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“I hope this is a good time to call. I talked to Chief Robinson.”
“It’s fine. We’re just out on the porch enjoying the sunshine. What did Robinson say?”
“The chief brushed me off. He doesn’t think it’s connected. I mean, your grandmother’s birth parents are probably dead by now. He didn’t see how something like that could lead to murder.”
Robinson had a point. “But what about the tail?”
“Eric told Robinson about a white Ford pickup following him, and while it could have been the killer, it’s unlikely to be connected to your grandmother. I saw it the day before he was killed, but it was one like a million others. There wasn’t anything distinctive about it, so I always thought it was coincidence that he spotted it a few times. It might not have been the same one.”
“Did Eric say why he thought it was the same pickup every time?”
“Something about the wheel covers, but they didn’t look distinctive to me.”
But Eric had always been a truck and car guy. He’d done some racing when he was a teenager and had dragged her to car shows all the time during their three-year marriage. If he thought it was the same truck, it was. He wouldn’t make that kind of mistake, but it was clear Kelly didn’t think there was a connection. Maybe because they were close to an arrest. Another thought struck Carly—maybe she didn’t want to reveal anything and have Carly meddle in the case.
“Any movement on finding Eric’s murderer?” she asked.
“Dead ends from what I’ve been told. You probably remember Trevor Lloyd? He got out a week before Eric’s murder.”
The hit-and-run case. “He threatened Eric at the sentencing.” If it hadn’t been for Eric’s persistence in following the leads, Lloyd would have gotten away. The guy had a rap sheet as long as her arm, and tracking him down had led to other charges.
“Right. So we looked at him pretty hard, and at first, his alibi didn’t seem to hold water. But we got hold of some street video, and he was telling the truth about being in Charleston at the time of the murder. He’d been our best lead. But strangely enough, he does drive a white Ford pickup.”
So the case was stalled. Carly knew they wouldn’t give up, though. “I talked to Captain Robinson too. He didn’t seem to think Eric’s investigation into my grandma’s past had any bearing on his murder, but I’m not so sure. Would you mind reviewing his notes to see what you think?”
“Sure, send them over. I’m not going back to work for another month, though, and I’m not sure I’ll have time to do much about it.”
At least it was something. “I think your email should be on Eric’s computer. I’ll send the notes from there.”
“I’ll look for them.” She sounded a little impatient and distant like she wanted to get off the phone.
A baby’s cry sounded in the background, and Carly hurriedly thanked her and ended the call so Kelly could tend to Caroline. Noah had fallen asleep, so she picked him up in his bouncy seat and carried him inside to her bedroom. She eased him from the sling seat and put him in his crib, then grabbed the baby monitor and the papers she’d found on her way back to the porch. She had only a few days before her sisters descended to help begin the restoration on the house, and she wouldn’t have as much time to investigate her grandmother’s birth family.
She still hadn’t decided if she would tell her sisters about the papers she’d found. They might think she should leave it alone, and she couldn’t do that. Why had Gramma Helen been so fearful to tell the truth about Gram’s birth? It wouldn’t have negated the love they’d shared. Maybe Gram was better off not knowing, but it would take more information for Carly to make that decision one way or another.
She spread the papers out to take another look. Should she call Natalie Adams’s grandson herself, or was it too dangerous? If he’d had anything to do with Eric’s death, the call might bring deadly attention their way. But he was the only lead they had.
Her attention went to the birth certificate. Sofia Balandin. She could start there.
Four
Balandin wasn’t a common name. A brief internet search didn’t bring up any likely names for Carly to contact, which might have been why Eric had started with the Adams connection. She didn’t want to jump into a dangerous call right off the bat, so she decided to spend a little more time digging around in the chest where she’d found the documents.
With the baby monitor in the pocket of her shorts, she went back to the attic. Pepper chased her feet up the steps. Her grandmother volunteered at the Pat Conroy Literary Center, and she’d be gone for another couple of hours. Carly sneezed again when she flipped on the attic light and looked around. Nothing had been disturbed since she’d been here on Friday.
The chest was still closed and partially hidden in the back corner. She dragged it out into the light and opened the lid to inhale the aroma of the cedar lining. She lifted out every clothing item one by one and shook it to make sure there wasn’t another paper or document hidden in the folds. The last item was the colorful wool shawl. The rich colors contrasted with the black, and it was in excellent condition. No moths had destroyed the heavy fabric in all these years. She hated to sell it. Maybe she’d keep it.
She gently lifted the red egg from the final fold of the shawl and studied it. Had it been a favorite toy so Sofia tucked it away? It seemed rather small—only between three and four inches. Had this shawl belonged to Gram’s birth mother, too, or had it been used as a wrap for the baby? She brought it to her nose and sniffed, but it held only the scent of cedar.
The egg was such a gaudy red that it made Carly wrinkle her nose. Who had thought that color would be good? She supposed a baby might find it fascinating. She turned it over and over in her hands and a tiny fleck of paint fell off. She squinted at the white under it. Using her nail, she scraped away another piece of red to reveal more of the egg’s true appearance. It looked like white enamel, which would be much better than flaky paint.
It would take more work to get the egg back to its original appearance—maybe more work than it was worth, but she was like that with old items like this. She had to uncover the beauty and original use. Carrying the documents, the egg, and the shawl, she went down the stairs to the kitchen and laid aside the items before finding some white vinegar in the pantry. She filled the sink with hot water and added the vinegar and some dishwashing soap to the mixture before she put the egg in to soak for a few minutes.
While the vinegar had a chance to penetrate the red paint on the egg, she looked over the documents again but found no new clue to follow. She would have to call that Adams man unless Lucas came up with a better idea. When she went back to the sink, she took a utility brush to the softened paint, and it peeled off easily.
She lifted the egg into the light and caught her breath. Theluminous white porcelain glowed in the sunlight streaming through the kitchen window. The trim appeared to be real gold, and Carly’s eyes widened as she took in the details.
For years she’d been obsessed with Fabergé eggs. Several museums housed the treasures, and she’d visited several of them—Richmond’s Virginia Museum of Fine Arts, the Hillwood Estate in DC, and the Walters Art Museum in Baltimore. She hadn’t been able to touch any of them, of course, but if Carly wasn’t mistaken, this egg in her hands could have held its own against any of the beauties she’d seen in the museums.
