Chapter 23
The drive to Seaside Harbor passed in silence.
Abby hadn’t expected to have such a strong reaction to Victor’s stroke.
And it grew after seeing Vidal and catching a glimpse of who he’d been as a teenager when his mother vanished.
It stirred up everything she’d been suppressing about her own mother’s death and the reconciliation that hadn’t happened in time.
If she didn’t get herself centered, she wouldn’t be any help to Burke or the investigation. The only place she knew to find peace was at her church.
She looked at Burke. “I know we need to get to the antique shop, but Victor’s stroke has put me in a terrible place. Everything that just happened brought up my mom’s death. Would you mind if I stopped at my church for a few minutes?”
“I don’t mind.” His agreement came easier than expected. She thought he’d protest—especially with his current distance from God.
She gave him directions to the church she attended, and they drove through the quaint seaside town in silence. Normally she’d take in the oceanfront and the weather, but today, the world outside the windshield barely registered.
They pulled up to the church. It didn’t look like much—just a modern building tucked between shops—but Abby didn’t care.
Church wasn’t the building. It was the people and sometimes the quiet, like she so desperately craved today.
She led him inside, and they took a seat in the worship center’s front row.
“You know,” she said softly, “I think we’re both stuck in the same place with our faith. For me, I’m convinced I didn’t honor my parents like the Bible says I should do. I failed at that and can’t shake the guilt.”
“You just need to confess it, and God will forgive you,” Burke said. “I know, simple advice but not always easy.”
“Exactly. God might forgive me, but will I be able to forgive myself?” She turned to him. “But your situation’s different. You weren’t in the wrong. Tiffany hurt you.”
“Yeah.” He gripped his knees. “But it still feels like punishment.”
“You know that’s not God, right? That it’s the enemy lying to you, and there’s something deeper.” She paused. “What’s the truth, Burke?”
He stared ahead. “I don’t know. Maybe I don’t believe I deserve happiness.”
She didn’t respond right away. He was being vulnerable, and she didn’t want to interrupt and risk shutting him down.
“It’s not just Tiffany,” he added. “I never told you about my brother, Kyle.”
He exhaled hard and ran a hand around the back of his neck.
“We grew up in a strict Christian home—no TV, no internet, no music. When I turned eighteen I’d had enough and bolted.
Kyle was younger, but I didn’t think about what I was leaving him to deal with.
After I was gone, he spiraled. Drugs. Eventually overdosed.
If I hadn’t been so focused on getting out, maybe I could’ve helped him. Maybe he’d still be alive.”
She took his hand. “You can’t carry that. You didn’t abandon him, right?”
“No. I would’ve called or texted him, but he didn’t have a phone or the internet. So I visited every chance I got. I just didn’t pick up on any signs of what he was going through. I don’t know.” His voice cracked. “Maybe he was hiding it from me because he didn’t want me to see it.”
“Then your guilt is a lie.” She hoped her assertiveness would get his attention. “I heard once that when strangers hurt us, we blame the world. But when someone close to us hurts us or is suffering, we blame ourselves—even if it’s not our fault. That’s what you’re doing.”
He looked down at their joined hands. “I wish I could trust that, but trust isn’t easy after what Tiffany did.”
“She was the fool. You’re an incredible man. Someone any woman would be proud to marry.”
He locked on her face, his eyes searching. “You really believe that?”
“I do.”
“Even after what I told you?” He took a long breath and held it.
“Especially then, but it’s not just about me. You need to believe it too. And the only way back is prayer.”
He glanced toward the front of the worship center where a large bronze cross was mounted on the wall. “You’re right. Whatever I’m doing on my own, it’s not working.” He squeezed her hand. “Let’s start now.”
She bowed her head, and though the silence between them stretched out, Abby’s heart wasn’t silent.
For the first time since her mother’s death, Abby poured out everything—her grief, her guilt, and her need to make things right.
Then God made her path clear. She had to see her father.
Ask for forgiveness. Try to rebuild what was left of her family, even if they wanted nothing to do with her and rejected her again.
When she opened her eyes, Burke hadn’t moved. She stayed beside him, quietly absorbing his strength, wondering what it might feel like to truly belong with him.
Finally, he looked at her. “It feels good to trust God again. I hope I can actually put it into practice and learn to trust people too.”
“You can,” she said softly.
“Maybe. But trusting a woman again? That’s still the hard part.”
“I’d never betray you.”
He searched her face. “So you think we should give this a real chance?”
