Free The Ruby Locket by Anita Higman, Hillary McMullen Page A

you saying? That…she was murdered ?” The last word came out as a hiss.
                  Wyatt’s eyes darted around again. “Possibly. I was only ten when she died so the details aren’t clear anymore.” He looked at me, his gaze unblinking. “But I know this. She would never have left me here. She used to tell me being a mother was her greatest dream. Why would she abandon it—abandon me?”
                  The anguish in his face pricked at my heart. And it dug up the hastily buried pain of my dad’s passing. A lump formed in my throat. “I know what it’s like to lose a parent. The senselessness of it. Like the whole earth has been pulled out from under your feet.” I fiddled with the sleeve of my dress, choosing my next words carefully. “And I also understand the need to make sense of her death. To have it fit in a box that you can wrap your mind around a little easier. Even if it means bending the truth.”
                  “You don’t believe me.” Wyatt pulled away, anger flickering in his eyes.
                  “That’s not it. It’s just I think you might be jumping to some pretty drastic—”
                  “Forget it.” He snatched a cleaning rag off the counter and turned to leave. “I have to go clear the dining room table. You can find your own way out.”
                  As the door swung shut behind him, I moaned and leaned my head back. I seemed to have a knack for sending people storming out of the kitchen tonight. Whatever progress I had made toward forging a friendship with Wyatt seemed to have just crumbled. It disappointed me more than I would’ve thought. But hopefully he wouldn’t stay mad forever. Besides, I was curious to hear what his evidence was. Did he believe Ivan murdered his mom? I mean, I wasn’t a huge fan of the guy but calling him a murderer was a hefty accusation. Or maybe Wyatt suspected one of the household staff?
                  I shivered, wrapping my arms around myself. Rising from the stool to make my way back to the guest house, one thought blazed across my mind, leaving a red trail of fear in its wake.
                  What if Wyatt was right?
                  The next morning after another massive breakfast buffet, Miss Easton ordered Mom upstairs to the sewing room so she could measure her for her wedding gown and I decided to tag along. Besides, my ankle felt better and I wanted to be there for Mom in case Miss Easton decided to make her feel unwelcome. If anyone was worthy of marrying Ivan, it would be my mom. I needed to make sure Miss Easton knew that.
                  The sewing room was surprisingly cheery compared to the rest of the house, with natural light streaming in through three large windows overlooking the greenhouse. Against one wall there were large bolts of rich fabrics in every color and texture: velvet jewel tones, gauzy pastels, and bold prints.
                  As Mom held out her arms for Miss Easton to measure her, she said, “Well, this is certainly a lovely room. It’s nice to know there are bright pockets of light in the abbey.”
                  Miss Easton grunted, moving her measuring tape around Mom’s slim waist. “This was Madam Helsburg’s favorite room. She enjoyed painting here because of all the natural light.”
                  I ran my hand along a bolt of dark plum chiffon. “You mean Celeste?”
                  “Yes,” Miss Easton said.
                  “That’s weird,” I said, tilting my head, “because last night Mr. Helsburg said that Celeste was drawn to the catacombs and liked to paint there.”
                  Miss Easton paused in her measuring and opened her mouth to speak, but nothing came out.
                  “Anne, maybe we should talk about something a bit merrier,” Mom said,