By six the next morning, I had made three telephone calls and decided against driving to the farm. That decision took more restraint than I expected. Dell's report kept returning to me: workers loading equipment into an enclosed trailer, the chandelier marked for removal, and a wedding scheduled for Saturday. Regina had received formal notice concerning her tenancy, and her response appeared to be an attempt to carry away everything she believed gave Braddock Hall its value. I wanted to stop her before the property suffered permanent damage.
Mr. Tuttle answered my first call before his office opened. He had already spoken with Regina's attorney, a man named Charles Voss, who practiced in St. Louis and seemed increasingly unhappy with the behavior of his client. Voss confirmed that Regina had arranged for certain wedding furnishings to be moved into storage. He insisted the items belonged to her business and that she was entitled to protect them. Mr. Tuttle replied that movable decorations were one question, while fixtures attached to buildings owned by Second Creek Land Company were another.
The distinction mattered. I owned the land and structures, not necessarily every chair, vase, curtain, or piece of equipment Regina had purchased for her business. Her lease was still in effect, subject to the termination process, and I had no right to disregard that simply because I was furious with her. Mr. Tuttle explained that we could document the condition of the property, object to unauthorized alterations, and seek legal protection if necessary. We could not simply seize whatever we wanted and declare the dispute finished.
I asked about Saturday's wedding. The lawyer was quiet for a moment. Regina had accepted deposits and signed contracts with couples in her capacity as the operator of Braddock Hall. Those obligations belonged primarily to her business. But if she dismantled the venue without warning customers, the resulting harm would reach far beyond our family. Mr. Tuttle agreed to contact Voss again and demand clarification about the event. He also arranged an inspection of the barn for later that morning, with written acknowledgment from Regina's attorney.
Before leaving the Budget Inn, I checked on Josie. She was sitting cross-legged on her bed, brushing the fur of a small stuffed rabbit Mrs. Harris had given her the previous afternoon. Its ears were uneven, and one paw had a crooked seam. She had named it Button. The yellow and brown quilt lay folded beside her pillow. I explained that I needed to meet Mr. Tuttle at the farm and that Mrs. Harris would stay with her at the law office until I returned.
Josie's hands stopped moving. "Is Aunt Regina going to be there?" she asked. I told her I didn't know, but that I would not be going alone. She looked toward the bathroom, then at the motel door, as if checking the ways someone might enter. I sat beside her and explained that the visit concerned the buildings, not her. She didn't have to return to the farm, speak with Regina, or prove anything to anyone. After a few minutes, she agreed to come with me as far as the lawyer's office.
At nine thirty, Mr. Tuttle and I turned onto the Braddock driveway. The white wedding tent was still standing, though several floral arrangements had been removed from its entrance. Two trucks were parked behind the barn. The larger vehicle had its rear doors open, revealing stacked folding tables, upholstered chairs, and crates marked with Regina's business name. A worker stood beside the loading ramp smoking a cigarette. He glanced at our car and immediately turned toward the barn.
I stepped onto the gravel and felt an unexpected pull of memory. My father had once parked his tractor in almost the same place, beneath an elm tree that had since been removed. He would have stood with his hands on his hips, examining whatever needed repairing before making a decision. I had spent so many years paying for the farm without directing its daily affairs that arriving as its owner felt strange. Yet I knew the buildings intimately. Their walls had sheltered our family long before anyone imagined using them for weddings.
Regina appeared through the barn doors with Charles Voss walking beside her. She wore black trousers, polished boots, and a white jacket that looked too expensive for a morning spent around moving trucks. When she saw me, her expression hardened. She spoke first to Mr. Tuttle. "I agreed to let the company inspect its precious property," she said. "I didn't agree to having Quinn wander around trying to intimidate my employees." Her attorney placed a hand on her arm and reminded her that the inspection had been arranged through counsel.
I didn't answer the insult. Mr. Tuttle introduced the building inspector he had retained to document the condition of the premises, a careful man named Martin Hale. Martin carried a camera, a flashlight, and a clipboard. He explained what he intended to examine, then asked the attorneys to confirm which areas were included in the arrangement. I appreciated his methodical approach. He wasn't interested in the family's arguments. He wanted to record what was present, what had been removed, and whether any work threatened the structure.
Inside, the wedding barn looked emptier than I remembered. Several rows of chairs had disappeared, and the decorative curtains had been taken down. Rectangular patches of cleaner wood marked places where wall decorations once hung. The chandelier remained suspended above the center of the floor, its crystal tiers wrapped loosely in protective material. Beneath it stood a tall ladder and a wheeled platform. A toolbox rested nearby, and lengths of electrical cable lay coiled against the wall.
Martin photographed the ceiling connections before asking who had authorized the chandelier's removal. Regina answered that she had purchased it and intended to take it with her. Mr. Tuttle reminded her that ownership of an object and the right to remove an installed fixture were not always identical questions. The chandelier had been connected to the building's electrical system, and taking it down could require alterations to the structure. Voss instructed the workers not to touch it until the lawyers resolved the issue.
