She shrugged, shook her head. “Perhaps in the future, when I’ve got some extra time, I’ll go through her papers more thoroughly. Like I said, I read through some of her files because they were a surprise, but to be honest here, Uncle Alan, I’m really not all that interested in speaking to dead people or aliens right now. Do you know of something that’s particularly interesting I should look at?”
“Well, I’m thinking lately that knowing more about those vampires on TV might put a spark in my marriage. What do you think?”
Lucy was smiling after she closed the front door until she walked back up the stairs to the attic. She’d give it maybe twenty more minutes of searching before she headed back down into the light.
CHAPTER 24
Lucy eyed the stacks of luggage in the far corner. Suitcases of all sizes and more than a dozen carry-ons, most of them older, without wheels, were all piled on top of one another in the front, the oversized luggage and duffel bags behind. Against the wall were a half dozen old-fashioned steamer trunks, all quite large, with an Art Deco feel of the twenties and thirties, looking like aging sentinels guarding all the assorted smaller pieces piled in front of them. She wasn’t all that hopeful about finding anything that would shed light on her grandfather’s death, but it sure beat going through boxes labeled OLD SILVERWARE, and besides, people always left stuff in suitcases. There was only one way to find out.
She lifted the first carry-on off the top of the pile, unzipped it, and found one stray safety pin, nothing else. The second carry-on was black, part of a set of luggage. She found an ancient toothbrush in a side pocket, and an old quarter. She flipped the quarter in the air and stuck it in her jeans pocket. She opened a dozen more of the small pieces and found nothing more than a dried-up bottle of red nail polish, an ancient hairnet that looked like a decaying spiderweb, some more change, and two old Sidney Sheldon novels from the seventies. She still had hope when she moved to the larger luggage, the great bulk of it black. The first of the larger suitcases held nothing more than a single pair of women’s cotton panties, a man’s black sock, and a stick of old deodorant. Her hope was nearly gone when she reached the third suitcase from the bottom of the pile and nearly dropped it, it was so heavy. Her heart began to pound. She unzipped it, threw back the top, and stared down at neatly folded men’s clothes—pants, shirts, suits, underwear, shoes, handkerchiefs, socks, belts. She picked up the handkerchief on top. It wasn’t monogrammed. Lucy looked over at the long clothes pole at the opposite end of the attic crammed with clothing in plastic bags. Why not hang these clothes as well? Why fold them in a suitcase? She’d seen a good half dozen boxes labeled MEN’S CLOTHES. Why were these clothes folded in a suitcase?
She opened the large suitcases that were left. More men’s clothes, mostly vested suits and dress shirts but also a beautiful Burberry coat, gloves, several men’s hats, three pairs of dress shoes. They were well made but hardly up-to-date—like clothes from an old movie set, in fact. She remembered her grandfather wearing clothes like this when she was a young child. Had his clothes been hidden away in these suitcases to make it appear he’d taken them with him?
She kept looking. The half dozen duffel bags were mostly empty, one holding ancient snorkel equipment, another holding a box of condoms, unopened, and that was interesting.
She’d finally worked her way back to the steamer trunks. She could hardly stop now—steamer trunks had lots of compartments, lots of little zippered pockets that could hide—what? She wished she had a clue. She’d probably find more safety pins and loose change. Best to begin with the largest trunk against the wall.
She studied the steamer trunk, a huge light brown leather affair with black leather bands, banged up but still as solid-looking as the day it was rolled aboard its first luxury liner. It was covered with travel stickers from how many years ago? Maybe ninety? The largest was an Art Deco drawing of three huge passenger ships steaming toward you. There was a globe showing the western hemisphere, the proportions way off, for effect, and decals showing a dozen faraway destinations, no doubt status symbols in their day. She lightly laid her hand on a sticker that had PARIS printed on it and let herself be drawn back for a moment. She could easily picture rich Americans who traveled from New York to London or Paris or Cairo on opulent ships before the war, uniformed porters hefting their trunks onto big wheeled trolleys. They evoked an image of full moons shimmering on the bare shoulders of women in satin gowns, of men with pencil mustaches, of attar-of-rose perfume and magnificent jewels. She slowly worked the largest steamer trunk away from the wall. It was very heavy. She managed to tilt a corner of it away from the wall, and used her legs to push it farther askew, enough to open the lid. It smelled musty, old. She unclicked the four sets of latches, but the top wouldn’t open. She dragged the trunk out onto the open floor. Had someone not bothered to unpack, or forgotten to, just had the trunk dragged up here?