Chapter 36

“I’m going to donate all of mother’s things to charity,” Mila announced one morning over breakfast. “As soon as we’ve gone through everything, I mean everything in her room, then I want it all gone.”

Mei nodded wisely. “I think that’s a good idea.”

It was no secret that the housekeeper had disliked the late mistress of the manor, and that keeping her ghost around was not something that interested her.

“We’ll turn out all the pockets, and go through every drawer,” Mila declared, popping one of her hormone pills. “I want to make sure we get every piece of information we can.”

“And you think there will be information about your brother in your mother’s old room?”

“I do,” Mila said thoughtfully. “I somehow think if she has anything to hide, it’s in there. Maybe in her vanity or her evening bag.”

Mei snorted into her coffee. “We’ll see.”

“Or the roll top desk,” Mila mused. “I mean, I know it was dad’s, but after his death, she used it a lot. She certainly went through all of his things, so it’s fitting, in a way.”

The housekeeper silently agreed.

“Well,” Mila said, abandoning her breakfast. “I’m going to get started.”

“I’ll clean these and then join you,” Mei said, picking up the dishes.

“Thanks,” the youth said with a smile.

She left the kitchen and went straight to the staircase, climbing the creaking steps with agility despite her current addiction to cigarettes. When she reached her mother’s room, she took a moment to collect herself, as if she were confronting her physical mother instead of just the remainder of her things. Satisfied, Mila turned the knob and entered the room.

It was neat as a pin, exactly as Mila remembered. Here was the room she could never quite picture her father in; she could see him in his study, but here under the floral comforter and scrolled headboard? She couldn’t picture it.

She moved to the vanity, and emptied the contents of the single drawer onto the bed. It was a small collection of high end makeup, two colors of lipstick, and several brushes, along with a stack of pink envelopes tied together with a cream ribbon. Mila set them aside along with the empty drawer and knelt beneath the table. She searched as she had seen in a Nancy Drew film, her fingers running along the panel in hopes of finding a clue. There was nothing.

Next she got up and went to the closet. She took out the items one at a time, searching through the sleeves and pockets of every article. They came up blank; not so much as a dry cleaner’s tag on even one of them. She threw them into a pile on the bed beside the makeup; these would all go.

She pulled down the two handbags atop the shelf in the closet. Inside them were little more than a linen handkerchief and some pocket change. Mila added the change and the purses to the pile of clothes and turned her attention to the long row of shoe boxes left inside the closet. She pulled the lid off each in turn, and shook out the contents, checking the toe of every pump for any possible clues. These turned up nothing, and she added six pairs of shoes to the charity pile.

Mei appeared in the doorway holding several trash bags. “Are you done with those?” she asked, pointing to the clothing.

“Yes,” Mila sighed. “Not a thing.”

“Did you look under the bed?” the housekeeper suggested.

“Not yet,” Mila said, excitedly dropping to her knees. But underneath the bed was more disappointing than the closet; all that remained were a few dust bunnies and nothing else. She rolled out from under the frame and lay on her back on the floor. She sighed, ready to give up, when something caught the corner of her eye. Mila scooted closer to the nightstand. Under the open drawer was a piece of paper. She snatched and dragged it out with greedy fingers.

“What?” Mei said, hearing the scratching.

“I don’t know,” Mila said, eagerly turning over the page. It was a single sheeted dated two days before Michael’s death, and it was in his hand. Mila’s stomach flipped over. “It’s a letter from Michael. Just before he died.”

“Well, what does it say?”

“Not much,” Mila admitted, skimming the single sheet. “He knew about the baby, and he was planning to run off with this woman, Marilyn. He tells mother not to try and stop him, and that he will be getting his trust fund soon and he won’t need anything from her. Oh, my God!”

“What?”

“He says he doesn’t care if Marilyn is a prostitute, he loves her, and he’s going to marry her!”

Mei shook her head, “I bet your mother was really pleased about that.”

“Yeah, right,” Mila answered. She scanned the page again, but that was all there was. “So he wanted the baby, and he was going to make sure it wasn’t born out of wedlock.”

“Yes, but it’s not like your mother could throw a society wedding for a hooker,” Mei pointed out.

“I guess, but still… I wonder what Michael thought she would do to try to stop him,” Mila wondered aloud. “Why did he tell her not to try? Especially if he was going to kill himself two days later.”

“I still don’t believe he threw himself under that train,” Mei insisted. “I believe the coroner was right; he was pushed or fell from the platform. You knew Michael well; would you have believed he would kill himself?”

“My mother believed it at first, until the insurance told her they wouldn’t pay if it was suicide,” Mila remembered. “I was only six at the time, but…”

“Yes?”

“But she talked to the coroner and agreed with his ruling of accidental death.”

“What do you think?”

“I don’t know,” Mila frowned. “The Michael who wrote this letter doesn’t sound like a man ready to commit suicide, but somehow I just don’t think it was an accident either. What happened that night? Was the platform slippery? Were there a lot of people jostling each other? What was it that made him lose his footing? And where was he going?” Mila asked. “Where was he going on that train?”