Regina turned toward him sharply. "Charles, I hired you to represent me, not to help my sister steal my business." Voss lowered his voice, but I heard enough. He told her that he was protecting her from making an already difficult legal position worse. She stepped away, folding her arms across her chest. I recognized the expression. Regina could endure disagreement from strangers if it served her interests. Being corrected in front of me was another matter entirely.
Martin continued through the building. He documented mounting holes, disconnected lighting, and areas where equipment had been moved. Most of the furnishings appeared portable, but several fixtures required closer examination. The loading workers waited near the doorway, uncertain whether they should continue. I noticed how often they looked toward Regina before moving. It reminded me of Josie describing the Sunday calls, when she watched for instructions from the chair outside the camera's view.
Near the service entrance, Martin stopped to photograph damage along the lower edge of a storage-room door. Its lock had been removed, leaving splintered wood around the frame. Regina claimed it had been broken for months. Dell, who had been standing quietly outside, spoke before anyone asked him. "That door was locked yesterday morning," he said. "I checked it when I brought the replacement bulbs." Regina turned on him with a look of such hostility that he lowered his eyes.
Mr. Tuttle asked whether the contents of the storage room had been moved. Regina said it held only decorations and paperwork belonging to her company. She insisted everything was being transferred to a secure location. Voss confirmed that his client claimed ownership of the movable contents but advised her not to remove documents relevant to the court proceedings or county investigation. The judge had already ordered preservation of relevant records. Regina dismissed the warning with a wave of her hand.
I asked what had been stored there. Dell said it was where the office staff kept event binders, vendor invoices, and older paperwork once the shelves in the farmhouse office became crowded. He had occasionally carried boxes inside but had never been responsible for the records. I looked through the doorway. The shelves were nearly empty. Dust outlined the rectangular places where boxes had stood. A few torn labels lay on the floor, and a strip of packing tape clung to the bottom shelf.
The sight unsettled me more than the missing chairs. Wedding decorations could be replaced, and fixtures could be repaired. Records might explain how Regina had used the business during the year I was overseas. They could identify staff members who worked alongside Josie, event dates, payments, and communications that never appeared in my sister's carefully selected photographs. If those documents disappeared, the investigators might lose information that no medical examination could recover.
Mr. Tuttle photographed the room and asked Voss to arrange preservation of all records potentially relevant to Josie's care, work, and presence at events. He emphasized that preservation included electronic information and documents moved to another location. Voss agreed to discuss the issue with Regina and identify where the boxes had gone. My sister looked furious. "You people act like everything I touch belongs to Quinn," she said. "I built this business myself."
I thought of the money I had paid toward the property for six years, the fifteen hundred dollars I sent each month for Josie, and the child who had been sleeping beside the hog pens. I could have recited every figure. Instead, I asked one question. "Were any of those boxes about the work Josie did here?" Regina looked directly at me. "Your daughter liked helping," she answered. "I don't know how many times I have to tell you that."
I waited for her to say more. She didn't. But her answer made something clear. Regina had never denied that Josie performed tasks at the wedding venue. She denied only that the work was excessive or harmful. If the business kept staffing schedules, delivery lists, or cleaning assignments, those records might establish far more than the photographs alone. I glanced toward Mr. Tuttle. He had already written a note.
We finished the inspection without another confrontation. Martin documented the barn's condition, and the attorneys agreed that no further work affecting attached fixtures would occur until the ownership questions were addressed. Portable items remained a separate matter. Mr. Tuttle made certain the agreement was recorded in writing before we left. Regina stayed beside the barn doors, watching us with an expression of rigid contempt. I didn't look back when we drove away.
At the law office, Mrs. Harris told me Josie had spent the morning reading her rabbit book and making a drawing for Dell. She had eaten a snack without asking whether she deserved it. That small detail lifted my spirits more than the inspection had. I found her sitting at the reception table, coloring a yellow sun above a little house. When she saw me, she stood and came directly into my arms. Her grip was still fierce, but she smiled when I told her I was finished for the day.
Mr. Tuttle took me aside before we left. He had received a response from Voss concerning the Saturday wedding. Regina intended to proceed with the event, but she was refusing to provide assurances about which furnishings would remain available. The couple had paid a substantial deposit, and the caterer had already ordered food. My lawyer said he would seek a clear written commitment from her business and warn against any further removal that made the contracted use of the barn impossible.
I asked whether we should contact the couple. He agreed that the customers deserved accurate information but cautioned me not to interfere with Regina's contractual relationship or make promises I couldn't fulfill. We decided that counsel would first request confirmation from Voss. If Regina would not provide it, the affected couple could be informed of the documented uncertainty and decide how to proceed. I didn't want an innocent bride discovering on Saturday morning that her wedding venue had been dismantled because my sister was angry with me.
