Timeless (7 page)

The next afternoon, the Windsor handyman, Nolan, brought up the boxes of Michele’s belongings that had been shipped from California. She spent most of the day unpacking,
trying to arrange her things so that this elaborate new bedroom would feel somewhat like hers. After organizing her clothes, she came across a box labeled with her mom’s name. Michele hesitated.

Ms. Richards had brought her the box shortly before Michele left for New York, explaining that it contained jewelry and keepsakes Marion had kept in her safe at the bank. Michele had yet to open the box. The truth was that she was afraid to open it. For some reason, the idea of it made her mom’s death feel that much more real. But after eyeing the box warily for a few moments, Michele took a deep breath and finally opened the lid.

Inside were three small jewelry boxes. The first two bore the logos of Van Cleef & Arpels and Tiffany & Co., while the third was unlabeled. Michele stared at the boxes in surprise. Her mom had never told her about these jewels. Michele figured they must be Windsor heirlooms, as Marion had never been able to shop at places like Tiffany’s.

Michele opened the Van Cleef & Arpels box first. At the sight of the butterfly necklace from Marion’s portrait, tears welled up in her eyes. She hugged the necklace close to her, as if Marion’s presence could be found somewhere within it.

She opened the Tiffany box next and found a magnificent white gold necklace woven with diamonds. “Whoa,” Michele murmured. She had never seen such fancy jewelry up close before.

Michele opened the unlabeled box last. And her heart nearly stopped at what she found inside.

Nestled in the box was a gold skeleton key that looked
centuries old. A key shaped like a cross with a circular bow at the top. And carved into the key’s bow was the image of a sundial.

It was the key from her dream.

Michele felt her head spinning, felt chills running up and down her spine. “This can’t be happening,” she whispered to herself, her throat thick with shock. “It’s not real.”

She gingerly picked up the key—and felt it twitch, ever so slightly, in the palm of her hand. Michele yelped, dropping the key in horror. But once on the floor, the key was perfectly still.

How did Mom get this?
Michele wondered desperately.
Why did it appear in my dreams?

Michele noticed a folded piece of paper peeking out from the bottom of the box, and she quickly grabbed it and began to read.

September 1993

Dear Marion
,

Enclosed is the key Henry left in my office. I know he wanted you to have it. Perhaps this will explain things. Don’t hesitate to contact me if you need anything
.

All my best
,

Alfred Woolsey

Alfred Woolsey—my dad’s old boss
. The realization nearly knocked the wind out of Michele. This key had belonged to her
father
? This somehow seemed even more unbelievable than the
very existence of the key from her dream. She had never in her life felt any sort of connection to her absentee dad, but now they shared something. She was suddenly reminded of the one time, when she was a young girl, that she had asked her mom if she was anything like her father. Marion had paused a long while before answering.

“Yes,” she had finally said softly. “I can’t put my finger on it, but there is something … something a little different about both of you.”

Michele refocused on Alfred’s note, wondering what on earth the eccentric old man had thought the key would explain. She hurried to her laptop to search for the professor on Google. Maybe she could find his phone number and ask him about it. But when the first link popped up on her computer screen, Michele’s heart sank. It was to his obituary from a Los Angeles newspaper, dated eight years earlier.
So much for getting answers
, she thought glumly.

Michele remembered, with a pang of regret, that she had never even mentioned the key when telling her mom about her recurring dream; she had always just focused on the gorgeous stranger.
But if only I had given Mom all the details—then she would have told me she
had
the key
, Michele thought dizzyingly.

She nervously reached down to pick up the key, bracing herself for the creepy twitching. But the key remained still, and she placed it on her bureau. As she stared at it, she wondered if her mom had ever found out what it was—or if she had lived the rest of her life as perplexed by the key as Michele was now.

L
ater that day, Michele was brought back to reality by Amanda’s voice echoing through her cell phone.

“Girl, how
are
you? We miss you so much already!” Amanda cried.

“I miss you guys too,” Michele replied as she curled up on the couch in her sitting room. “What are you doing today?”

“Jen’s having a party. It’s probably going to be lame, but Kris and I promised we’d go.”

“Oh.” Michele swallowed hard as she thought of how Kristen and Amanda would be doing everything together from now on—without her.

“But anyway,” Amanda said hurriedly, as if sensing Michele’s discomfort. “What are your grandparents like?”

“I haven’t seen too much of them, to be honest. We had a pretty awkward dinner last night and I’ve kept to myself since then. They’re … I don’t know. What you’d expect, I guess.” Suddenly, an intercom in the room buzzed. “Hold on a sec.”

Annaleigh’s voice came through the tinny speaker. “Michele? Your grandmother is with one of your new classmates in her parlor. She wants to introduce the two of you.”

Michele groaned inwardly. Why hadn’t Dorothy told her ahead of time?

