Chapter 16

16

E LIZABETH

It takes a while to find the address.

It’s been a good half an hour since I left, and I’m in a different town, trying to find the place without using my phone.

I’m looking for Eleonora Winston’s address.

If her address is still valid. I had no time to double check as I’ve been a scatterbrain lately.

Eventually, I pull my car to a stop in a sleepy neighborhood with very few vehicles parked on the street or in the driveways.

It looks like the place has been asleep for a decade.

It’s not like the houses are shabby or the windows have no seasonal decorations. That's precisely what makes them look like they have been frozen in the past.

More clouds slide across the sky, altering the afternoon light and making everything look grayish.

Some lights come on inside the little quaint houses surrounded by shrubbery and trees that still have a few Halloween decorations clinging to their branches tainted by some snow.

I check the numbers and focus on a tiny house with no lights or decorations.

There are no cars in the front and no signs that anyone lives in that house either.

I turn off the ignition and quietly slide out of my seat.

Out of habit, I check my phone for new notifications.

I don't see any, so I put it back in my pocket and begin walking, my eyes trained on the house.

The echo of my footsteps is the only sound wafting through the air. There are no bits of conversations, voices, barking, laughter, or a radio on the kitchen counter. No hint that someone actually lives in these houses.

Looking down the street, I walk across the road before moving my focus to the entrance of the house.

The address is correct.

Out of the corner of my eye, I notice a cat on the neighbor’s porch.

It’s a tabby cat with stripes across her cheeks, long whiskers, and a swirled pattern on her body.

Her legs, chest, and belly are white, and her back, ears, and face are red-brownish. It's a beautiful cat with jade green eyes and an aristocratic look on her face.

A hint of suspicion flickers through her eyes.

I can’t blame her.

I bet no one has walked closer to her owner’s house lately.

A trimmed hedge separates the two properties.

I shift my focus to the house in front of me.

Still no sign of people. Cautiously, I stop a few feet from the doorbell and look at the windows.

“Hello? Is anybody home?” I ask, loud enough so anyone in the neighborhood can hear me.

I don’t want to make it look like I’m sneaking up to this house.

No answer.

I speak again.

The silence is deafening.

Eventually, I walk to the door and ring the bell. The sound is hollow and produces no results. No lights come on, no footsteps trail the living room, and no dog barks.

A door creaks to my side, and my eyes go quickly in that direction.

A tall woman with short silver hair, a hint of tan, and a dozen bangles around her left wrist picks up the cat from the railing.

Comfortable with the woman’s touch, the cat regards me with frosted indifference while the woman’s fingers slowly move over her head.

“May I help you?” she says, her gray eyes coasting over my face.

“Uh… Yes.”

I pivot in her direction and stop at the hedge.

“I’m looking for Eleanor Winston. I was hoping to find her and talk to her today. Do you know when she comes home?”

She narrows her eyes at me with mistrust.

“Who told you she’d be here today?”

I instantly know that I need to earn her trust.

“Frankly, no one. I thought she’d be here and willing to talk to me. Clarify some things. This is about a friend of mine. A man…” I say, realizing I’m not making any headway with her. “He is connected to this woman in some way. And I want to learn more about her.”

“Why don’t you ask him?”

My cheeks burn with a blush.

“I wish I could do that, but we are not that close yet .”

Her eyes defrost to a degree, a hint of curiosity sparkling in them.

“I think it’s better if I learn on my own,” I go on, trying to win her over.

“What’s his name?” she asks.

I peel my eyes away from her and check the road. There’s no one in our vicinity, but still. I’m not that comfortable talking to her over the fence.

“Can I come over to talk to you?” I say, gesturing at her place. “I don’t want your neighbor to find me here when she returns.”

A faint smile tilts her lips.

“She won’t return anytime soon,” she says, climbing the few steps and unlatching the door connecting the two properties.

“Come on over,” she says.

I set myself in motion.

“What do you mean?” I ask, walking past her.

“Eleanor is gone. She passed away a while back. It’s been ten years or so since that happened. Someone else had bought the property, but they never lived here. Well, an out of state relative inherited first, and then someone bought it from them. The new owner has never come to this place. I’ve never seen them. They renovated it just after the sale went through, and that was that. Once in a while, a cleaning crew stops by, and the landscaper makes sure the lawn is properly kept, but other than that, the place is as lonely as I am,” she says, all of a sudden, chatty and friendly towards me.

“Here,” she says, walking ahead of me and pushing the door open to her house.

She puts the cat on an armchair with wooden armrests, but the move doesn’t sit well with her pet.

