The Plot by Kathleen McCabe Lamarche Read Free Book Online Page B

even hosted the memorial service reception-and he bugs the hell out of me about the investigation. Now I find out he even controls the evening news.
    He looked at the briefcase containing Sheila's research and shook his head. “Worse yet, I had to bring ‘im home with me tonight,” he said and, opening it, withdrew the large sheaf of papers Sheila had thrust into his hands when he left the office.
    "It's not all here,” she had said, an intense look in her green eyes. “But it's enough to keep you awake tonight."
    "Oh, well. I don't sleep so good anyway.” He settled himself on the sofa and began reading.
* * * *
    The Tiffany lamp on the dresser cast a kaleidoscope of colors across the ceiling but did little to dispel the shadows lurking in the corners of the room. Cassie opened the jewelry box and withdrew the silver bracelet. “Let's see what Freedom's charm will unlock for me tonight,” she said aloud, almost smiling as she closed the lid and walked into the hallway. She'd recognized the key the minute she'd seen it this afternoon, so her father's first clue had been easy. She would figure out the rest as she went along, she thought, climbing the attic stairs with the bracelet clutched tightly in her hand.
    She flipped the light switch at the top of the stairwell and looked around. As a little girl, the attic had been her favorite playground, a place where make-believe became almost real. Yeah. Just like my fairy tale wedding that never quite happened, she thought, her eyes falling on the long white dress hanging from a hook on the far wall. Her chest grew tight as she remembered the twinkle in Alan's blue-green eyes, the dimples that accented his easy smile. How he made me laugh. And cry. Her father had been there for her from the moment she learned the embassy had been bombed and that Alan would never come home again. Two months before we'd have been married . She shook her head. This time, she had only herself to lean on, and, taking a deep breath, she forced her eyes away from the dress, her mind away from what might have been.
    In the far corner, the table and chairs her mother had planned to refinish were still as worn and scratched as when they'd belonged to Grandma and Grandpa Jamison. Shelves full of books that no one read anymore-but couldn't bring themselves to part with-lined the walls beside the front window. Toys and clothes long ago outgrown and outmoded lay discarded in heaps and bunches wherever there was room for them; and the steamer trunks that had followed her family's travels filled whatever floor space was left. It was the perfect hiding place for little kids at play-and for secrets.
    As she wound her way past the remnants of so many yesterdays, dust motes stirred around her, hovering like golden specks in the bright overhead light. The distant roll of thunder broke the stillness, a half-promise of relief from the drought that had plagued the eastern seaboard since June, and Cassie imagined the smell of rain as she reached the far wall.
    The door was concealed between the knotty pine panels, and it had been a long time since she'd been up here. The trick was finding the keyhole. All the knots in the wood looked so much alike. There. Is that it ? She knelt and pushed against the dark knot about two feet above the floor, smiling as it fell to the floor to reveal a small, black steel lock. When she turned the key and the panel swung open, she felt a rush of anticipation.
    The dark brown steel safe was almost as tall as she but was twice as broad. At the sight of the combination lock on the door, she cast about in her memory for the sequence of numbers that would open it. It's something obvious. Something Daddy said we would be able to remember, even under stress. Of course. “Freedom's birth date." Bending close, Cassie turned the knob left to seventeen, right to seven, and left again to six. When the final tumbler fell into place, she stood and pulled on the handle.
    The yellowed copy of the