Kitty Steals the Show (Kitty Norville 10)

Parker stared. “No, that painting was taken down in the forties, replaced by one of my grandparents. But the bust is still there. Mostly as a conversation piece.”

“Ah,” sighed Amelia, using Cormac’s voice.

“How could you possibly know—”

“It’s Amelia,” I said. “She’s here, and she knows.”

The anger fell away, his expression falling slack—as if he’d seen a ghost. “You’re serious, aren’t you?”

Cormac regarded him with a flat expression—Parker had stated the obvious.

“We need a favor, Mr. Parker,” I said. “Let us look for the hidden door in the attic of the house. If it’s not there, if we don’t find the box, we’ll leave you alone and you’ll never hear from us again. If it is—then you know we’re right.”

Ben leaned forward. “I’m an attorney in the U.S., and while I’m not at all qualified to discuss British law, I’d be happy to look over any kind of waiver or document you’d want us to sign, protecting your rights.”

“Except Amelia’s box,” Cormac said.

Parker said, “Assuming you are right—what am I supposed to do with this information? You tell me a long-dead ancestor isn’t really dead—am I expected to welcome her back to the family? What do I tell my wife? My father?”

“You don’t have to do anything,” Cormac said, brusque, steady. “She’s the one who left the family, she doesn’t expect anything now.”

“But—but what if I want … Mr. Bennett, not many people have the opportunity to speak to an ancestor. Perhaps she knows about some other treasures buried about the estate.”

Cormac paused, the sign of an internal conversation. “If there are, she doesn’t know about them.”

“All right, then,” he said. “You’ve got me. It may be a joke, but I’m willing to see it through. A contract won’t be necessary, Mr. O’Farrell, but you’ll understand if I leave a detailed account of this meeting behind with my associate. I assume you want to search for this hidden treasure as soon as possible?”

“As soon as it’s convenient for you,” I said, trying to be reassuring.

Parker said that the village was about a half hour by train from Charing Cross Station, and that he could meet us there in the morning to drive us to the house. We’d have an hour or so to look.

“There’s always a chance someone found it and got rid of it,” Cormac said.

“Got rid of something? From that house?” Parker said. “I don’t know what it was like a hundred years ago, but since then everything’s just gone into the attic. You may have to dig to find your compartment.”

“That’s fine.”

We finalized our plans, and the receptionist on the intercom announced that Parker’s next appointment had arrived, so we made our way to the door.

“Thank you for your time,” I said, shaking his hand again. “It really does mean a lot.”

Parker remained thoughtful. “You hear about things like this in the news, but you don’t think of it because it doesn’t impact you. Then something like this happens. I have to confess, Ms. Norville, I’m not sure I know what to believe.”

“It’s like that for a lot of us,” I said.

Then we were back on the street, in the middle of the afternoon, among the streets and town houses that were simultaneously familiar and otherworldly.

“That went a hell of a lot better than I was expecting,” Cormac said.

“What were you expecting?” Ben asked.

“That he’d say we were crazy and call the police.”

“It’s a brave new world,” I said. “Werewolves are real. So are ghost whisperers, apparently.”

* * *

THAT EVENING, Emma and I sat in the lobby of the hotel’s convention center and people-watched.