Her feline friend jumps to the floor before leaping to the kitchen counter.

“That’s her favorite spot. Would you like a cup of coffee?” the woman says, glancing over her shoulder. “Tea? Juice? Water?” she goes on since I seem undecided.

“Coffee is good.”

“Please. Take a seat,” she says, showing me to the kitchen table.

I pull the chair out and slide into my seat.

“My name is Elizabeth. Elizabeth Fox,” I add when she turns around after setting the machine for a pot of freshly brewed coffee.

“Sylvia Briggs,” she says.

Our hands lock as the woman studies my face for a second.

She breaks away from me and pivots to the coffee machine as a smell of coffee fills the kitchen.

The place is cozy and welcoming, and you can tell someone is home all the time. There are plants, cute knick knacks, a box of cookies, and colorful mugs on a tray in the middle of the table.

She picks two, one yellow and one red, and pours coffee for both of us.

“Cream? Sugar?”

I settle for some sugar while she pours cream into her drink.

Eventually, she sits at the table across from me, but not before picking up the box of cookies and setting it between us.

She removes the lid of the red metal tin adorned with a golden pattern and scoops out a chocolate cookie.

“Try them. The owner of the bakery is my best friend. I can vouch for them.”

I fish one out and take a bite before drinking coffee.

“So you were talking about a man…” she starts before lifting her gaze and waiting for me to give her his name.

I’m still chewing on a piece of crumbling cookie when she speaks again.

“Is this about David?” she asks.

Right then and there, it dawns on me she knows him well. Her voice is lined with familiarity, as if she’s talking about a family member.

I nod and swallow hard as if a toad sleeps in my throat.

“David Moore,” she says, a knowing smile lighting her eyes. “Handsome David.”

She takes a sip and picks another cookie from the pile while I wonder whether I’m just another woman in a line of women who have walked this path and come here inquiring about the mysterious billionaire.

“How is he doing?” she asks, her eyes locked on mine again.

“He’s good. Busy. Working and traveling a lot,” I say in a clipped voice like we’re talking about my boss, who he is, by the way.

A few moments slip away.

“Do you know him?” I ask, mostly rhetorically, as it’s obvious that she does.

I just don’t know how far back they go.

“Yes. Yes, I do.”

She grabs a napkin from the holder and runs it across her lips before pushing her chair back.

“Let me get something for you,” she says. “I’ll be right back.”

The cat stares at me unperturbed while the woman walks away from the table, and soon after, her footsteps trail to the back.

A few muffled sounds make me think she unlocks and opens a drawer before removing something and pushing it back.

“I always wondered…” she says softly while casually walking to the table, “if I would talk to someone about this story someday.”

A smile curls her lips while she reclaims her seat.

“Honestly, I kind of lost hope,” she adds, sliding the cookie tin to the side and making room for an old shoe box with a green lid and a faded brand name across the side.

Quietly, I look at her, my apprehension fading as I have just learned I’m the only person inquiring about David.

She opens the box and pulls out a few old pictures and a ziplock bag full of hand scribbled notes, letters, and official documents. Stuff people keep around the house and leave behind for future generations.

“Eleanor became his foster mother when he was twelve,” she says, and my eyebrows flick up, but I stay mum as she continues. “She never told me why or when he’d entered the system. My understanding was that he had foster parents before he was placed with her. He was a good kid,” she says, looking at a couple of pictures before pushing them to me.

My fingers hover over the pictures, but my eyes stay trained on her as I process the news.

“What do you mean by good?” I murmur.

“He didn’t act out. He was very disciplined and had good grades. I think he liked living with her. Eleanor was…”

Smiling, she looks down and taps a photograph with her index finger.

“She was a very nice woman.”

I finally tip my gaze down and look at the picture.

She slides it to me, and I scoop it up.

The woman in the picture smiles at the camera. She wears a green skirt suit with an eye-popping pin on the lapel of her jacket and holds a bouquet of roses.

Next to her, a tall, slender teen decked out in a suit squints against the sun.

“He was fourteen in that picture, and that’s when she had her best year as a real estate agent.”

She gestures in the direction of Eleanor’s house.

“I knew her since she had rented that house for herself. Her place was not bigger than mine, but she liked the location. Her neighbors. The fact that she had a short commute to the office. She made an offer to the owner and bought the property soon after that.”

She quietly breathes a sigh before she goes on.

“Eleanor had always been full of optimism and passionate about doing things and learning and experiencing life. She’d been single her entire life and had never complained about it. She loved her life, and that’s what David––I think––loved about her. I know I did.”

She stops to drink some coffee while I expect her to elaborate.