“We are calling our own legal counsel,” she said.

“Call whoever you want,” Arthur said. “But open this gate now.”

Victoria reached into her trench coat pocket and pulled out a small black remote.

She pressed the button with a vicious jab of her thumb.

With a heavy, grinding groan, the iron gates began to swing inward.

The wet gravel parted as the heavy metal bars moved.

“You have forty-eight hours, Eleanor,” Victoria said, her voice dripping with venom.

“That is all I need,” I said.

Arthur walked back to the Buick and climbed into the driver’s seat.

I stayed outside for a moment, watching Victoria and Charles.

They did not wait for us to drive through.

They turned on their heels and began to hurry up the driveway toward the house.

Their pace was no longer a slow, dignified stroll.

They were almost running.

“They are going to destroy it,” I said, getting back into the passenger seat.

“They won’t find it if they don’t know where to look,” Arthur said.

“But they are going to tear that library apart, Arthur,” I said.