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“I imagine. Dennis would know.”
“He would?”
Mira managed a smile as she hurried up the steps. “It’s important. He knows what’s important. I don’t remember the code.” She pressed the buzzer, used the knocker.
When Dennis, disheveled gray hair, baggy pine-colored cardigan, opened the door, Mira grabbed his hands. “Dennis! You are hurt. Why didn’t you tell me?” She took his chin, turned his head to study the raw bruise on his temple. “You angled this away so I wouldn’t see it on the ’link.”
“Now, Charlie. I’m all right. I didn’t want to upset you. Come in out of the cold now, both of you. Eve, thank you for coming. I’m worried about Edward. I’ve been all through the house. He’s just not here.”
“But he was?” Eve prompted.
“Oh, yes. In the study. He was hurt. A black eye, and his mouth was bleeding. I should show you the study.”
When he turned, Mira let out a sound as much of frustration as distress. “Dennis, your head’s bleeding.” He hissed when she reached up to feel the knot. “You come in the living room and sit down, right now.”
“Charlie, Edward—”
“You leave Edward to Eve,” she said, pulling him into a big space that had either been decorated in a severely minimalist style, or several pieces of furniture had been removed. What remained appeared comfortably used and cheerful.
Mira took off her coat, tossed it carelessly aside, then dug into her enormous purse.
Eve got her first real clue why so many women carried handbags the size of water buffalos when Mira pulled a first aid kit out of hers.
“I’m going to clean up these lacerations, and ask Eve to drop us off at the nearest emergency room so you can have this X-rayed.”
“Now, sweetie.” He hissed again when Mira dabbed at the wound with an alcohol wipe, but managed to reach back and pat her leg. “I don’t need X-rays or other doctors when I have you. I just have a bump on the head. I’m as lucid as I ever get.”
Eve caught his smile, sly and sweet, when Mira laughed at that.
“No double vision, no dizziness or nausea,” he assured her. “Maybe a little headache.”
“If, after we get home and I give you a thorough exam—”
This time he turned around, wiggled his eyebrows, and grinned in a way that had Eve swallowing an embarrassed laugh of her own.
“Dennis.” Mira sighed, and cupping his face in her hands, kissed him so softly, so tenderly, that Eve had to look away.
“Ah, maybe you could tell me where to find the study—where you last saw your cousin.”
“I’ll take you back.”
“You’re going to sit right here and behave until I’m finished,” Mira told him. “It’s straight back, Eve, and then on the left. Lots of wood, a big desk and chair, leather-bound books on shelves.”
“I’ll find it.”
She could see where more art had been removed, more furniture—in fact, she found a room empty but for stacks of packing boxes. Yet she didn’t see a single mote of dust, and caught the light scent of lemon as if someone had crushed their blossoms with the air.
She found the study, and at a glance decided nothing—or nothing much—had been taken out of this space.
Organized, attractive with its heavy wood trim, its sturdy masculine furniture and deep tones.
Burgundy and forest, she mused, taking a long look from the doorway. Family photos in black or silver frames, polished plaques from various charitable organizations.
The desk itself still held a coffee-colored leather blotter, matching accessories, and a slick little data and communication center.
Beside the fireplace with its thick mantel stood a bar—small, old, certainly valuable. On it sat two crystal decanters, half full of amber liquid, with silver labels. Whiskey. Brandy.
She moved from the wood floor to the rug stretched on it. The softly faded pattern told her it was likely old and valuable like the bar, like the crystal, like the pocket watch on display under a glass dome.