“Okay. I’ll be right down,” Michele answered. She turned to her cell. “Mandy, I have to call you back. Apparently I have a guest.”

“Okay. Try to hang in there,” Amanda said. “Love you.”

“Love you too.” Michele hung up reluctantly and glanced in the mirror. She had barely slept since Marion’s death, and it was taking its toll on her appearance. She thought briefly of freshening up for her visitor as she surveyed her uncombed hair and bloodshot eyes, but she couldn’t summon the energy. It felt like a long time since she’d cared about such things.

Downstairs in the parlor, Michele found Dorothy sitting in her regal armchair, facing a petite girl on the couch with long strawberry blond hair and green eyes. The girl was dressed in a buttoned-up black vintage tuxedo vest and skinny jeans tucked into black platform boots. An older blond woman stood behind Dorothy’s chair, a pencil behind her ear, as she flipped through a notepad.

“Hi,” Michele greeted them.

“Michele.” Dorothy smiled. “This is my secretary, Inez Hart, and her daughter, Caissie.”

Inez hurried forward and held out her hand. “It’s so nice to meet you, Ms. Windsor. And please accept our family’s condolences on your loss.”

“Thank you. Please call me Michele.”

Caissie gave her a smile. “Hey.”

“Hi.” Michele took a seat on the couch next to her.

“I asked Inez to bring Caissie with her to work today, since she’s also a junior at Berkshire,” Dorothy continued. “I thought it would be nice for you to have a friend when you start school on Monday.”

At those words, Inez shot Caissie a stern look, as if to say,
Don’t let me down here!
Caissie looked at the floor, clearly embarrassed.

“Thanks. That would be great,” Michele said, trying to muster up some enthusiasm.

“Why don’t you show Caissie your room?” Dorothy suggested.

“Okay,” Michele agreed. Caissie followed her out of the parlor and they headed up the stairs silently, as Michele wondered why this felt so uncomfortable. When they reached the third floor, Michele led her into the sitting room. Caissie looked around.

“You don’t have a bed?” she asked in surprise.

“Oh, that’s in my other room,” Michele replied. Caissie’s eyebrows rose, and Michele flushed, aware of how ridiculously ostentatious this all must seem.

“Sit down,” Michele offered. The two girls sat in armchairs opposite each other. “So, what part of the city do you live in?”

“I live with my dad right next door, in one of the apartments that used to be the old Walker Mansion. Probably the closest I’ll ever come to living in a place like this,” Caissie said with a laugh.

“The Walker Mansion? The same Walkers that were enemies of the Windsors?” Michele asked, casting around for some subject to talk about. “Pretty weird that they’d live next door to each other.”

“Yeah.” Caissie chuckled.

“So, what’s our school like?”

“Honestly? It kind of sucks. Practically everyone there is an entitled preppy.” Caissie made a face. “My best friend, Aaron, and I both got in on scholarship, and we’ll definitely have an edge when applying to colleges—but public school would have been
way
preferable socially.”

“Great,” Michele said dryly. “Now I’m even more excited about starting there.”

Caissie bit her lip, possibly regretting her bluntness. As Michele looked at the unfamiliar girl sitting in her room, she suddenly felt like she was watching the scene from outside her own body. None of this seemed real. The funeral, the mourning, and now this new life in New York all felt like scenes from a movie she was simply acting in. This couldn’t actually be her life. Michele imagined that her real body, her real self, was far from this mansion, back in California with her mom and her best friends, and life was blessedly normal. There had never been a car accident, and the biggest problem on Michele’s plate was
still her breakup with Jason—which felt like a lifetime ago. Michele envisioned coming home that fateful day to find Marion waiting for her with an after-school snack, eager to hear about her day. Just like always …

Michele felt tears brimming in her eyes, and she stared at the carpet to hide them from Caissie. “Sorry to be a lame hostess. It’s just that my grandmother didn’t tell me you were coming over and I’m not feeling well today … I’m not really up for doing much.”

“I get it,” Caissie replied awkwardly. “I should get going anyway.”

Michele got up to walk Caissie to the door. “Well, it was nice meeting you,” she said, still looking away so Caissie wouldn’t see her tears.

“You too. Bye.” And with that, Caissie practically flew down the stairs.

Late that night, Michele was jolted awake by the sound of a terrible wail. She sat bolt upright just as a second sob sounded. Unable to sit there listening, Michele threw off the covers and jumped out of bed. She opened her bedroom door and stepped into the pitch-black hallway.

For a moment she shrank back. The darkness cast a frightening pall over the mansion, transforming it from the light palatial home of daytime into a creepy Hitchcockian setting. But as the wailing continued, Michele moved forward determinedly. She had to find out who was making this horrible noise.

Leaning against the walls and feeling her way across the
third floor, she crept closer to the sound. And suddenly she realized that the sobs were coming from the master bedroom. It was her grandmother.