed the empty plate back to her side of the table with a wink.