The Case of the Reluctant Witness by K.B. Owen

Author:K.B. Owen
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: misterio press

We gave him time to get settled into Rose’s room—conveniently down the hall from ours—before tapping on his partly open door.

He waved us in. “Shall we search through Rose’s belongings? Perhaps we can find a clue as to her present whereabouts.”

“Good idea,” Cassie said, closing the door behind us, “though I’m surprised to hear you propose it.”

He made a face. “It’s true that I’m reluctant to violate the young lady’s privacy. I don’t see an alternative, however.”

I viewed the stack of boxes with a skeptical eye. “I’m not sure how fruitful it will be. I searched the room when she first went missing. There is no personal correspondence.”

Cassie reached for Rose’s satchel. “Maybe you missed something.”

I shrugged and set to work.

The boxes that Greta’s servants had packed were a hodgepodge of books, sewing supplies, a couple of framed photographs, a modest jewelry box, and toiletries.

“All too much of this week has involved searching people’s belongings,” I grumbled, shifting aside a tin of buttons.

Cassie held out a hand. “Let me see the button box. Ladies like to hide things in the strangest places.”

I passed it over and continued my survey. Shoes, a scarf, and a couple of shawls. No help there.

“Nothing but buttons,” Cassie muttered, handing it back.

“I’m not having any luck, either.” Leonard picked up a photograph in an oval, gilt frame. “This must be a picture of Rose, taken in her youth.”

“Let me see.” I held the faded tintype up to the light. Yes, I recognized Rose, who appeared to be in her teen years. A much younger boy, towheaded, stood beside her, the two of them attired in their summertime Sunday best. He must be her brother. I thought I saw a resemblance between the boy and our intruder, but perhaps I was trying too hard to make the connection.

The pair was posed in front of a store with a striped awning and a freshly painted sign. Harper’s Grocery.

I felt a prickle of excitement. Rose’s family was native to Southbrook, and I remembered that her father had been a grocer. Back when we were in school together—nearly two decades ago—everyone knew what everyone else’s father did for a living, paying particular attention to which girls were there on a charity scholarship. Those students were often snubbed by the petty girls from prominent families, but Cassie had formed a warm friendship with Rose from the very beginning and—when Rose wasn’t actively annoying me—I sort of followed along.

Perhaps the store was in town. Could it possibly be in business after all this time?

“What are you doing?” Leonard asked, as I pried off the back of the frame.

“Checking for a notation. Most people write the year and the location—ah.” I squinted to better read the faded inscription on the back.

Rose and Robert, Harper’s store opening. Mackay Street, 1869.

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