Pennyroyal Christmas (A Ruthorford Holiday Story Book 1) by Shanon Grey Read Free Book Online Page B

through the bathroom, noting a small carved box on the vanity. Kat stepped into what had to be her mother’s room. It felt only slightly warmer than the guest room. However, it was painted yellow, her mother’s favorite color. She walked to the closet and pulled open the door. Her mother’s clothes hung neatly across the rail, perfect little spaces between each hanger, shoes lined up underneath. This woman would never be accused of being a hoarder, she mused, thinking of her own over-stuffed closet. She went to the dresser and pulled out each drawer. Underwear—bras, panties, all neatly folded. Sweaters. Socks and stockings. She crossed to the bedside table. A worn bible inside the drawer. A notepad and pen.
    She stopped and turned in a circle, looking for something…anything that was her mother. Or, at least the mother she remembered. She went into the bathroom and opened the medicine cabinet. Advil, Tylenol. No prescriptions? Toothbrush, toothpaste. For a second she was tempted to get a bag and put the toothbrush in it to check for DNA.
    She retraced her steps into the neat little room. The bed gave slightly as she sat down. Where were the items she’s sent her mother? The notes. Anything. She rushed into her father’s room and quickly opened and closed drawers and doors. It was the same. Nothing personal.
    Kat moved into the hallway and looked around. She walked to the end of the hall and pulled open what she figured was a closet door. It opened, not to reveal a closet, but steps to the attic. In the darkness, she let her hand run along the wall, until she found the switch. Thank God they still had the electricity on, since Kat wasn’t into dark scary spaces.
    She made her way up the steps and stopped. Boxes lined each side, tucked under the eaves. At one end, near a small window, sat an old armoire, jutting out at an angle. In front of the armoire sat even older rush bottom chair, with a trunk pushed up beside it. She knelt in front of the trunk. It was locked. Shit . Kat glanced behind the armoire. In the corner, shoved out of sight, stood an antique flip-top table with a tiny drawer in the front. Kat smiled, walked over, pulled open the drawer, and felt as far back as she could. A small felt bag moved under her hand. She pulled out the black bag, opened it, and out dropped two keys. She’d used this trick for her diary when she was eight.
    One key unlocked the trunk, its hinges creaking as she raised the lid. The faint smell of mint drifted from the contents. She gingerly shifted papers. It was crammed with “Kat,” her existence until she was sixteen, including the princess diary. Kat lifted out memory after memory, so lovingly hidden away. She ran her fingers over the locked diary whose key had long disappeared, trying to recall a young girl’s entries. She gently put everything back inside and closed the lid.
    Tears streamed down her cheeks unchecked as she turned the lock in the armoire. Items she’d sent her mom over the years, among them some of the statues she created especially for her, filled shelf after shelf. Letters, cards and articles about her showings rested in different stacks. She lifted one pile of letters.
    “Oh, Mom,” she cried at the worn edges of the envelopes and sank onto the rush bottom chair.
    It was getting late and she still needed to find a place to stay. No way in hell was she staying here. Plus, she wanted to make arrangement to have this taken back to the cabin. Kat closed the armoire and went down the stairs, looking back once before she switched off the light. She’d make a more thorough search of the place tomorrow, but she felt certain this room contained the only things of any value to her.
    The GPS led her to a Hampton Inn and, after stopping at Applebee’s for a quick bite, Kat had her computer hooked up and was making notes on places to call in the morning when her cell phone rang.
    “Hey. How’s it going?” Rowe’s voice sounded so warm. She couldn’t help