Chapter 3 - The Secret Inside the Feathers
After the commotion subsided and the house finally emptied out late that night, I sat alone at the wooden kitchen table under a dim yellow bulb. The torn pillow lay before me, smelling of mothballs, lavender balm, and decades of history. I wondered if Fiona’s dying words had just been the confused murmurings of a fading mind, yet curiosity pulled at my heart.
The seam along the right side had split open, exposing graying goose down. I slid my hand deep into the dense stuffing to smooth out the lumps. Halfway down toward the center, my fingertips brushed against an object that was distinctly hard, flat, and rectangular, wrapped tightly beneath layers of quilted fabric.
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My heart began to pound against my ribs. Carefully parting the feathers so as not to tear whatever was inside, I pulled out a heavy parcel wrapped in thick, yellowed oilcloth and tied with rough jute twine. It had clearly been hidden there for years, untouched by moisture or dust. With trembling fingers, I untied the knots. Inside lay a small brass key, an ancient blue bank passbook, and a sealed handwritten letter with my name penned across the front in Fiona’s shaky handwriting.
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