Chapter 10: The Closet

We waited until the silver Lexus pulled out of the alley.

Then Ansel drove me across the river in his own car, with no driver.

"Rule one," I said, when he parked under his building.

"I know what I said."

"You said never at your place."

"I'm not taking you to bed," he said. "I'm taking you to look."

"At what?"

"At whatever Constance thinks is still in my house."

The penthouse was all white stone and glass, and it was very clean.

I hadn't been inside since the morning I walked out of it.

The foundation's photographs hung in the hall. A pair of Rosalind's ballet flats still sat by the door.

"You haven't moved anything," I said.

"I can't."

He led me down the long hall to a double door.

He stopped with his hand on the knob.

"I haven't opened this in a year," he said.

"Then don't."

"Constance wants something she thinks Rosalind left. I need to know what she would look for."

He opened the door.

It was a walk-in closet the size of my kitchen.

Cream and navy dresses hung in a long row. A cashmere coat lay folded on a velvet bench.

The air smelled of her perfume.

For two years I had gone to a grave.

I had sat on wet grass and said her name to stone.

I had never stood in the one room where she was still alive.

On the shelf at eye level sat the scarf I had given her for her twenty-fifth birthday.

It was blue silk with a tiny printed bee.

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