Mother had left her a note Monday evening that they needed to talk. By the time Martha returned from the lecture, her mother had already gone to bed. Martha hadn’t seen her since.
So she arranged to come home early this evening, but no sign of her mother.
What was going on? Their conversations had been shorter and stiffer than usual. Was that how grief worked? If so, Martha didn’t like it. Not one bit.
It had been much better when her mother had wrapped her arms around Martha and they’d cried together. That was something she could cling to. Understand. But after that one time, the walls between them were even higher. Thicker. Impenetrable.
To make matters worse, Lily Rose kept her distance and had spoken all of twenty words to Martha since her outburst at thelecture. Fifteen of those words had been to ask for an extra day off. Figuring they both needed the space, Martha gave it to her. For all their lack of deep friendship, the rift bothered her, and she didn’t know how to make it right.
The chimes for the doorbell rang and Martha glanced at her watch. Who could that be?
She waited in the library. Her favorite room. Built-in mahogany bookcases lined each wall and were filled to the brim with books.
Knowledge. Information. Answers.
If only she had the answers to all her questions.
Their butler knew where she was if needed, but people didn’t come to see Martha. They came for Antoni or Victoria Jankowski.
She stared out the window as the sun set behind the mountains. Where could her mother be? Not that she usually kept tabs on her, but she’d never gone this long without seeing her. Had she?
Sad. She couldn’t remember.
Martha rubbed the bridge of her nose as the door to the library opened. She turned, expecting her mother, but it was Gerard.
“Miss. There’s a Leonard Foster here to see you.”
“Me?” That was unexpected.
“He came to see the missus, but she’s not here.”
“Why would he want to see me, then?” She swallowed against the dryness that overtook her mouth.
Gerard cleared his throat. “He’s a reporter, miss. Says it’s urgent. About your father.”
A reporter? She blinked. “Um...”
“Shall I send him in? He refuses to leave until he speaks with one of you.” One bushy eyebrow spiked on Gerard’s forehead.
Reaching for the glass of water beside her, she puzzled overthe situation. She took a sip and the cool water bolstered her for a moment. “Please. Send him in.”
Their butler ushered the man in and made introductions.
But as soon as Leonard Foster entered the room, Martha smelled a rat. His top hat was scuffed, and when he removed it, he gave an all-too-pretentious bow. His smile was as oily as his hair.
She forced a cool greeting. “What can I do for you, Mr. Foster?”
“Ah, the young socialite wishes to give me the cold shoulder. Just like your parents.” He sauntered awfully close and pointed his top hat in her direction.
Gerard paused at the door and stayed.
Martha appreciated that and sent the man a pleading look. “You have one minute to state your business, Mr. Foster, before I am forced to have you removed from my property.”
“Spirited, too. Like your mother.” He sauntered his way around the room. “I won’t take up your time. I simply came here to get a comment from you for an article I’m writing.”
“I doubt I will have anything to comment, Mr. Foster. Now if you will please—”
“Was your father ever prosecuted for blowing up priceless fossils at a dinosaur dig in Wyoming?”
