Chapter 5 - The Blue Bird Drawer
Aubrey needed to get back to Ronald’s house.
Not because she wanted to see Ronald.
Because of Claire’s sewing cabinet.
The problem was Mitchell never let them leave alone.
For the next four days, Aubrey obeyed.
She wore the servant-style dress when guests came.
She carried trays.
Cleared plates.
Answered questions with “yes, sir” and “no, ma’am” because Mitchell corrected her if she did not.
Dylan spent more time behind the locked door than outside it.
Mitchell called it “quiet time.”
Aubrey knew what it was.
Leverage.
The guests were not friends.
They were accountants, a property consultant and a man named Daniel Keene who talked constantly about reimbursement schedules.
Aubrey listened.
She learned words.
Discretionary distribution.
Guardian expenses.
Home-care reimbursement.
Educational support.
The numbers were enormous.
Eighty thousand.
One hundred twenty thousand.
Two hundred thousand.
One afternoon Daniel said:
“If the bank accepts your home-care budget, you can seek reimbursement retroactive to the custody date.”
Mitchell nodded.
“How much?”
“Depending on supporting invoices, perhaps ninety thousand in the first quarter.”
Aubrey nearly stopped walking.
Ninety thousand dollars.
For what?
Mitchell noticed her.
“Kitchen.”
She left.
Later she found a document in the trash.
NORTHLINE FAMILY SERVICES.
Monthly child-care support: $18,500.
Private educational supervision: $9,200.
Therapeutic residential adjustment: $11,000.
Aubrey read it twice.
Nobody was tutoring them.
Nobody was giving therapy.
Nobody was caring for them except Mitchell.
She folded the paper and hid it under her mattress.
Mitchell wanted the trust.
Exactly like Ronald wanted their daily cash.
Only Mitchell used invoices instead of fists.
That night Dylan whispered through the side door:
“Are we poor?”
Aubrey almost laughed.
“No.”
“Then why does everybody want our money?”
Aubrey had no answer.
The next morning Mitchell announced they were going to Ronald’s house.
Aubrey’s heart jumped.
“Why?”
“To collect the rest of your belongings.”
He looked directly at her.
“And your mother’s things.”
He knew.
Maybe not about the blue bird.
But he suspected.
Ronald was not there.
A court order prohibited him from returning while child protective services investigated.
A deputy met them outside.
“You have twenty minutes.”
Mitchell nodded.
Aubrey and Dylan entered their old house.
The corner where Ronald had trapped them looked smaller now.
Aubrey hated that.
For years it had felt like the entire world.
She went upstairs first.
Mitchell followed.
“Your mother’s boxes were in the basement.”
Aubrey shrugged.
“I want my sweater.”
He stared at her.
Then let her go.
Aubrey waited until he moved toward Dylan’s room.
Then she ran downstairs.
Basement.
Boxes.
Old holiday decorations.
A broken lamp.
And Claire’s sewing cabinet.
Still there.
Aubrey dropped to her knees.
Pulled open the top drawer.
Thread.
Needles.
Buttons.
Second drawer.
Fabric.
Third.
Empty.
She slid it out farther.
Inside, painted on the back panel, was a tiny blue bird.
Her hands shook.
The drawer nobody notices.
Aubrey felt underneath.
Nothing.
Then she pushed against the painted panel.
It moved.
A false back.
Behind it was a small brass key taped beside a folded note.
No notebook.
Aubrey’s heart sank.
She opened the note.
Claire’s handwriting.
Aubrey—if you are old enough to understand this, then I am sorry you had to. The notebook is not here. The key opens the deposit box. Rachel knows the bank. Trust her before either man.
Aubrey stopped breathing.
Either man.
Ronald.
Mitchell.
Claire had warned her about both.
Footsteps sounded above.
“Aubrey!”
Mitchell.
She folded the note.
Slipped the brass key into her sock.
Closed the false panel.
Mitchell appeared at the basement door.
“What are you doing?”
“Looking for Mom’s things.”
His eyes went directly to the sewing cabinet.
Aubrey stood.
“There’s nothing.”
Mitchell walked down.
He opened each drawer.
When he reached the blue bird drawer, Aubrey’s heart pounded so hard she thought he could hear it.
Mitchell pulled it out.
Examined the wood.
Then shoved it back.
He had not found the false panel.
“Take it.”
Aubrey blinked.
“What?”
“The whole cabinet.”
“Why?”
Mitchell smiled coldly.
“Because sooner or later, it’s going to tell me where Claire put that notebook.”
Aubrey looked down.
The key pressed against her ankle.
For the first time, she knew something Mitchell did not.
May you like
Rachel knew the bank.
And Claire had told Aubrey to trust her.
