a lizard, and not the cute one from the commercials.
For a split second, I thought we’d be escorted out. No Ngaio Marsh collection for this motley crew. Here’s your hat. What’s your hurry?
After a brief pause, Chadwick extended a slender, limphand to Vera. I was relieved she didn’t bite it, but returned his handshake like a normal person. Not a fan of lizards. I barely refrained from a shiver. Chadwick offered a bored nod of acknowledgment to me and to Kev. We were, after all, the help and merited only the minimum attention. His cologne stung my eyes. It smelled like entitlement
.
I didn’t care if we were just the help. We were included in the lunch, as was Miss Troy. I did feel Miss Troy was higher up the food chain than we were.
The butler’s name was Thomas, it turned out, and he was there to serve. Thomas had a talent for mimosas. They were perfect and served, naturally, in sparkling crystal. Although the mimosas may have relaxed us slightly, they didn’t lead to anything approaching merriment.
Summerlea might have been a getaway, but it had a somber, dignified air to it. The staircase may have been magnificent, but I couldn’t image that solemn Chadwick had ever slid down that shiny banister shrieking with laughter. I bet he’d been an aloof and withdrawn child. He’d probably spent most of his childhood sunning himself on a warm rock.
Conversation sputtered along.
Chadwick asked Vera about her collection.
“It’s not bad,” Vera said. “Coming along.” That was an understated way to describe the treasured volumes in the climate-controlled library with its security system, Aubusson carpets, rosewood furniture and bookshelves and wrought-iron circular staircase leading to the second floor. Of course, Vera was crying poor on the off chance, in the end, the price for the Ngaio Marsh collection could dip a bit in her favor.
Chadwick tilted his narrow head and gazed at her speculatively. I figured he had her number. Sometimes, playing games can actually cost you money. Vera wanted that collection the way she wanted to keep breathing.
“Tell us about the collection here at Summerlea,” I said, being careful not to chirp.
He glanced at me briefly before saying, “What do you want to know?”
“What did your uncle collect? Fine firsts? Other mysteries?” Those were Vera’s passions, and she favored the authors from the Golden Age of Detection. Of course, Ngaio Marsh had been one of the giants of that era.
I guessed that Chadwick didn’t appreciate an interruption from one of the minions. He gave a tight smile that went nowhere near those hooded eyes. “He collected many things, including certain authors. Marsh was a favorite, although he leaned toward American classic mysteries. He had some Hammetts and Chandlers.”
There had been nothing about Magnus Kauffman’s reading habits in anything I’d read.
“Did he keep his books here in Summerlea?” I wondered about the climate-controlled conditions. My guess was that Summerlea wasn’t open all year round and that we were the first through the door at the end of winter. Would it be damp? “Damp” was a four-letter word in our business.
He flicked an annoyed glance in my direction. “No. The books are at the residence in Manhattan. There is a special room for them for the time being. Some were singled out in the will for the New York Public Library, Rare Book Division. If
Miss Van Alst
would be interested in seeing the others sometime before they are on their way, we could certainly arrange for
her
to visit.”
If Uncle Kev noticed that we were pointedly not invited to visit the city residence, he gave no indication. Instead, he held out his empty mimosa glass. Thomas refilled it, with his eyebrows raised. And here I’d thought butlers were supposed to keep their reactions under wraps.
“I don’t travel,” Vera was saying, dismissively. It must have been difficult for her to look so uninterested, because of course, she would
For a split second, I thought we’d be escorted out. No Ngaio Marsh collection for this motley crew. Here’s your hat. What’s your hurry?
After a brief pause, Chadwick extended a slender, limphand to Vera. I was relieved she didn’t bite it, but returned his handshake like a normal person. Not a fan of lizards. I barely refrained from a shiver. Chadwick offered a bored nod of acknowledgment to me and to Kev. We were, after all, the help and merited only the minimum attention. His cologne stung my eyes. It smelled like entitlement
.
I didn’t care if we were just the help. We were included in the lunch, as was Miss Troy. I did feel Miss Troy was higher up the food chain than we were.
The butler’s name was Thomas, it turned out, and he was there to serve. Thomas had a talent for mimosas. They were perfect and served, naturally, in sparkling crystal. Although the mimosas may have relaxed us slightly, they didn’t lead to anything approaching merriment.
Summerlea might have been a getaway, but it had a somber, dignified air to it. The staircase may have been magnificent, but I couldn’t image that solemn Chadwick had ever slid down that shiny banister shrieking with laughter. I bet he’d been an aloof and withdrawn child. He’d probably spent most of his childhood sunning himself on a warm rock.
Conversation sputtered along.
Chadwick asked Vera about her collection.
“It’s not bad,” Vera said. “Coming along.” That was an understated way to describe the treasured volumes in the climate-controlled library with its security system, Aubusson carpets, rosewood furniture and bookshelves and wrought-iron circular staircase leading to the second floor. Of course, Vera was crying poor on the off chance, in the end, the price for the Ngaio Marsh collection could dip a bit in her favor.
Chadwick tilted his narrow head and gazed at her speculatively. I figured he had her number. Sometimes, playing games can actually cost you money. Vera wanted that collection the way she wanted to keep breathing.
“Tell us about the collection here at Summerlea,” I said, being careful not to chirp.
He glanced at me briefly before saying, “What do you want to know?”
“What did your uncle collect? Fine firsts? Other mysteries?” Those were Vera’s passions, and she favored the authors from the Golden Age of Detection. Of course, Ngaio Marsh had been one of the giants of that era.
I guessed that Chadwick didn’t appreciate an interruption from one of the minions. He gave a tight smile that went nowhere near those hooded eyes. “He collected many things, including certain authors. Marsh was a favorite, although he leaned toward American classic mysteries. He had some Hammetts and Chandlers.”
There had been nothing about Magnus Kauffman’s reading habits in anything I’d read.
“Did he keep his books here in Summerlea?” I wondered about the climate-controlled conditions. My guess was that Summerlea wasn’t open all year round and that we were the first through the door at the end of winter. Would it be damp? “Damp” was a four-letter word in our business.
He flicked an annoyed glance in my direction. “No. The books are at the residence in Manhattan. There is a special room for them for the time being. Some were singled out in the will for the New York Public Library, Rare Book Division. If
Miss Van Alst
would be interested in seeing the others sometime before they are on their way, we could certainly arrange for
her
to visit.”
If Uncle Kev noticed that we were pointedly not invited to visit the city residence, he gave no indication. Instead, he held out his empty mimosa glass. Thomas refilled it, with his eyebrows raised. And here I’d thought butlers were supposed to keep their reactions under wraps.
“I don’t travel,” Vera was saying, dismissively. It must have been difficult for her to look so uninterested, because of course, she would
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