“I’m done listing all the reasons we shouldn’t,” she said. “Let’s start finding the reasons we should.”
He took both her hands, eyes locked with hers. “That’s the best idea I’ve heard all day.”
Her heart soared. She smiled, letting herself imagine a future that, for the first time, didn’t feel so far away.
Then her phone rang. She groaned. “Whoever’s calling, their timing is terrible. But it could be about the case.” She looked at the screen. “It’s Gabe.”
“He probably has an update on his interview with Sylvia and Ugo.”
She tapped the screen. “Hi, Gabe. You’re on speaker with me and Burke. Do you have an update on your interviews?”
A sigh crackled through the speaker. “I do, but it’s not likely what you want to hear. Ugo and Sylvia don’t seem like viable suspects.”
Burke’s shoulders tensed as he leaned forward. “Tell us what you discovered, and we’ll be the judge of that.”
“Well, okay then.” Gabe didn’t control the sarcasm in his voice. “I thought we were past that, but here goes. Both of them spent the night at the mansion before Victor reported the crown was stolen.”
Burke ran a hand over his jaw. “And after such a confession when they lied to us, you still don’t think they’re suspects?”
“Hold on. They had good reasons.” His tone shifted, more measured.
“Sylvia’s husband not only has cancer, but he’s dying.
His treatments make him too sick to be around, and he doesn’t want her to see him like that.
A nurse is with him around the clock, so he insists Sylvia takes off.
She doesn’t want their daughter to know how bad things are so she can’t stay with her, but they can’t afford lodging, so she stays in the dungeon, and makes sure Victor doesn’t know she’s there. ”
Abby frowned. “Why doesn’t she just tell him? I’m sure he’d understand and give her a proper room.”
“I asked. She’s afraid if she tells him and he says no, she’ll lose her job and the insurance that comes with it. So she keeps quiet.”
Burke crossed his arms. “And Ugo? He just lets her sneak around?”
“No need for sneaking past him. He’s sometimes there too. They both leave early in the morning and sneak down to the ferry together, acting like they just arrived. It’s all a routine now, just in case Victor’s watching.”
Abby was honestly surprised. “So why does Ugo stay over?”
“He’s a functional alcoholic. He started drinking when his wife and son died in that car crash. On the anniversary of their deaths, he drinks excessively and can’t make it home on his own. Sylvia helps him down to the cellar to sleep it off so he doesn’t lose his job.”
Burke’s jaw flexed. “I had no idea Ugo drank.”
“He clearly hides it well.”
“I’ll say,” Abby said. “You wouldn’t notice unless you knew to look for it.”
Burke sat back, brow furrowed. “So they both spent the night. Did either of them see or hear anything?”
“Nothing. No sounds, no movement. Neither had any clue who might be buried on the property. Sylvia did mention that back in the eighties, they had male visitors—none regular, and no one who ever seemed angry or threatening.”
Abby leaned in, her voice tight with hope. “Do you believe their story?”
“Sylvia’s attitude rubbed me the wrong way, but yeah, I do. Both of them genuinely care about Victor. Doesn’t seem like either would want to hurt him.”
Disappointment pressed into Abby’s chest. She had hoped for a lead—something. But the door wasn’t fully closed yet. “What about the finances? Did Ugo keep any records from the eighties?”
“Surprise, surprise, yes.” Gage’s animated tone cheered her up. “He’s kept everything from the time he started managing the household finances. He has paper copies in a storage room near his office. He offered to walk us through them.”
Burke straightened, the wheels in his brain clearly turning. “We might have to take him up on that.”
“Did they say anything about Juan?” Abby asked.
“Just that he was barely over five feet tall—so he’s definitely not our mystery man.”
“Didn’t seem likely anyway,” Burke said. “A guy like Juan wouldn’t have owned such an expensive belt buckle.”
“Which means we’re still without a victim ID,” Abby said. “That buckle just became our best shot at identifying the man in the clandestine grave.”
Who knew a small town like Seaside Harbor would have top quality and expensive antiques, but the place’s name and fancy sign out front should’ve been Abby’s first clues telling her she was wrong.
The next clue appeared the moment she stepped through the door of The Gilded Gallery, and the price tags displayed on elegant pieces made her gasp.
The highest she spotted was fifteen grand.
She shared a surprised look with Burke as they made their way through an aisle lined with antique furniture. She didn’t know the era, but the furniture was seriously old.
