Asta nodded, not listening as she finished picking up.
“I’ll be in the kitchen if you need anything, dear.”
I grabbed the rest of the files and returned them to their spot in the cabinet under the bookshelf. If I was going to retrace my steps, everything had to be back the way it was.
I wanted to see if my time here would be fruitful; because I was not productive in my office. After my call with Nori, I needed to focus on tasks to get my mind off the fact that I was in love with my wife and our marriage was a business deal.
These snuff boxes provided just the right amount of distraction.
I sat at the desk, settling into my grandfather's leather chair, allowing the scent of the leather to drift into my nose. I closed my eyes and thought about exactly what I had done the day I opened the letter.
I had been going through the new stack of mail when I noticed that the envelope from the museum was already opened, which was not that unusual, but enough to make me ask Asta about it. She had said not remembering anything about it, which at the time, seemed believable after the year she had had with losing Igor and all. But now, having one opened letter out of a stack seemed odd.
I pulled the letter from the envelope and reread the contents for the dozenth time. I flipped through the pages, looking for a clue as to who had opened the envelope.
Then, as I had done a week ago, I marched over to the case that held my grandfather's snuff box collection, only this time, I surveyed the carpet and the case itself. The lock was not damaged, and it was impossible to tell if someone had used the keys that hung on the bookshelf.
Again, I went to the files, searching the cabinet for any clues of tampering, and came up empty-handed. Nothing looked out of place or unusual. Even if it did, it had been so long since I was last here that I would not remember.
"Go back to the beginning," I said, repeating what Nori had told me.
This time as I sat at the desk, I examined the letter and all its pages; I paid close attention to the envelope itself. Nothing looked unusual; it was creased in the corners and had my address and a stamp. It was clear from the Museum of Norway based on the watermarked stamp and the branded return address label. Even the wax seal on the back seemed on par with the rest of the envelope.
The edges looked like someone had cut through the letter with a letter opener; the smudge appeared to be in a spot where one might hold the envelope as they tried to open it. It was too small to make out what it was. I assumed that if it was on their thumb, it was probably on the letter opener too.
I yanked the top drawer open, scooping pens and pencils from the tray where the letter opener went. The wooden-handled letter opener was at the back of the drawer as if purposefully hidden. The tip was gold and worn from a lifetime of use, but it did the job well. I remembered searching for it when I had first approached the mountain of mail and couldn't find it. Yet, here it was, tucked away.
I stopped moving for a moment, sure that this would hold a clue. Taking a deep breath, I pulled it out of the drawer and looked closely at one side. There was no smear, nothing out of place. And then I flipped it over. A large, dark green stain had seeped into the ash wood handle; I noticed the contrasting colors. I held the stain next to the smudge on the letter, and sure enough, they were the same color. Now I just had to figure out what the stain was.
I set the letter opener on the desk next to the letter and looked down at them. So few people were given access to this room, yet I still came up empty.
My fingers steepled under my chin as I tried to imagine where I had seen such a familiar color. It might have been some ink, perhaps a food stain. It was rich and smooth and seemed to chip away with my thumbnail and a little pressure like paint on a sealed surface. I slammed my eyes shut, trying to imagine what the colors of the lodge had been before I had had them repainted. And then, I mentally listed all the colors I had requested to change.
My bedroom went from mahogany red to caviar black; the kitchen from bright yellow to a muted sage green; the hallways now have a fresh creamy white; and the library from a faded tan to a…forest green.
My eyes shot to the walls around me. I felt foolish for not recognizing it sooner; the library's wall was mainly covered in books, and the forest green faded part of the background. That had been the whole point. I stood, wanting to compare the stain with the wall. It was a perfect match. And only one person had been in charge of painting this room - Lucas.
Chapter twenty
Agotia
Thesunwaswarmon my face as I stood on my back patio and watched the workers move throughout the farm. The men Alex had hired had already accomplished so much in only a few days. The house and barn had been repaired and added a fresh coat of paint, making them look like they belonged in this century.
The workers patched the fence in multiple places and serviced farm equipment, a fantastic accomplishment that had been on the to-do list since before I was born. It was everything I had ever hoped the farm would become, yet, I felt as though I could not enjoy it - not yet.
I sipped from the coffee mug I clutched in my hand, hoping that my third cup of caffeine would help get me through what was sure to be a long day. Even with the pillowy softness of Alex's bed, I still did not sleep much last night. That was the third night in a row that I had gotten less than half the sleep I usually got, and it was starting to wear on me. Only this time, it was not thoughts of Alex keeping me awake; it was Lucas.
The more I thought about it, the more sure I was that Lucas was behind the missing snuff boxes. He was the only person with access to the library outside of Asta. The only piece of the puzzle I couldn't see was why he would do something like that. There were other things in the house more valuable than the snuff boxes, so it could not be for the money.
I had messaged him this morning, telling him we needed to talk. He had yet to respond, and I was growing uneasy about it all. The worst part was that I felt stuck between Lucas and Alexander. I had no proof that it was Lucas, but I was almost sure it was him. As much as I wanted to tell Alex my suspicions, I also wanted to allow Lucas to deny it or confess. But in not telling Alex, I couldn't help but feel that I was lying to him in a way.
“Hello, wife.”
Alex’s warm words and hands wrapped around me in a tight embrace. The tension in my shoulders eased just enough for me to notice it. I didn’t hear him approach, but I was grateful he was here, nonetheless.
“Good morning,” I murmured back, leaning into his hug more than I should have. I didn’t care. After a sleepless night and the mounting pile of stress, I needed it.
I twisted around to face him, wanting to see his expression as he took in progress around the farm; there was a veil of concern over his face.
