Bonacelli eased up behind her.
“I paid a service to clean up the mess. Not the best job, but you should have seen it before.”
“I can imagine.” She gazed over the rest of the room and her eyes fell on an empty gun rack on the wall. “What happened to the rifle?”
“It’s in the hall closet. I put it there myself. Of course you’ll want to keep it away from the children and out of Coast Guard view as well. Firearms are illegal if you don’t have a license.”
She didn’t remember her father ever touching that gun.
“We should get started,” he said, and led her toward the study. Halfway down the hall was the sound of an unfamiliar voice.
“Is there someone else here?” Isabelle asked.
“I’m sorry, I should have told you. Your father named two others in his will.”
* * *
Isabelle stopped at the open doorway. Both guests were having tea in the study: an elderly woman rummaging through a desk and an extremely tall, middle-aged man standing by the fireplace. She recognized Jules Beecher right away and was overwhelmed by the sight of him.
His long arm stretched across the mantel as he leaned down, stoking the flames with an iron poker. Jet-black hair fell slightly over his face and the firelight flickered across a handsome profile. Jules turned to Isabelle as if he sensed her coming through the door, and they stared at one another, surprised and breathless.
Bonacelli introduced Isabelle as George’s daughter. “This is Professor Jules Beecher, whom you already know, and Miss Ginny Shufflebottom, a friend of your father’s from England.”
Ginny offered a reluctant smile and went back to ransacking the desk.
Jules opened his mouth to speak but nothing came out. He hastily turned back to the fire, tapping the log with the poker, sending sparks up the flue.
“Have some tea and a bite to eat,” Bonacelli suggested to Isabelle. “We’ll start as soon as I get my papers in order.”
She walked to a silver tray and poured a steaming cup of tea. There were so many memories of her father in the study; a giant globe he used to teach her geography, a calabash pipe that had belonged to his father, a ladybug paperweight that Isabelle made from a rock when she was five. There was a framed map of Sparrow Island on the wall, which her father had sketched. He was a good artist and the drawing was the first time she’d seen the island in its entirety. It was the first time she realized her world was very small.
Isabelle looked across the room at Jules, a man who’d spent two years on the island with her family. She had been merely a child and he’d been twenty-two, but she thought he was brilliant and handsome, and she’d had a heart-wrenching crush on him at the time. Standing by the fire, he looked as though he hadn’t changed much. Still tall and attractive in an ill-fitting dark suit, although now he was much broader in stature and seemed more solemn than she remembered. A little gray at the temples. Isabelle couldn’t help feeling a twinge of attraction.
The elderly woman slammed a drawer, giving Isabelle a start. A friend of her father’s whom she’d met only once, Ginny looked to be in her late sixties, but quite fit and feisty. She was a diminutive woman with a pasty complexion, but her blue eyes sparkled and her even features implied that she was once quite pretty.
Her frilly lavender dress seemed more suitable for a party.
Isabelle watched Ginny approach Bonacelli as he opened his briefcase on the desk. She whispered something in his ear with a girlish expression and thrust her lip in a pout. The lawyer shook his head and walked to a cabinet, returning with a bottle of whiskey and discreetly pouring a shot in her teacup. She swayed into him, spilling a drop.
Isabelle put a hand to her mouth and smiled.
Luke and Monica came into the study and went straight for the fruit cake as Ginny watched with a scornful eye, gaping at Monica, who was dressed in the usual skimpy leather
“I paid a service to clean up the mess. Not the best job, but you should have seen it before.”
“I can imagine.” She gazed over the rest of the room and her eyes fell on an empty gun rack on the wall. “What happened to the rifle?”
“It’s in the hall closet. I put it there myself. Of course you’ll want to keep it away from the children and out of Coast Guard view as well. Firearms are illegal if you don’t have a license.”
She didn’t remember her father ever touching that gun.
“We should get started,” he said, and led her toward the study. Halfway down the hall was the sound of an unfamiliar voice.
“Is there someone else here?” Isabelle asked.
“I’m sorry, I should have told you. Your father named two others in his will.”
* * *
Isabelle stopped at the open doorway. Both guests were having tea in the study: an elderly woman rummaging through a desk and an extremely tall, middle-aged man standing by the fireplace. She recognized Jules Beecher right away and was overwhelmed by the sight of him.
His long arm stretched across the mantel as he leaned down, stoking the flames with an iron poker. Jet-black hair fell slightly over his face and the firelight flickered across a handsome profile. Jules turned to Isabelle as if he sensed her coming through the door, and they stared at one another, surprised and breathless.
Bonacelli introduced Isabelle as George’s daughter. “This is Professor Jules Beecher, whom you already know, and Miss Ginny Shufflebottom, a friend of your father’s from England.”
Ginny offered a reluctant smile and went back to ransacking the desk.
Jules opened his mouth to speak but nothing came out. He hastily turned back to the fire, tapping the log with the poker, sending sparks up the flue.
“Have some tea and a bite to eat,” Bonacelli suggested to Isabelle. “We’ll start as soon as I get my papers in order.”
She walked to a silver tray and poured a steaming cup of tea. There were so many memories of her father in the study; a giant globe he used to teach her geography, a calabash pipe that had belonged to his father, a ladybug paperweight that Isabelle made from a rock when she was five. There was a framed map of Sparrow Island on the wall, which her father had sketched. He was a good artist and the drawing was the first time she’d seen the island in its entirety. It was the first time she realized her world was very small.
Isabelle looked across the room at Jules, a man who’d spent two years on the island with her family. She had been merely a child and he’d been twenty-two, but she thought he was brilliant and handsome, and she’d had a heart-wrenching crush on him at the time. Standing by the fire, he looked as though he hadn’t changed much. Still tall and attractive in an ill-fitting dark suit, although now he was much broader in stature and seemed more solemn than she remembered. A little gray at the temples. Isabelle couldn’t help feeling a twinge of attraction.
The elderly woman slammed a drawer, giving Isabelle a start. A friend of her father’s whom she’d met only once, Ginny looked to be in her late sixties, but quite fit and feisty. She was a diminutive woman with a pasty complexion, but her blue eyes sparkled and her even features implied that she was once quite pretty.
Her frilly lavender dress seemed more suitable for a party.
Isabelle watched Ginny approach Bonacelli as he opened his briefcase on the desk. She whispered something in his ear with a girlish expression and thrust her lip in a pout. The lawyer shook his head and walked to a cabinet, returning with a bottle of whiskey and discreetly pouring a shot in her teacup. She swayed into him, spilling a drop.
Isabelle put a hand to her mouth and smiled.
Luke and Monica came into the study and went straight for the fruit cake as Ginny watched with a scornful eye, gaping at Monica, who was dressed in the usual skimpy leather
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