Chapter Thirty-eight
“Shit!” I shouted,glancing up and down the street.
“Don’t worry,” Tracy said. “I know the code.” She pressed in a series of numbers, and the alarm went mercifully silent. “It’s the same one they’ve had since forever,” she explained to the surprised look on my face. “My birthday. Now get in here and shut the door. We don’t have a lot of time.”
“What exactly are we planning to do?”
“Like I said, have a look around. Come on.” She moved quickly to the stairs. “We haven’t been up here since Mom died.”
I was about to object when I realized I was at least as curious as Tracy was. We went directly to the master bedroom, and I confess to being relieved to find it essentially the same as when our mother was alive. The only difference was that the bed she’d once occupied had been stripped of its linens, its billowy white comforter now folded neatly at the bottom of the bare mattress.
Tracy moved immediately to the dresser, rifling expertly through each drawer. “Nothing. Dad must have moved the rest of her jewelry.”
Not so with her clothes, which were still hanging neatly in the closet, the high-heeled shoes she hadn’t worn in years lying in rows along the closet floor.
“God, look at all this stuff,” Tracy said. “There are some real classics here. Versace, Dior. Oh, my God. A Chanel suit! Remember when Mom used to wear it? Amazing! It’s got to be, like, twenty years old. I can’t believe it’s still in style.” She held the pink skirt and matching jacket against her body. “What do you think?”
I shrugged, glancing nervously around.
“I’m gonna try it on.”
“What? No!”
“It’ll just take two seconds.” Tracy promptly threw off her winter jacket and stepped out of the warm slacks she’d put on over her exercise leotard. “What do you think?” she asked, pulling the skirt up over her slim hips. “How does it look? It fits perfect, right?”
“Like it was made for you,” I said as she adjusted the jacket’s shoulders.
“It does, doesn’t it?” She ran into the en suite bathroom to get a look at herself in the mirror over the sink. “I love it. I’m taking it.”
I recalled the visit I’d had from the police when Dad noticed the missing jewelry. “I’m not sure that’s such a good idea.”
“Don’t be silly. Mom would want me to have it, and Dad will never know. Come on. There must be something here for you.”
“Nothing that would fit.”
“Maybe a blouse,” she offered. “A blouse would probably fit.”
“Is there a green silk shirt?” I was thinking of the blouse I’d found in Elyse’s closet, the one she claimed she was ironing and hadn’t had a chance to return.
“You’re strangely specific,” Tracy said, milling through the rest of the hangers. Suddenly, she stopped. “What was that?”
“What was what?”
“I thought I heard something.”
“Like what?”
“Like a car.”
My eyes shot toward the front of the house. “Are you kidding me?”
“Go check.”
I didn’t have to be asked twice. I raced down the hall to the bedroom Tracy and I once shared, ducking down before I reached the window, then slowly peeking my head up over the bottom of the frame.
But the street was empty, and the only car I saw was Tracy’s.
“Nothing,” I said, returning to the master bedroom.