CHAPTER THREE: THE MAN WITH THE CASE

Everett Sloan smiled before he reached the porch.
He was in his late forties and wore a pale linen jacket that looked too expensive for a neighborhood errand.
“Mrs. Brooks,” he said, as though delighted to meet her by chance.
“You haven’t returned my calls.”
Helen folded her arms.
“I blocked your number.”
Everett glanced at Megan.
“You must be the homeowner.”
“Megan Cole.”
“Everett Sloan, restoration specialist.”
He held out a card embossed with a small gold lighthouse.
Megan did not take it.
“What are you restoring?”
Everett looked at the damaged maple.
“Apparently, our friend is doing some excavation.”
“She was attacking my tree,” Megan said.
“That’s unfortunate.”
He set the padded case on the porch rail.
“But I might be able to make the afternoon much more pleasant.

”
Helen stared at the case.
“You have the harbor.”
“I have a representative section.”
Everett released two clasps and lifted the lid.
Inside rested a row of tiny painted buildings on dark velvet.
They were so detailed that Megan could see individual bricks along a miniature bakery wall.
Helen stepped closer despite herself.
“That window is wrong,” she said.
Everett’s expression tightened.
“It’s been restored.”
“Iris painted green glass, not yellow.”
“Restoration involves choices.”
“You made the choice because you never saw the original under proper light.”
Everett snapped the case shut.
“Nostalgia can be very persuasive,” he replied.
Megan moved between them.
“Explain why you’re here.”
Everett said the miniature was part of a collection being exhibited at the Meridian Arts Exchange tonight.
A buyer wanted assurance that all surviving elements belonged together.


If a particular drive assembly could be found, the buyer would increase his offer substantially.
“I understand Mrs. Brooks may know where some old hardware was stored,” he said.
“Hardware?” Helen repeated.
“An assembly,” Everett amended.
“A rusty piece of machinery with limited value on its own.”
Megan looked from one face to the other.
“If it has limited value, why did you drive here?”
Everett laughed once.
“Because completeness matters to collectors.”
“And whose collection is it?”
“That is confidential.”
“Then this conversation is over.”
Everett’s smile faded.
“Miss Cole, I could offer you a generous amount for a small, supervised excavation.”
“You cannot excavate my yard.”
“I could also pay for a replacement tree.”
“You didn’t hear me.”
He looked past her at the axe marks.
“I hope you understand that a damaged tree can be costly to maintain.”
The threat was quiet but unmistakable.
Helen stepped in front of him.
“Leave her alone.”
“You are the reason she’s involved,” Everett answered.
“You could have called me three weeks ago.”
“You told me the harbor had been destroyed.”
“At the time, that was my understanding.”
“You tried to buy Iris’s drawings from her niece.”
Everett stopped smiling entirely.
Megan could see that Helen had finally said something useful.
“Iris has a niece?” she asked.
Helen hesitated.
Everett closed the case and picked it up.
“Mrs. Brooks has had a difficult week,” he said.
“Please don’t allow old misunderstandings to become your problem.”
He walked toward his SUV.
Before reaching the sidewalk, he turned.
“The exhibition begins at six.”
He pointed at the tree.
“After that, the value of whatever is in your ground may change considerably.”
Megan watched him drive away.
Then she turned to Helen.
“You told me you lost touch with Iris.”
Helen stared at the empty road.
“I did.”
“He knows her niece.”
“I didn’t know that part.”
“You left something out.”
“Several things,” Helen admitted.
Megan pointed to the axe.
“Start with the one that made you think you could chop down my tree.”
Helen sank onto the chair.
“I was trying to reach the tin before Everett arrived,” she said.
“But I wasn’t trying to save the mechanism for myself.”
“For whom, then?”
Helen pressed a hand to her mouth.
“For Nadia.”
“The third woman?”
Helen nodded.
“She is alive, and she thinks I betrayed her.”