Page 29 of Break Me: Smith and Belle

“I think nuts are the only thing you need to worry about,” I said.

That was a mistake. She whipped around, planting her hands on her ample hips and leveled the full-force of her glare at me. “How do we know that? What if the baby has an allergy? What if—”

“No one blames you,” I interrupted her. In all of the confusion on New Year’s, I’m not sure anyone had told her that. I’d been concerned about Belle. Belle had been concerned about Nora. Georgia…

Well, it was hard to say who Georgia was concerned about at any given time.

Mrs. Winters returned to her work, but her shoulders trembled a little. A moment later, she turned with the box in her hands and a puzzled look on her face. “Why was that back here?” She placed it on the counter and then turned to another cupboard. She pulled out a tea tin. Prying off the lid, she sniffed and her puzzled gaze returned to the box.

“What is it?”

“I think it’s some of that lactation tea Mrs. Price was told to drink.”

“What’s she been drinking?” I couldn’t bear a repeat of what happened the morning Belle’s milk supply had failed her. I wasn’t sure she would recover from that a second time.

“That’s just it. She hasn’t been drinking the tea. She doesn’t like the taste of it. It was easier to get her to drink the other. That means this—” she rattled the tin “—is nearly full.”

“I only brought home one box,” I said slowly.

“This must be the one she brought home the first time, but then...” She stared at it for a moment longer, shrugged her shoulders, and moved it to the cupboard where she kept the tea.

There was only one explanation for how that box got into the house. Belle had brought it home. If that was the case, how had she wound up with the wrong one? I might cross it off as an innocent mistake if the tea she’d been drinking hadn’t caused the exact problem she was hoping to avoid. I wished she was here now, so she could see it. But she was in London, and I didn’t want to disturb her. Georgia had been checking in with me, sending me quick text messages to let me know the shopping trip was going well, but, more than ever, I found myself wishing I was there with Belle. Before I could fully process what this meant, my mobile began to ring.

“Excuse me.” I carried Penny out of the kitchen, shifting her to my shoulder to answer it. “Hello?”

“Hello, Mr. Price,” the booming voice of our estate agent, Dennis, greeted me. “I confess I hadn’t expected to hear from you so soon? You’re not sick of Thornham, already?” He laughed at his own joke.

I grimaced. If he knew what was going on here, he wouldn’t think it a laughing matter. “Actually, I had a question. I was recently told the estate wasn’t for sale when we viewed it. Is that true?”

There was a pause and I could almost see him shifting from his laid back position, feet up on his desk and mobile at his ear, to sit upright. “Well, no. It wasn’t. That’s not odd, though,” he added swiftly. “These old family homes rarely get placed on the market. Most buyers and sellers handle things privately.”

“But the family was gone,” I pointed out, shifting on my feet as Penny stirred in my arms. “Why wouldn’t it have been put on the market?”

“I...don’t know,” he admitted. “I can look into the matter more if there is a concern, but I assure your purchase was completely legal.”

I imagined this conversation had sent a cold sweat forming on his brow. He thought he was simply calling a prior client. He hadn’t expected an interrogation. Maybe if he had, he would have been more helpful.

“That won’t be necessary,” I reassured him. “I only wanted to check.”

“Of course.” There was a rush of air like he’d exhaled in relief. “Is there anything else I can help you with? I know we discussed the possibility of placing your London home—”

“Not at the moment. Actually,” I paused and reconsidered. “How did you hear about Thornham if it wasn’t for sale?”

“We get tips all the time. Probably a local let us know. Some village busybody who was tired of seeing the place fall to ruin.”

“That makes sense,” I said tightly. I thanked him for his time and hung up. I hadn’t learned much—nothing concrete, at least—but he had confirmed what Georgia had told me.

The estate hadn’t been for sale. Months ago, I might have accepted his explanation for how we wound up learning about it. Now?

None of this added up. Everything Georgia had uncovered thus far had been confirmed by police reports and county records. The family had disappeared, only to have us unearth their remains decades later. And according to Rowan, the rumors of the village were true. Miranda Thorne was alive. Was it possible that there was no ghostly specter of our past causing this problem, instead had we wandered into someone else’s tragedy and accidentally filled the vacancies the Thorne family’s deaths had left behind?

Nora came bouncing down the stairs and saw me struggling to send a text.

“Let me have her.” She picked up the baby. “I honestly can do this myself.”

I’d been arguing with her about that all day. Now I was grateful for the reprieve.

“Would you mind if I looked into a few things?” I asked her, relieved there was someone to rely on here.