MY SISTER JUST SMILED WHEN THE DETECTIVE SAID HER NAME OUT LOUD
I swear, the air in that room felt thick enough to choke on, stale coffee mixing with the sharp scent of industrial cleaner. “Your sister, Emily Carter, is listed as the sole beneficiary,” he droned on, his tie a shade too bright for the occasion.
Grandma had always favored Emily, letting her sneak extra cookies and praising her terrible finger paintings, but this? Years of visits, holidays spent helping her with the garden, all for nothing? I could feel my pulse hammering in my ears, the leather of my purse digging into my shoulder.
“But… but I was her primary caregiver for the last five years,” I managed to stammer out, the words feeling foreign and small. Emily just kept smiling, a serene, almost pitying look in her eyes. “Grandma knew what she was doing,” was all she said.
Then the detective cleared his throat again and added, “There’s also this letter addressed to a ‘Mr. Silas Blackwood’ regarding…”
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… “a very specific antique, a music box from the 1800s. It appears she wanted it to go to him.” The detective adjusted his glasses, the fluorescent lights glinting off the lenses. He gestured towards a mahogany box sitting discreetly on a side table. It was a beautiful thing, inlaid with mother-of-pearl, and I recognized it instantly. Grandma had always kept it locked away, whispering tales of its intricate melodies.
My jaw dropped. Silas Blackwood? Grandma had never mentioned a Silas Blackwood. Emily, however, continued to smile, her eyes darting between the detective and the box.
“Who is Silas Blackwood?” I asked, my voice cracking.
Emily finally spoke, her voice like silk. “He’s… an old friend. A collector. Grandma promised it to him years ago.”
The detective looked at me, his expression neutral. “Do you have any objections?”
I stared at Emily, the injustice of it all burning inside me. “Yes!” I blurted out, then took a deep breath, trying to regain some composure. “I object. I cared for her, I devoted my life to her. That music box is the least she could have left me!”
“I appreciate your dedication, Miss Carter,” the detective said, “but the will is clear. And the letter indicates Grandma’s intent. Unless you have further evidence…”
I knew I was defeated. I had nothing. My anger was a roaring fire, but it couldn’t change the facts. Grandma’s final act of affection, it seemed, was for a stranger, not for the granddaughter who had poured her heart and soul into caring for her.
As the detective began gathering his papers, Emily rose and walked towards the mahogany box. She reached out a delicate hand and gently caressed its surface. Her smile was almost triumphant.
“It’s beautiful,” she murmured, her voice barely a whisper.
Then, as if on cue, the music box began to play. A tinkling melody, both haunting and delicate, filled the room. It was a tune I’d never heard before, but it felt strangely familiar, tugging at a forgotten memory.
Suddenly, Emily stumbled backward, her eyes widening in terror. The serene smile vanished, replaced by an expression of pure horror. She clawed at her throat, her face turning pale.
“What… what’s happening?” she gasped, her voice a strangled whisper.
The music box continued to play, its melody growing faster, more frantic. Then, with a final, jarring note, it stopped. Emily collapsed to the floor, lifeless.
The detective rushed forward, checking for a pulse. He shook his head.
“She’s gone,” he said grimly.
I stared at Emily’s still form, the music box now silent. Then, I looked at the detective. “What happened?”
He hesitated, then pointed to the box. “We’ll need to investigate this further. The music box… it’s poisoned. It appears to have been a very clever, and specific, delivery mechanism.” He paused, then added, “And, Miss Carter, the will has been changed. You are now the sole beneficiary.”
I looked at the detective, then at the music box, and finally at my sister. The pieces of the puzzle clicked into place. Silas Blackwood. The antique collector. The poisoned music box. And Emily’s knowing smile. It all pointed to the truth.
“Grandma knew,” I whispered, finally understanding. She’d known Emily’s greed, her willingness to do anything for money. She’d foreseen this, the betrayal, and set her trap. The music box, a silent, deadly testament to her love, and her final act of revenge.
I looked at the mahogany box, now knowing it was not just an antique, but a weapon. And I understood, with a chilling clarity, the true meaning of Grandma’s final legacy. The victory was mine, though at a devastating cost.