Page 20 of The Secret of Emerald Cottage

“But for now—for Detective Kennedy’s sake as well as yours—can you tell us where the coin collection is hidden so we can make sure it wasn’t stolen?”

“It wasn’t,” she said quietly, the barest shadow of a smile drifting over her lips as she wandered into another distant stare. “You see, the only hobby your Uncle Hal loved as much as his coin collection was his woodworking, a trade his carpenter father taught him from little on. As a skilled craftsman and woodcarver, you might say my Harold was the Houdini of secret compartments, insisting a safe behind a picture frame was too obvious and a safe-deposit box too cold for his precious coins. Especially that confounded Brasher Doubloon he was always goin’ on about, passed down from his great, great grandfather, don’t you know. He was a bigwig politician in Savannah back in the day, and a coin collector like Harold, too, which is how Harold got his start.”

Her mouth pursed into a pinched smile as she gingerly shifted her legs over the side of the chaise, cast clunking onto the deck along with her good foot. She sat still, then, shoulders slumping while she exhaled a shaky sigh, as if that slight motion had depleted all of her strength. “So naturally he insisted on making his own furniture for his office—desk, chairs, credenza—all beautifully crafted with intricate designs, woodcarvings, and of course, secret compartments. I don’t mind telling you, that man took great delight in testing all his hiding places on me first. And when I couldn’t find them, that stinker would laugh and laugh that he could fool me like he did. So I know if I could never find his hiding spots, I doubt any thief ever could.”

She looked up at Brec, eyelids heavy. “There’s a secret compartment on the left side of the credenza that no one would ever know was there. The only way to access it is to apply pressure to a raised, button-like center of the swirl carved on the lower right-hand corner. It looks like all the other swirls and buttons on that side, of course, but this one is cleverly mechanized. When pressure is applied for a full count of three seconds, you’ll hear a little click, and the side panel will pop open a smidge. Pull it all the way, and you’ll find a narrow compartment big enough for Harold’s collection.”

Her weathered lips quivered into a little-girl yawn that made Brec want to swoop her up in a tight hug. “Okay, young lady,” he said, voice gruff with emotion, “we will check it out along with Detective Kennedy, but for now, we need to put you to bed, all right?”

“No, it’s not all right,” Aunt Lilly groused, mouth compressing as Brec carefully picked her up in his arms, the sweet old woman no heavier than a feather. She crossed skinny arms over her chest as he carried her toward the door with Molly on his heels. “There was a time when that was my job, cartin’ you to bed, Breccan Adam Fabian McGill, not the other way around.”

Jaw dropping, Molly blinked at Brec as she hurried to open the sliding door. “Fa-bi-an?” she said with a high lift of her brows, drawling the word out with the same sarcastic tone he’d endured all of his life.

His gaze narrowed to slits as he eased by Molly at the door, one lip banked in warning. “So my mother had a thing for some singer in the sixties, sue me,” he muttered, taking great care to clear his aunt through the door.

“No, I think that name is painful enough without a lawsuit.” She giggled as she preceded him up the stairs backwards, grinning ear to ear. “Don’t you, Miss Lilly?”

His aunt’s hoarse chuckle only added fuel to the fire. “Oh, you betcha, although Fabio might have been a better fit given the boy’s reputation with women.”

He stopped midway up the staircase with an open-mouthed smile. “You’re awful cavalier with my feelings, Aunt Lilly, especially when I could drop you like a hot potato, young lady.”

“Oh, you won’t drop me, Li’l Pelé,” she said with a teasing pat of his stubbled cheek, a familiar bit of the devil chasing some of the fatigue from her eyes. She shot Molly a sassy wink while Brec toted her up the rest of the way, “after all, when it comes to ‘droppin’, I suspect you reserve that for all your other young ladies, whose hearts you break.’”