A Time to Keep by Rochelle Alers Page A

Pickering had not led a reclusive lifestyle. The task of emptying the many closets still awaited her, a project she planned to tackle at her leisure.
    The telephone rang, shattering her concentration. Peering at the display, she saw the name of her late aunt’s attorney. She’d called his office in New Orleans, as he’d suggested during their last conversation, with her new number. Picking up the receiver, she introduced herself.
    â€œGwendolyn Taylor.”
    â€œAfternoon, Miss Taylor. Billy Sykes here.”
    She smiled. He’d referred to himself as Billy whereas stuffy Boston lawyers would’ve been Mr. Sykes. “Please call me Gwen.”
    A chuckle came through the earpiece. “I was hoping you’d allow me that honor. I suppose you’re settlin’ in all right.”
    â€œYes, thank you.”
    â€œGood. I’d love to come down and sit a while with you, but right now I’m up to my eyeballs in a case that’s sure to get a lot of media coverage. I just wanted to tell you that your aunt left a package with me about seven months before she passed away, and I’m going to send it to you by a bonded messenger.”
    â€œWhat’s in it?”
    He chuckled softly. “You’ll see when you get it. He should get it to you by Thursday.”
    Her curiosity piqued, Gwen wondered how much Billy knew about Gwendolyn Pickering. She hadn’t had much contact with her mother’s favorite aunt. Gwendolyn, as she wanted to be called, traveled from Louisiana every five years to reconnect with relatives in Delaware, Pennsylvania and Massachusetts. She refused to vary her schedule, not even for a funeral. The year she celebrated her sixty-fifth birthday the visits, telephone calls, cards and letters—always without a return address—stopped. Everyone suspected she’d passed away until William Sykes called to inform Gwen that her great-aunt had left all of her worldly possessions to her namesake.
    â€œHow well did you know my aunt?”
    â€œI didn’t know her as well as my daddy did. But, he can’t tell you anything because the Lord called him home last year. All I can tell you is that she didn’t want me to contact you until after she’d been cremated.”
    â€œI’m glad she could trust you to follow her wishes, and I look forward to receiving the package.”
    â€œAll I can say is Gwendolyn Pickering was quite a woman.”
    â€œThank you, Billy, for everything, and if you’re ever in the neighborhood, please come by.”
    â€œWhy, thank you.”
    â€œGoodbye, Billy.”
    â€œâ€™Bye, Gwen.”
    She hung up, wondering what else her aunt wanted her tohave. Her gaze shifted back to the blinking cursor on the computer screen. Her fingers touched the letters on the keyboard with lightning speed as the list lengthened. She’d just saved what she’d typed when the melodious chiming of the doorbell echoed throughout the house.
    Walking out of the sun-filled room she’d set up as her office, she went to answer the door. It was probably the head of the landscaping crew who’d come earlier that morning to cut and weed the grass, and prune the fruit trees and flower beds. The aroma of freshly turned earth, cut grass and flowering blooms wafted through the many screened-in windows.
    Peering through the security eye, she saw the face of a young man in a tan uniform. He wore the same hat she’d seen on Shiloh the night he’d answered her nine-one-one call.
    She opened the door. The star on the man’s shirt identified him as a deputy. “Good afternoon. Is there a problem, Deputy Lincoln?” she asked, reading his name badge.
    Frank Lincoln removed his hat, cradling it to his chest. The sunlight glinted off his thick orange-red hair. “Good afternoon, Miss Taylor. I just came by to give you something from Sheriff Harper.” He reached into the pocket of his shirt and handed