Wild Hunger (The Phoenix Pack #7)(73)

Clara followed them to the front door. “Oh, Frankie, you asked about the sculpture. It only occurred to me later that you may have been interested about it because it was one of yours—especially with it being somewhat creepy. Is that why you asked?” At Frankie’s nod, she said, “Thought so. Well, I asked around, tried to find out who bought it. No one seems to know.”

Veiling her disappointment, Frankie gave her a grateful smile. “All right. Thanks.” Outside, she spoke to Trick. “Maybe Abigail can track the buyer of the sculpture. I’ll ask her.”

“Good idea.” Trick walked her to the SUV. “You sure you want to do this?”

“I’m sure.”

“All right.” He opened the passenger door for her. “Get in.”

Minutes later, they pulled up outside Iris’s cabin. Except for the birds chirping and the leaves rustling, it was eerily quiet. She spared her childhood cabin a brief glance before crossing to Iris’s front door. She unlocked it, but Trick stepped inside first—the protective move made her smile.

As she walked inside, her brows lifted. “I’m surprised no one has started packing up her stuff.” Nothing appeared to have been disturbed.

“Lydia wanted to start straightaway, but Clara’s not ready yet—she wants to give it a few weeks,” Trick explained. “Lydia agreed to give her time.” He led the way up the stairs and searched the ceiling until he found the hatch door for the attic. “Here it is.” He shoved it open and extended the fold-down staircase. “I’ll go first and make sure the ladder’s stable.”

Frankie rolled her eyes. “I think I’ll be fine.”

“Indulge me,” he said, climbing up the wooden rungs. The ladder wobbled only slightly. Reaching the top, Trick glanced around the attic. He ignored the pull-string light. As shifters, they could see just fine in the dark. “Quick warning: it doesn’t smell great up here.”

“I can handle it,” Frankie assured him. But when she joined him, she put her sleeve to her nose, grimacing at the scents of mold, mothballs, stale air, and mildew. Her wolf curled her upper lip in distaste. “I don’t think anyone’s been up here in a while.” Rays of moonlight speared through the single window, illuminating the dust motes in the air.

“My wolf doesn’t like the tight space.”

“Neither does mine.”

Trick stepped forward but then paused as a loose floorboard almost gave beneath his feet. “Let’s not stay up here too long.”

“Works for me.” The dusty floorboards creaked as they walked, passing trunks, sheet-covered furniture, an old record player, children’s toys, and sealed, labeled boxes. The sight of the cradle in the corner tugged a smile out of her.

She stubbed her toe on something and hissed. “Motherfucker.” Looking down, she realized she’d almost knocked over a painting propped up against a large chest.

Crouching down, Trick took a good look at it. “This could be one of Christopher’s. He liked to paint landscapes.”

“Maybe this chest could have his old stuff in it, then,” mused Frankie.

“Maybe.” Trick moved the painting out of her way. “Want to do the honors yourself?”

“Yes.” Crouching beside him, she flicked open the metal hinge and shoved up the heavy lid, wincing at the loud creak. The chest shook, and dust clouded the air. She turned her face away, covering her nose. “Damn.”

“Hey, looks like you were right.”

Frankie turned back to the chest. At the top was a framed portrait of a teenage Christopher. She looked at it for a moment and then carefully placed it on the floor. She flipped through the other items—there were clothes, books, baseball cards, sports medals, and . . . “Nice.” She lifted the chain. At first the pendants looked like military dog tags. But then she realized that one of the tags was thicker than the other. “I think it’s a locket.”

“Open it.”

Using her nail, she pried it open. There was a photo on either side—one of Caroline and one of Frankie as a toddler. Swallowing hard, she closed the locket and looked at the thinner dog tag. Engraved on it was “To the best mate a woman could wish for. Happy birthday, Chris.”

When she went to return it to the chest, Trick gently shackled her wrist and said, “You should take the locket.”

Her brow creased. “But—”

“Your parents would want you to have that, just as you would if the situation were reversed. This meant something to them, just as you do. Clara said you were welcome to take something as a keepsake.”

“Yeah, but this is jewelry. It looks expensive.”

“When people come to pack Iris’s things, they’ll take all this stuff too. A lot of it will be thrown away or donated to charity. Lydia would probably see this and keep it, but she’d then give it to you anyway. No one would begrudge you taking it.”

She twisted her mouth, torn. Maybe she should ask Lydia first and—

Trick took it from her and shoved it in his pocket. “There. Now I’ve taken it. Your conscience is clear.”

Frankie softly snorted in amusement. “If I wasn’t busy, I’d make a citizen’s arrest.” She lifted one of Christopher’s shirts to her nose. Beneath the smell of stale cotton was . . . “Earthy musk, dark chocolate orange, and . . . Caroline. I remember this smell.” For some reason her eyes filled. “I didn’t remember hers as clearly as I do his. That makes no sense. I have some of her old things.”