Chapter 14 - THE LAST VISITOR
Three weeks passed.
The first winter storm had blanketed the Maine coastline in four inches of powdery white snow.
The spruce trees hung heavy with white frost.
Adrien stood at the kitchen counter, wearing a thick gray woolen sweater and jeans.
The smell of freshly ground dark roast coffee filled the cedar-paneled room.
He poured two blue ceramic mugs and carried them to the porch.
Isabella sat on the wooden swing, wrapped in a heavy red blanket, watching the lobster boats navigate the icy bay below.
Her cheeks were pink with health.
The bruise on her wrist had faded to a faint yellow shadow.
She looked peaceful.
She looked whole.
Adrien handed her a mug and sat beside her on the bench.
The swing swayed gently beneath their weight.
"The lawyer called from Boston," Adrien said.
She took a sip of the steaming coffee.
"And?"
"The restitution fund has been approved by the federal court."
"Every family on the ledger will receive their property back."
"The dock workers have formed their own cooperative."
"And your family's house in Dorchester?"
She looked over the rim of her mug at the gray sea.
"It's being transferred into my mother's estate name."
"Will you sell it?"
"No," she said.
"I'm going to give it to the shelter down the block."
"Too many ghosts in those rooms."
She leaned her head against his shoulder.
Adrien wrapped his arm around her, pulling the red blanket over both of them.
Down the long driveway, the crunch of snow broke the morning quiet.
A dark blue sedan was crawling slowly through the drifts.
Adrien's body went instantly rigid.
Old habits did not die easily.
His hand dropped toward his waistband, but there was no gun beneath his sweater.
He had thrown the Kimber into the river with the truck.
Isabella placed her hand over his knee.
"Look at the license plate," she said softly.
The car stopped at the edge of the porch.
A man stepped out into the freezing air.
He wore an ordinary tweed coat and a woolen flat cap.
He had silver hair and a slight limp.
It was Councilman Ross.
He carried no weapons.
In his hand, he held a single, unsealed manila envelope.
Ross walked slowly up the porch steps, his breath puffing white in the frost.
He stopped at the bottom of the railing and removed his cap.
"Adrien," Ross said quietly.
"Ross," Adrien replied, not standing up.
"The council is dissolved," the old man said.
"The federal marshals finished the audit yesterday."
"Then why are you here?"
Ross held out the manila envelope.
"Your father had a personal lockbox at the State Street branch that wasn't connected to the vault."
"It had only one instruction on the card."
"Deliver to the girl on her twenty-fourth birthday."
Ross looked at Isabella.
"Today is your birthday, isn't it, child?"
Isabella’s breath caught in her throat.
She looked at Adrien, then down at the envelope.
"What's inside?" she asked.
"I didn't open it," Ross said.
"I'm an old thief, Isabella, but I was your grandfather's friend before the blood started flowing."
He laid the envelope on the porch railing.
"I'm taking a flight to Lisbon tonight," Ross said.
"I won't be back."
He touched the brim of his cap to both of them, turned around, and walked back to his car.
May you like
The sedan backed down the driveway and disappeared around the snow-covered bend.
The forest fell silent once more.
