group of print and television journalists had given her no peace. All week long she had been stalked,
followed, interviewed, harassed. But at least she hadn’t been arrested, and no one had questioned herabout those awful days when she’d been a teenage runaway…
She had come to New York on her way home from California because she’d felt the need to attend her mother’s funeral. She’d
told herself that her desire to do so made no sense at all, but she couldn’t seem to help wanting one last chance to resolve
her feelings toward Rina, and to say good-bye.
Besides, she couldn’t help feeling curious about the murder. After all, murder was her business. Fictional murders might be
neater and tidier than real ones, but her desire to find the answers and solve the mysteries was very strong.
An associate from the law firm of Stanley, Rorschach and McGregor had notified her yesterday that her presence was required
at the reading of the will. Incredibly, she was one of the beneficiaries. To what extent, she had no idea. From the way they’d
been looking at her, she concluded that this was a matter of much speculation among the rest of the family.
It was evident that the family took no joy in seeing her here. Armand de Sevigny had been the only one of them to greet her.
His wife’s death, although clearly upsetting to him, had not interfered with his impeccable manners. Nor with his undeniable
charm.
“I am so sorry we must meet under such unhappy circumstances,” he’d said to her at the funeral. “My wife spoke often of you.”
“She did?” April had been unable to hide her surprise.
Armand had embraced her warmly. “She had come to regret her actions toward you. As do I. If there’s a way to make it up to
you, I intend to try.”
Admirable sentiments, she had thought. But a little late.
Rina’s stepchildren, Christian and Isobelle, had bothavoided her, remaining distant and silent. Charles Ripley, Rina’s handsome assistant at Power Perspectives, had approached
her and shaken her hand. “Thank you for coming,” he had said, and April had noticed that he had tears in his eyes.
She wondered what they were all thinking this morning as they took note of her presence among them. She glanced at Isobelle,
who seemed distinctly hostile. Her color was high and as she waited, she aggressively chewed on her bottom lip. One of her
high-heeled pumps tapped persistently against the floor as she fidgeted, her scarlet-tipped fingers clenched into fists.
Her gaze moved to Christian, Isobelle’s brother, who was leaning impassively against the far wall, his elegant body loose
and languid, his eyes closed in evident boredom.
He was an attractive man with classical features that must have been almost too pretty when he was young. Maturity had chiseled
a few lines and creases into his visage, giving him an air of sophistication that April had no doubt he deserved.
She’d done enough research on the family before going to the ABA to know something about the people whom she might reasonably
consider her stepbrother and stepsister. Christian was said to treasure the finer things in life, from the finest wines to
the most expensive women. He worked for his father, whose many commercial interests included De Sevigny Ltd., an international
shipping company that made both oil tankers and cruise ships. It was based in New York, still one of the premier ports in
the world.
Isobelle did not work directly for her father, and rumor had it that there was some kind of tension between them. Instead,
she had worked with her stepmother at PowerPerspectives, helping her to run an enterprise that had grown far more rapidly than anybody had expected.
She had never been married. April knew nothing else about her personal life.
Also present were Charles and several other people who April could not identify, although they looked familiar from the funeral.
But she did know Rob Blackthorn, who
followed, interviewed, harassed. But at least she hadn’t been arrested, and no one had questioned herabout those awful days when she’d been a teenage runaway…
She had come to New York on her way home from California because she’d felt the need to attend her mother’s funeral. She’d
told herself that her desire to do so made no sense at all, but she couldn’t seem to help wanting one last chance to resolve
her feelings toward Rina, and to say good-bye.
Besides, she couldn’t help feeling curious about the murder. After all, murder was her business. Fictional murders might be
neater and tidier than real ones, but her desire to find the answers and solve the mysteries was very strong.
An associate from the law firm of Stanley, Rorschach and McGregor had notified her yesterday that her presence was required
at the reading of the will. Incredibly, she was one of the beneficiaries. To what extent, she had no idea. From the way they’d
been looking at her, she concluded that this was a matter of much speculation among the rest of the family.
It was evident that the family took no joy in seeing her here. Armand de Sevigny had been the only one of them to greet her.
His wife’s death, although clearly upsetting to him, had not interfered with his impeccable manners. Nor with his undeniable
charm.
“I am so sorry we must meet under such unhappy circumstances,” he’d said to her at the funeral. “My wife spoke often of you.”
“She did?” April had been unable to hide her surprise.
Armand had embraced her warmly. “She had come to regret her actions toward you. As do I. If there’s a way to make it up to
you, I intend to try.”
Admirable sentiments, she had thought. But a little late.
Rina’s stepchildren, Christian and Isobelle, had bothavoided her, remaining distant and silent. Charles Ripley, Rina’s handsome assistant at Power Perspectives, had approached
her and shaken her hand. “Thank you for coming,” he had said, and April had noticed that he had tears in his eyes.
She wondered what they were all thinking this morning as they took note of her presence among them. She glanced at Isobelle,
who seemed distinctly hostile. Her color was high and as she waited, she aggressively chewed on her bottom lip. One of her
high-heeled pumps tapped persistently against the floor as she fidgeted, her scarlet-tipped fingers clenched into fists.
Her gaze moved to Christian, Isobelle’s brother, who was leaning impassively against the far wall, his elegant body loose
and languid, his eyes closed in evident boredom.
He was an attractive man with classical features that must have been almost too pretty when he was young. Maturity had chiseled
a few lines and creases into his visage, giving him an air of sophistication that April had no doubt he deserved.
She’d done enough research on the family before going to the ABA to know something about the people whom she might reasonably
consider her stepbrother and stepsister. Christian was said to treasure the finer things in life, from the finest wines to
the most expensive women. He worked for his father, whose many commercial interests included De Sevigny Ltd., an international
shipping company that made both oil tankers and cruise ships. It was based in New York, still one of the premier ports in
the world.
Isobelle did not work directly for her father, and rumor had it that there was some kind of tension between them. Instead,
she had worked with her stepmother at PowerPerspectives, helping her to run an enterprise that had grown far more rapidly than anybody had expected.
She had never been married. April knew nothing else about her personal life.
Also present were Charles and several other people who April could not identify, although they looked familiar from the funeral.
But she did know Rob Blackthorn, who
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