AllFreeNovel
Share Us
“Yes, we are,” Ian agreed.
And then he carried on.
“And until we figure this out, I don’t want any of the women in this house alone and always carry your phone. Mum, take the women somewhere then text me where you are. Dad. Danny. You’re with me.”
And on that, he marched out.
Thirty-Four
THE PORT ROOM
Lady Jane, Portia and I were in the Port Room.
Portia and I were watching mindless TV. Lady Jane was playing solitaire on her phone.
It had been hours since I told Ian about the flute. Lady Jane had asked for lunch to be served up there, and then she’d ordered up popcorn, which Portia and I had decimated.
Now, it was getting late, and my relief was extreme when, finally, the door opened and Ian, Daniel and Richard walked into the room.
“I’ve talked to Bonnie,” Richard said immediately to his wife. “We’re going to have an informal dinner in the Viognier Room this evening.”
“Good idea,” Lady Jane replied, putting her hands to the arms of her chair and pushing up to her feet. “When?”
“Same time. Seven fifteen,” Richard told her.
I looked to my phone.
It was six forty-four.
“I’m going to freshen up,” Lady Jane murmured, and swept from the room, Richard following.
“Me too,” Portia said, hopping up. “See you at dinner,” she bid, and she, too, left, Daniel trailing.
Ian came in and folded beside me.
I grabbed the remote, turned off the TV, then shifted my attention to him.
He raked his hand through his hair, which made some of it fall to his forehead in a way that made him appear boyish and cute, a new look to be listed among many I considered my favorites.
I had no time to enjoy how adorable he looked.
I demanded, “Talk to me.”
“We found things,” he told the coffee table. He turned to me. “A lot of things.”
My blood ran cold.
“What things?”
He settled deeper into the couch and twisted my way.
“To preface this, quite a bit of the top floor is storage. If we didn’t have so much room to put things, the Alcott family as a whole over the generations would be considered hoarders. Aunt Louisa’s work could be so thorough because she had generations of Alcott debris to sift through. Over the years, very little was discarded.”
“All right,” I said.
“Therefore, we found a pair of velvet slippers sitting beside the bed in the Jacaranda Room. They’re monogrammed. WAA. William Albert Alcott.”
“Oh shit,” I mumbled. “Was that his room?”
