Chapter 10
Clara delved deeper into the journal. She flipped back and forth between the pages to keep up with Victoria’s writing.
“This is pointless.”
She put the journal down and contemplated her next steps. There was only one way to satisfy her curiosity. It was probably not the smartest move, but nothing ventured, nothing gained.
Clara wasn”t the criminal type and had never stepped outside of the lines before, but she couldn”t let go of the mystery. She had to know more. If Victoria had found the necklace or discovered what happened to Samuel and Eleanor, she would have written about it.
At least that”s what Clara was counting on.
She went to her room and dug into the drawer of yoga gear that probably didn”t get as much use as it should. She pulled on black leggings and the zip-up black Reebok jacket she bought intending to take up jogging.
That didn”t happen either.
Dressed in her criminal attire, hoping it would keep her from wearing orange, she grabbed the flashlight from a kitchen drawer and walked out of her house. It was close to midnight and the sleepy little town had rolled up the sidewalks long ago. If she happened upon anyone, she had a story ready. She was out for a walk. Why at midnight? She couldn”t sleep. People would believe it.
Victoria”s old house was about a fifteen-minute walk from her house. She had no idea what she was going to do when she got there. It wasn”t long before she found herself standing in front of Victoria”s old house. The thick air brought anticipation and a hint of trepidation.
“This is so stupid, Clara.”
The need for distraction had driven her to this clandestine mission. Curiosity killed the cat.
Meow.
With a deep breath, Clara went through the wrought iron gate that led to the backyard. She didn”t know a lot about breaking and entering but assumed it was probably best to do it out of direct view of the street. Thankfully, Watch Hill wasn”t big on security cameras on every corner. She approached the back door, her fingers fumbling with the lock. She felt a mix of excitement and guilt, knowing she was trespassing, but she couldn”t stop. As expected, the door was locked. She took a moment to reconsider. This was a sign to go home. Knowing old houses and the history of this house, Clara moved to the side where the root cellar was. She lifted it and was surprised to find it actually opened. Excitement raced through her veins.
She quickly glanced around; her heart pounding in her ears. She was keenly aware of the silence and the darkness that now felt prickly and alive. She was glad for her choice of dark clothes now as she crouched low, flashlight in hand, considering her next move.
She kept the flashlight beam aimed at the ground as she walked inside. Part of her wanted to believe the spiders that were bound to call the root cellar home weren”t there if she couldn”t see them. The dirt floor gave way to cement and another door.
“Please, let it open.”
Thankfully, it did. She walked inside, the beam of light dancing around the area. She spotted the stairs and rushed toward them. The basement was creeping her out and the stairs creaked under her weight as she climbed.
She tested each one with the ball of her foot, praying that no rotten wood would give way beneath her. The air was heavy with dust and the faint musty scent of aged papers. As Clara reached the top of the stairs, she felt a shiver run up her spine. She paused for a moment, half-expecting an unseen hand to touch her shoulder. But there was nothing but silence.
“Get a grip, Clara.”
Stepping into the main floor of Victoria”s old house was like stepping into a time capsule. The place was deserted and untouched for what seemed like decades, leaving traces of a bygone era hanging in the air. Victoria had not been gone that long, which meant she had lived in a home frozen in time. Clara knew the house had been passed down through the generations of Wentworths and was over a hundred years old. She hoped the historical society would get the house and turn it into a museum. It would be fun to see it in the light.
Dust-covered antique tables and faded wallpaper dated the house–the furniture was covered with sheets. Clara moved through the silent corridors, her senses heightened as she moved. The house was as much a mystery to her as the story of Samuel and Eleanor. Her running shoes helped conceal her footsteps against the old wooden floors.
Entering what appeared to be a study, Clara began her search. She didn”t dare turn on the light, which made things difficult. The room was filled with boxes. Words written with a black marker across the top of the box indicated it was filled with pictures. That was exactly what she was looking for, but first, she wanted to find the journals. That”s where she would find her answers. Clara moved the beam of light around the room. With a house this big, she guessed there might have been a library. That”s where she was going to find the boxes she was looking for.
Clara’s heart pounded like a war drum in her chest, the adrenaline making her senses razor-sharp. Inhaling sharply, she cautiously opened the study door and stepped out, looking around for any sign of a library. The house was eerily quiet, the silence broken only by the ticking of an antique grandfather clock in the hallway. She moved toward it, her light cutting through the darkness. She could make out a long corridor leading off to her right, lined with several doors on either side.
Choosing to go right, she moved quietly down the passage, opening each door she came across. Most of the rooms were empty, save for the worn furniture draped with dust sheets. She came to one door that seemed heavier than the others. Taking a deep breath, she pushed it open and saw it was exactly what she”d been looking for… a library.
Rows upon rows of shelves lined the walls. There were still books on some of the shelves. The room was a little cleaner than the others, which suggested this was the one the people packing things up had been working in. In the middle of the room stood a large wooden table covered with papers and a few more books.
“Bingo.”
A feeling of profound satisfaction washed over Clara, and for a moment, the fear that had been gnawing at her belly since she entered the house seemed to ebb away.
She began her search with the books still on the shelves. Some books were classics – Treasure Island, Pride and Prejudice, Moby Dick–while others were random autobiographies from the last decade. Those would have been Victoria”s.
Clara painstakingly went through every shelf, examining each book meticulously for any clue or sign of a hidden journal. Frustration gnawed at her.
Not ready to give up, she turned her attention to the boxes around the room. Hopefully, no one would think twice about the fact that once-taped boxes were now open. How many thieves opened a box but took nothing?
Clara opened one box after another, carefully unpacking every book before putting them back inside. As Clara delved deeper into the exploration, a noise echoed through the stillness. She froze, her heart pounding in her chest. She waited to see if she heard anything again. It was an old house. There were bound to be creaks and groans.
There!
The realization that she was not alone in the silent house sent shivers down her spine. Panic seized her. She turned off her flashlight and quickly tossed books into the box she”d been going through. Her stomach was a mess of nerves.
Then, she heard the unmistakable sound of footsteps. It felt like the temperature dropped twenty degrees.
Hide!
Her eyes darted around the room, looking for somewhere to hide. She didn”t see any promising hiding spots. She had to get out of the room. Clara rushed to the door and was about to open it when she heard the footsteps getting closer.
Fear and anxiety rushed through her. A house like this probably had someone keeping an eye on it. Her hasty decision was going to get her busted. What kind of time did one get for sneaking into an old house and looking through books?
She went to the farthest corner and crouched down behind a towering bookshelf, praying that the approaching person would not venture too far into the library. Her heart raced hard enough to physically hurt.
Orshe was having a heart attack.
The door creaked open slowly, an ominous sound in the silence. A slim beam of light slipped through the widening gap and scanned the silent library. Clara held her breath, trying to make herself as small as possible.
The footsteps felt deafening in her ears as they moved closer to her hiding spot. She squeezed her eyes shut, barely daring to breathe for fear of being found out. The footsteps stopped right next to where she was crouched. She watched in silence, not even daring to breathe.
Suddenly, the urge to sneeze arose. Clara wiggled her nose to try and stop it, but it was futile. The sneeze exploded in the silence. The light was aimed directly at her.
She was busted.