Chapter 6: The Library

"I'd like a word with my daughter-in-law," Phyllis said. "Alone."

"I'm not your daughter-in-law," I said.

"Then with the owner."

Rory looked at me, and I nodded.

He took Austin by the elbow, firmly.

"Come on, Tallmadge. The inn has coffee."

"Take your hand off me," Austin said, but he went.

Daphne followed them out without a sound, pressing her handbag to her chest.

The staff drifted away after them.

The door shut, and I was alone with the woman who had told me for five years to be grateful.

I walked her into the library, because I wanted her to see the books.

She looked at the fire, the shelves and the portrait over the mantel, an old man with a cane and my mother's chin.

"Augustus," she said. "He looked better in person."

"You met him."

"Once."

She lowered herself into a leather chair.

"You might as well sit, Ada. It's a long story, and I'm only going to tell it once."

I stayed standing.

She didn't seem to mind.

"Five years ago, I was cleaning your apartment," she said. "I do that, you know. Every other Thursday. I'm a thorough woman."

I remembered Thursdays.

I had always thought she was checking on me.

"I found a tin box under your bed."

"A death certificate for a man named Thomas Mead, a photograph of a woman, and a birth record."

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