That afternoon, Hayley Brooks called unexpectedly. She had heard from another bride in the local wedding group that rumors were spreading about Braddock Hall closing. I explained that there was a property dispute and that Saturday's event was being addressed through the lawyers. Hayley said she knew the bride, Lydia Mercer, from a community planning group. She offered to put us in contact if Lydia wanted information. I thanked her and asked her not to repeat anything about Josie's medical condition. Hayley understood immediately.
An hour later, Lydia telephoned. Her voice was strained, and I could hear someone speaking anxiously in the background. She explained that her wedding was scheduled for the next afternoon, that relatives had already arrived from several states, and that Regina had assured her everything was ready. But one of the decorators had called to say equipment was being removed from the barn. Lydia wanted to know whether the venue would still be available. I told her the property remained under an active lease and that I couldn't speak for Regina's business commitments.
I gave her Mr. Tuttle's number and explained that he was coordinating with Regina's attorney to protect the building and clarify what would be available. Lydia thanked me, though I could hear that she wanted a simpler answer. Before ending the call, she said she had spent eighteen months planning the wedding. "I don't need perfection," she told me. "I just need a place where my family can gather and watch us get married." Her words stayed with me long after the call ended.
By evening, Voss confirmed that Regina would honor the Saturday booking. The necessary tables and chairs would remain, the catering areas would be available, and no further dismantling would occur before the event concluded. Mr. Tuttle insisted on written confirmation, which arrived shortly before dinner. It was not a resolution of the larger dispute, but it meant Lydia could proceed without immediately searching for another venue. I forwarded the information through the appropriate channels and felt a brief measure of relief.
I was helping Josie choose something to watch on television when Deputy Ortiz called. She had received our report about the removed records and wanted clarification about the storage room. I described what I had seen and referred her to Martin's photographs. She asked whether any labels or discarded material had remained. I mentioned the torn labels and packing tape, then told her Dell had identified the room as a place where older event paperwork was stored.
The deputy said Investigator Vale was already seeking relevant business records through proper legal procedures. The concern was not merely whether Regina had moved the boxes, but whether anything had been altered or destroyed after the preservation order. Ortiz couldn't discuss every step of the investigation, and I didn't press her. She did ask whether I knew who handled staffing and cleaning schedules at the venue. I admitted that I didn't. Regina had always described the wedding business as her private accomplishment, and I had respected that boundary.
After the call, I remembered something Josie had said at the motel. During receptions, Aunt Regina sometimes gave her a list of tasks. My daughter had described being told to collect decorations, move rubbish, and clean the stone steps. I hadn't considered whether those instructions were written down. I sat beside her and asked whether she remembered the lists. Josie nodded. "Sometimes they were on yellow paper," she said. "Aunt Regina put them on the kitchen counter."
I kept my voice gentle. "Do you remember what happened to them afterward?" Josie thought for a moment. "She put them in a folder," she answered. "The same one with the wedding things." I asked whether she remembered the folder's color. She said it was blue and had a metal clip that sometimes hurt her fingers when she tried to open it. Then she looked worried and asked whether she had been allowed to tell me. I assured her she had done nothing wrong.
My daughter returned to the television, but I remained seated with my notebook open. A blue folder, yellow task sheets, and a storage room recently emptied of boxes were not proof of a crime. They were details that could be checked. I wrote down Josie's words exactly and sent the information to Investigator Vale without asking my daughter any further questions. The investigator acknowledged it and said she would include the description in her request for records.
The following morning, before Lydia's wedding, Mr. Tuttle received another call from Voss. Several boxes of records had been moved from the barn to a commercial storage unit registered under Regina's business. Voss said the removal was part of ordinary business operations, not an attempt to conceal evidence. But when Mr. Tuttle asked whether the boxes contained the blue folder and staffing sheets, Voss couldn't answer. He promised to determine what had been moved and preserve it.
I looked at Josie's drawing taped beside the motel mirror. It showed a little house, a yellow sun, and two figures standing together. My daughter had drawn herself beside me, not behind a fence or beneath a barn roof. I wanted the picture to become the truth of her life. But the evidence was still incomplete, and Regina had demonstrated that she would use every advantage available to her. Somewhere in those boxes might be the written instructions my daughter had been forced to obey.
That afternoon, as the wedding guests began arriving at Braddock Hall, Investigator Vale called Mr. Tuttle with a development. The storage company had confirmed that records were being preserved, and the investigator was pursuing lawful access to the materials relevant to Josie's treatment. One employee who had helped move the boxes remembered a blue folder among them. More importantly, he recalled Regina giving a specific instruction: the folders containing children's work assignments were to be packed separately.
When Mr. Tuttle repeated that information to me, I felt the room narrow around his voice. My sister had denied making Josie work beyond ordinary chores. Yet someone moving the business records had heard her refer to children's work assignments. The statement still needed verification, and we didn't know what the folders contained. But for the first time, there was reason to believe Regina's own paperwork might describe the work she had tried to hide. I asked Mr. Tuttle to make certain the investigators received everything necessary to find it.