An agile-looking older man with a receding hairline stood behind the counter, his back to them. He and a woman were in a heated conversation about the price of a painting on the counter. She looked up and met Abby’s gaze, her mouth dropping open. She spun and raced for the back room.
Abby stopped in her tracks. This woman was a forty-year older image of Estelle. Was Abby seeing things?
She nudged Burke. “Did you catch a look at that woman?”
“Not really. Do you know her?”
“She looked like Estelle. At least what I would imagine her at this age.”
“Are you sure, or are you just hoping it’s her?”
Abby shrugged. “I’m not sure why I would imagine it, but you could be right.”
“Or you could be right. It could be Estelle.” He tipped his head toward the man standing at the counter. “We can ask a few questions. See if we can find out.”
They stepped up to him. He gave them a broad smile, his cheeks rising. “Can I help you folks?”
Abby introduced herself and Burke.
“I’m Leonard Shaw, the owner,” he said, his pleasant expression remaining in place.
Abby took the evidence bag holding the belt buckle from her backpack. “We were hoping you could give us an idea of when and where this buckle might’ve been made.”
He picked up the bag. “Can I take it out to examine it?”
“If you wear gloves,” Burke said.
“No problem.” He grabbed a pair of white cotton gloves. “These were freshly laundered.”
“Actually.” Abby drew a pair of disposable gloves from her backpack. “We’d prefer you’d use ours so we can be positive there’s no contamination.”
“I can do that.” He put on a pair of glasses and the gloves she gave him, then bent over the buckle. “Gorgeous piece. My first impression is it’s French.”
He flipped it over. “Ah, I was right. The maker’s mark is for Hermès. I imagine you’ve heard of the very high-end French designer.”
“I have,” Abby said. “Do you have any idea when this was made?”
He pointed at a small circle holding the letter A engraved on the back. “Circles were used for Hermès designs from 1971 to 1996. The letter A corresponds to a specific year. I just have to grab my detailed Hermès date stamp guide to check what the A means.”
He dug under the counter for a small binder, flipped a few pages, then paused and ran a finger down the plastic sleeve enclosing a piece of paper. “Ah. Here it is. The buckle was made in 1971.”
“You’re certain?”
“Yes,” he said, a puzzled look on his face. “But here’s the thing. I don’t think Hermès was making such pricey buckles in those days. This was most likely custom-made.”
“Pricey?” Burke asked. “Like how much?”
“I saw a recent Hermès Kelly diamond buckle with crocodile belt in 18K yellow gold go for over fifty thousand.”
Burke let out a low whistle. “So the guy who wore it would’ve had money.”
“Yes, or someone he knew who could’ve gifted it to him. And they’d have to be well-connected to get a custom piece made.”
“Anything else you can tell us about it?”
He shook his head.
“How about the woman you were talking to?” Abby asked. “Might she know something about the buckle?”
“Her?” His face blanched. “No, she doesn’t have a background in antiques.”
“But she works here?”
“No. Just a customer.”
Abby leaned closer to him. “I heard your conversation about the painting when I came in. She sounded pretty knowledgeable to me.”
“Sorry, you’re wrong.” He stiffened.
“What’s her name?” Burke asked, his tone more casual and less intense than Abby’s.
“I don’t give out customer information.” He put the buckle back in the bag and ripped off the latex gloves. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I have work to do.”
“I’ll just check with her.” Burke moved to the opening in the counter.
“Now wait a minute. You’re not authorized to go back there. Besides, she was leaving anyway.”
Burke didn’t listen but powered ahead. Shaw rushed after him. Abby couldn’t stand around and wait. She put the buckle in her backpack and hurried after them.
“See, I told you.” The owner’s voice boomed through the backroom. “She left.”
Abby reached them in time to see Burke glancing around. He locked eyes with Abby then gestured for her to leave with him. On the sales floor, he took a long look at the place. “Thank you for your help, Mr. Shaw.”
She didn’t have any other questions, so she went to the door, Burke’s footfalls sounding on the vintage wooden floor behind her.
Outside, he looked up and down the street, then back at the building. “Shaw doesn’t have any security cameras. Most surprising with his high-end inventory.”
Abby nodded her agreement. “I noticed a security system. Maybe he doesn’t think he needs cameras too. Or for some reason, he doesn’t want his dealings recorded. Maybe a customer privacy thing.”
“Whatever the reason, it’s time to take a better look at this street. Someone around here could have cameras that recorded the woman entering the building.”
Abby’s heart slammed against her ribs. Was this it? Were they finally about to find Estelle?