out onto the back porch, looking to make sure the field crew was safe. Several heartbeats passed before Faye appeared. It was a shock to realize how very slowly she moved these days.
Joe barked at Levon and Kirk to hustle themselves to the house. He felt responsible for them, and he knew that Faye wasn’t going to retreat into the safety of Dunkirk Manor until she knew her crew was safe, too.
The sirens hadn’t stopped and, even in the large empty yard, he was worried. The tall brick wall surrounding it was sturdy enough, but he knew that Daniel and Suzanne left the iron gate onto the street open around the clock. Rain had washed soil around the base of the gate and clumps of grass grew out of that soil. It had been years since the gate had been closed, probably more years than Daniel and Suzanne had owned Dunkirk Manor. In this neighborhood and in this fortress of a house, crime seemed a distant worry. Yet the sirens continued to sound.
Who knew why the police had descended upon this street?
***
Faye let Joe help her find a seat in the crowded living room of Suzanne and Daniel’s private quarters, which took up the entire streetside half of Dunkirk Manor’s second story. The Wrathers had asked their employees to wait there while they dealt with questions from worried guests, who were gathered in the home’s two dining rooms.
Suzanne had obviously redecorated the owner’s suite to her own taste. The upholstered furniture was leather-covered and Scandinavian in design, and the wooden end tables were sleek and light. The crisp window hangings were striped in white and cornflower blue. Though simple, everything in the room was elegant and obviously expensive.
Only the artwork looked like it belonged in Dunkirk Manor. Judging by the gilt frames, which matched those in the atrium and the entry hall, Faye would say that they were part of the early twentieth-century collection that dominated the house with its color and energy. They were all full-body portraits, and the faces were expressive and finely wrought, but the poses were vaguely unnatural and disturbing. Combined with the flashing blue lights on the street below, the paintings made Faye feel even more creeped out. However, on the dubious strength of four graduate classes in art history, Faye would say that many of the works were of museum quality.
The elegantly appointed room overlooked the front yard, which meant that everyone sitting inside could look down on the cluster of police cars out front. Faye was sitting on a settee overcrowded with nervous people, so her right side was jammed against the front wall. She could look down and watch the police as they looked everywhere for…something.
The wall was cold against her cheek, reminding her that Dunkirk Manor was made by a building technique firmly associated with St. Augustine: poured concrete. The wall was utterly solid beneath its generous coating of plaster and blue paint. She shifted her head, leaning it on the wall behind her. It, too, had the solid feel of poured concrete. This house would stand until Doomsday.
The five archaeologists plus little Rachel and the babysitter, added to two chambermaids, a cook, and a hostess, filled the living room to capacity. Gossip couldn’t have failed to flow in a room that full. Ordinarily, Faye hated gossip, but she made exceptions at times like this.
The cook whispered that Glynis had failed to show up for work. Faye heard one of the chambermaids add that the gardener was being questioned, because he’d found Glynis’ car in the lot reserved for staff parking. The car was where it was supposed to be, but Glynis wasn’t.
***
Joe was thinking like a predator.
People were saying that Glynis had gone missing from the staff parking lot. Being a hunter, he compulsively focused on how this could have happened. The lot was on Dunkirk Manor’s grounds, inside the brick wall that enclosed the rear garden where the archaeological crew was working. It was
Joe barked at Levon and Kirk to hustle themselves to the house. He felt responsible for them, and he knew that Faye wasn’t going to retreat into the safety of Dunkirk Manor until she knew her crew was safe, too.
The sirens hadn’t stopped and, even in the large empty yard, he was worried. The tall brick wall surrounding it was sturdy enough, but he knew that Daniel and Suzanne left the iron gate onto the street open around the clock. Rain had washed soil around the base of the gate and clumps of grass grew out of that soil. It had been years since the gate had been closed, probably more years than Daniel and Suzanne had owned Dunkirk Manor. In this neighborhood and in this fortress of a house, crime seemed a distant worry. Yet the sirens continued to sound.
Who knew why the police had descended upon this street?
***
Faye let Joe help her find a seat in the crowded living room of Suzanne and Daniel’s private quarters, which took up the entire streetside half of Dunkirk Manor’s second story. The Wrathers had asked their employees to wait there while they dealt with questions from worried guests, who were gathered in the home’s two dining rooms.
Suzanne had obviously redecorated the owner’s suite to her own taste. The upholstered furniture was leather-covered and Scandinavian in design, and the wooden end tables were sleek and light. The crisp window hangings were striped in white and cornflower blue. Though simple, everything in the room was elegant and obviously expensive.
Only the artwork looked like it belonged in Dunkirk Manor. Judging by the gilt frames, which matched those in the atrium and the entry hall, Faye would say that they were part of the early twentieth-century collection that dominated the house with its color and energy. They were all full-body portraits, and the faces were expressive and finely wrought, but the poses were vaguely unnatural and disturbing. Combined with the flashing blue lights on the street below, the paintings made Faye feel even more creeped out. However, on the dubious strength of four graduate classes in art history, Faye would say that many of the works were of museum quality.
The elegantly appointed room overlooked the front yard, which meant that everyone sitting inside could look down on the cluster of police cars out front. Faye was sitting on a settee overcrowded with nervous people, so her right side was jammed against the front wall. She could look down and watch the police as they looked everywhere for…something.
The wall was cold against her cheek, reminding her that Dunkirk Manor was made by a building technique firmly associated with St. Augustine: poured concrete. The wall was utterly solid beneath its generous coating of plaster and blue paint. She shifted her head, leaning it on the wall behind her. It, too, had the solid feel of poured concrete. This house would stand until Doomsday.
The five archaeologists plus little Rachel and the babysitter, added to two chambermaids, a cook, and a hostess, filled the living room to capacity. Gossip couldn’t have failed to flow in a room that full. Ordinarily, Faye hated gossip, but she made exceptions at times like this.
The cook whispered that Glynis had failed to show up for work. Faye heard one of the chambermaids add that the gardener was being questioned, because he’d found Glynis’ car in the lot reserved for staff parking. The car was where it was supposed to be, but Glynis wasn’t.
***
Joe was thinking like a predator.
People were saying that Glynis had gone missing from the staff parking lot. Being a hunter, he compulsively focused on how this could have happened. The lot was on Dunkirk Manor’s grounds, inside the brick wall that enclosed the rear garden where the archaeological crew was working. It was
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