Copper Lake Confidential - By Marilyn Pappano Page 0,73

she’d had the something’s-wrong warning twice in two days.

And she wasn’t giving in to it. Throwing back the covers, she went into the bathroom, brushed her teeth and dressed in cropped pants and a button-down shirt. She applied makeup, spritzed on perfume, then opened the pill bottle hidden in a drawer and shook out a single tablet. After a moment, she let a second one slide out. The doctor had told her it was okay to double up for a day or two if she felt the need, and this morning she did.

She washed down one tablet with a cup of tap water then stared at the other one. Something seemed different about it. It was white, round, incised with letters and numbers, as always. It just seemed...lighter? Heavier? Smaller?

Grimly she washed it down, too. When she started worrying about the precise dimensions of her medication, she was definitely in the early stages of an anxiety attack. And she wasn’t giving in, remember?

The first of the appraisers Lydia Kennedy had recommended was scheduled to arrive at 9:00 a.m. Macy got in a few hours’ work before waking Clary, fixing breakfast and getting Brent and Anne started on finishing up the family room.

When the doorbell rang, instead of the stuffy older man Macy had expected, the woman was about her own age, blond hair in a ponytail and wearing a suit that would have been the height of propriety if it’d had an additional six inches or so on the skirt. After introducing herself as Rebekah Johnston, she followed Macy into the living room and stopped short.

Macy saw the room as she always had—filled with old things and far too uncomfortable for friendly visits. Rebekah, apparently, saw treasures. She walked around the room, reverently touched a few pieces and made notes in the folder she’d brought along. When she was done, she crossed the hall into the library, her gaze sweeping over the remaining books. “I know a collector—”

“We’re donating the books to the local library. He can contact them.”

After giving her an odd look, Rebekah examined the chairs, the tables and the rug, then made a few more notes before moving down the hall to the dining room. It was another room Macy tended to avoid when possible. The table was huge, seating sixteen, and the matching china cabinets at each end were filled with china, crystal and sterling. “You’ll be keeping the family china.”

Macy looked at the dishes: delicate in color and design, with an elaborate H centered on every piece, the letters decorated with vines and leaves. She tried to imagine using them, her and Clary sitting down to a meal, passing a platter to Stephen, letting Scooter lick a dessert plate clean, and didn’t know whether to wince or laugh. “No, I won’t.”

Surprise flashed across the blonde’s face. “You understand these dishes are well over two hundred years old. Augustus Howard had them commissioned before he began construction of Fair Winds. He brought them to the U.S. on his own ship, transported them up the river to Augusta and ensured their safe arrival here. They’ve never left the Howard family, not so much as one plate. Even the breakage has been minimal.”

“I’m not a china sort of person.” And not a Howard, either. As Stephen had pointed out last night, she and Clary were the only Howards left in Copper Lake, and that could be easily changed. She wasn’t responsible for maintaining the legacy.

Rebekah looked as if she didn’t know what to say, then a round of giggles from the family room reminded her. “What about your daughter? Shouldn’t you preserve at least a portion of this for her?”

“Clary’s not a china sort of person, either. She’s three. She prefers dishes with cartoon characters on them.”

“But—”

“This is only about half of the service, Rebekah. My mother-in-law has service for twenty-five, and service for another twenty-five is at Fair Winds, where it will likely stay. If Clary feels a need to possess some of it when she’s grown, she can have that.”

“But you’re breaking up the set.”

Macy could imagine Stephen’s oh-so-logical voice saying, They’re dishes, for God’s sake. That was exactly how she felt. Of course some family heirlooms should be saved, but considering that two of the only four Howards Clary had known were murderers, Macy didn’t feel the need as strongly as she otherwise might have. Her daughter would have photos, jewelry, a delicate chair and desk from upstairs. And, for the time being, her own