mind.”
Eleanor began singing, her voice a little reedy, and that somehow made the lyrics more poignant. “No worries, my darling, I’ll always be near. No worries forever, just sleep. Tomorrow will dawn with the sun bright and clear. No worries, my darling, just sleep.” She looked up at her husband, and he squeezed her hand. Then she looked at Cole and added, “Luca used to sing that song to Skylar when she was little. Remember, Luca?”
“Yes, I remember,” he said.
Skylar rose and poured her uncle a glass of wine. She handed it to him, and he sat beside his wife while Skylar took a chair so close to Cole he could reach out and touch her. And that’s exactly what he wanted to do. He wanted to get her alone, away from that house, away from the images her aunt had just planted in his head right before her husband had hummed a tune.
He also wanted to tell Eleanor how much he appreciated the tree-of-life paperweight Skylar had given him but hesitated, unsure if her uncle knew that she’d seen him the night before and not sure if the news would be welcome. It was impossible to miss his protective vibe. Instead, Cole talked about Eleanor’s exhibit at the gallery and how much he had enjoyed that, although the truth was that it was almost impossible to connect this delicate woman with the powerhouse artist she must really be.
“That endeavor was a labor of love for me,” she said, obviously pleased with his compliments. “When I’m better, I plan to start a new project. This time I want to do volcanoes of the Pacific Rim, like Krakatoa and Pinatubo, and even Mount St. Helens in the Pacific Northwest.”
“I can see I’m going to have to start a collection,” Cole said.
“Perhaps you should ask Mr. Bennett about the table in the drawing room,” Luca said, addressing his wife. “I imagine he could settle its origins once and for all. He must know a lot about antiques.”
“I’m afraid that’s not true,” Cole said. “I’m new to this.”
“What do you mean?” Skylar asked.
“I recently bought into an acquaintance’s business. I was injured overseas, while serving,” he explained to the others. “After I recovered, I needed a new direction, and Martin needed a partner. Right now I’m just learning as I go.”
The butler showed up to announce dinner, and they retired to the dining room, another over-the-top area. Eleanor, as expected, barely touched her meal, and Skylar seemed intent on keeping a light conversation going. Luca appeared content to sit back and watch their interaction.
The goal had been to get close to Luca and find out the truth of that thirty-year-old explosion, but now that he’d wormed his way into the house, Cole wasn’t sure how to proceed. Maybe reminding the man of the one slim bond they’d forged would help. He waited until dinner was almost finished before broaching the subject of Aneta Cazo’s murder, asking once again about leads.
“I hear they have one,” Luca said, setting his napkin aside.
“Can you share the details?”
“There aren’t many,” he said with an elegant shrug, “and none I would care to discuss in front of my wife and niece.”
“Your wife is tired,” Eleanor said, folding her napkin. Her voice did sound strained, suggesting that maybe she was in pain. “It’s time for me to retire.”
“I’ve overstayed,” Cole began, but she cut him off.
“Nonsense. It’s this damn disease, or maybe the treatment is even worse. Stay and talk to Luca.”
“Let me summon your nurse,” Futura said.
“That’s not necessary. Skylar will help me upstairs. Won’t you, dear? And once again, thank you, Cole, for your support yesterday.”
“I was happy to be of service,” he said, and watched as Skylar ushered her aunt from the room.
“Let’s adjourn to my den,” Luca said. “I have a bottle of excellent French brandy.”
“Thanks,” Cole said and fought the impulse to bus his place at the table. All these servants and fancy
Eleanor began singing, her voice a little reedy, and that somehow made the lyrics more poignant. “No worries, my darling, I’ll always be near. No worries forever, just sleep. Tomorrow will dawn with the sun bright and clear. No worries, my darling, just sleep.” She looked up at her husband, and he squeezed her hand. Then she looked at Cole and added, “Luca used to sing that song to Skylar when she was little. Remember, Luca?”
“Yes, I remember,” he said.
Skylar rose and poured her uncle a glass of wine. She handed it to him, and he sat beside his wife while Skylar took a chair so close to Cole he could reach out and touch her. And that’s exactly what he wanted to do. He wanted to get her alone, away from that house, away from the images her aunt had just planted in his head right before her husband had hummed a tune.
He also wanted to tell Eleanor how much he appreciated the tree-of-life paperweight Skylar had given him but hesitated, unsure if her uncle knew that she’d seen him the night before and not sure if the news would be welcome. It was impossible to miss his protective vibe. Instead, Cole talked about Eleanor’s exhibit at the gallery and how much he had enjoyed that, although the truth was that it was almost impossible to connect this delicate woman with the powerhouse artist she must really be.
“That endeavor was a labor of love for me,” she said, obviously pleased with his compliments. “When I’m better, I plan to start a new project. This time I want to do volcanoes of the Pacific Rim, like Krakatoa and Pinatubo, and even Mount St. Helens in the Pacific Northwest.”
“I can see I’m going to have to start a collection,” Cole said.
“Perhaps you should ask Mr. Bennett about the table in the drawing room,” Luca said, addressing his wife. “I imagine he could settle its origins once and for all. He must know a lot about antiques.”
“I’m afraid that’s not true,” Cole said. “I’m new to this.”
“What do you mean?” Skylar asked.
“I recently bought into an acquaintance’s business. I was injured overseas, while serving,” he explained to the others. “After I recovered, I needed a new direction, and Martin needed a partner. Right now I’m just learning as I go.”
The butler showed up to announce dinner, and they retired to the dining room, another over-the-top area. Eleanor, as expected, barely touched her meal, and Skylar seemed intent on keeping a light conversation going. Luca appeared content to sit back and watch their interaction.
The goal had been to get close to Luca and find out the truth of that thirty-year-old explosion, but now that he’d wormed his way into the house, Cole wasn’t sure how to proceed. Maybe reminding the man of the one slim bond they’d forged would help. He waited until dinner was almost finished before broaching the subject of Aneta Cazo’s murder, asking once again about leads.
“I hear they have one,” Luca said, setting his napkin aside.
“Can you share the details?”
“There aren’t many,” he said with an elegant shrug, “and none I would care to discuss in front of my wife and niece.”
“Your wife is tired,” Eleanor said, folding her napkin. Her voice did sound strained, suggesting that maybe she was in pain. “It’s time for me to retire.”
“I’ve overstayed,” Cole began, but she cut him off.
“Nonsense. It’s this damn disease, or maybe the treatment is even worse. Stay and talk to Luca.”
“Let me summon your nurse,” Futura said.
“That’s not necessary. Skylar will help me upstairs. Won’t you, dear? And once again, thank you, Cole, for your support yesterday.”
“I was happy to be of service,” he said, and watched as Skylar ushered her aunt from the room.
“Let’s adjourn to my den,” Luca said. “I have a bottle of excellent French brandy.”
“Thanks,” Cole said and fought the impulse to bus his place at the table. All these servants and fancy
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