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At some point, I must’ve acknowledged him, because when I glance back up, he’s gone.
Unable to stand a second more of silence, I rip a blank note off the top of the pad and stuff it into my pocket.
I exit the study, heading straight for the front doors, but I’m stopped when I nearly collide with the butler. “Fuck. Where did you even come from?”
“Excuse me, sir, but I’ve prepared a car for your trip into town.”
“Uh, all right. Very good.” These formalities are going to take some getting used to, but he doesn’t seem to mind my awkward delivery.
He smiles before sweeping a hand down a hall that leads us back to the room with the piano. “You’ve been granted access to the garage on the lower level.”
Lower level? Fucking hell, this place is huge.
The largest living room in the house features an open concept design, adorned with a set of cream-colored couches and matching drapes. Arching windows frame a view of what was once an elaborate garden, nestled between this portion of the manor and an adjoining wing. Adjacent to the grand piano, which is positioned on a raised platform in the corner, stands a white double bookcase, where we come to an abrupt halt.
“Mr. Thorne,” I say, staring at volumes of rare books and trinkets. “Why are we staring at a bookcase?”
The older man smirks, a touch of mischief lighting his eyes. I blink in shock when he gently tugs on the spine of Mark Twain’s ‘The Adventures of Huckleberry Finn’ and the bookcase on our right pops open.
“I…” Have no words as I watch him push the secret door open to a dark, musty staircase that leads us below the manor.
Flood lights snap on with loud, echoing clicks the farther we descend. Upon reaching the underground level, I count six widely spaced doors along the corridor, three on each side.
Mr. Thorne stops in front of the one marked with the number two. He offers me the keycard, which unlocks the door, and when we step inside, I can’t believe my eyes.
The scent of rubber and car wax flushes through my system, bringing forth a spark of excitement. My shoes click across the smooth concrete garage, each step quickening my pulse as I count at least twelve vehicles, from SUVs to sports cars, arranged in rows of four.
Most of them are classics, though some, like the yellow Lamborghini, are newer, but I stop short in front of the turquoise 1958 Corvette sitting pretty in the open space at the far end of the garage.
When I skim my fingers across her body, she all but begs me to take her for a ride.
“The garage is climate controlled, and Thomas was diligent about having them routinely inspected,” the butler says, “but I’ve personally seen to each vehicle, ensuring they were up to driving standards before your visit.”
“Holy shit,” I breathe.
Perhaps there are some benefits to this whole will situation after all.
“While I think you’ll find Thomas’s collection quite versatile, I felt the Corvette was most suitable for you.” He’s grinning now. “That elevator lift there will take you up to a hidden exit. From there, all you need to do is press the key on this remote.”
I catch the sleek black device he tosses to me. “Thank you.”
Amused by my bewilderment, he says, “It’s yours until you reach a final decision after the reading.”
Once I take a seat behind the wheel, I breathe the scent of oiled leather deep into my lungs.
I don’t bother reiterating that my decision is already final. Nothing’s going to change my plan to sign the estate over to Sam as soon as I’m able. I rev the engine, genuinely excited for the first time in much too long.
But first, I’m going to enjoy a drive.
Chapter Four
Molly
After checking that the coast is clear, I grab my backpack from the passenger seat of my car and slip inside Record Revival.
The smell of my favorite music store always calms my fraying nerves. Crisp vinyl, starchy paper, and worn wood wafts from the vintage instruments the owner, Clyde, has collected over the years.
“All yours, kiddo,” he says with a nod toward the studio in the back.
