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In the library, she set her tablet on the desk, walked over to start the fire.
The tablet greeted her with Steve Holy’s “Good Morning Beautiful.”
“That doesn’t win you points after last night.”
The fire caught with a crackle. Snow might come later, but for now, the sun beamed.
After yesterday’s tests on Anna’s website and social media, she wanted to make a few minor adjustments before she ran another round.
Then she wanted Cleo’s eye on the project.
She lost herself in it, working straight through the morning.
When the doorbell sounded, she jumped, cursed herself, then shoved out of the chair. She rushed downstairs, swung the door open.
And locked her arms around her friend.
“You’re here! I’m so glad you’re here.”
“It took me about ten minutes to shove my eyes back in my head after I saw thishouse, but I’m here. You okay, Son?”
“Yes, yes. Just really glad to see you.”
Sonya pulled her, her suitcase, and her shoulder bag inside.
“Well, oh my God, wow.”
“I know, right?”
“It bears repeating. Wow. This is like… No, it’s like nothing else. Look at that staircase! The chandelier! The floors, the every-freaking-thing. I know I had a video tour, but holy crap, Sonya, actually seeing it.”
“I felt the same way. I think I’m sort of getting used to it, then I realize, no. Not really.”
“I want to see it all.” Cleo pulled off her hat, and her gorgeous hair sprang free. “Every single inch. And this is the murdered bride. Oh, Sonya, she’s so young and beautiful.”
As she took off her coat, Cleo stepped toward the portrait.
“He must have loved her, really loved her, to have this painted after.”
“And hanged himself as soon as it was finished,” Sonya added.
“Which is awful. Tragic all around. But she’s still here, isn’t she? Young and beautiful. So, where do we start?”
“Turret sitting room. Coat closet.”
She hadn’t started a fire in there, or in the front parlor. But in both rooms fires burned cheerfully as she guided Cleo through.
“I have to come up with better thanwow, but I’m sticking with it for now.”
“Let’s take your bag up so you can see where you’re sleeping. We can go through the rest down here later. I picked out your room,” Sonya continued as they started up, “but you can pick another if you want. We got plenty of ’em.”
“You’d have to in this place. The library! Oh yeah, it’s just perfect. What a work space. I’m crazy about it.”
“Me, too.” Or it was making her crazy. Take your pick. “I’m on the other side, end of the hall.”
“Let’s start there, work our way back. Jesus, the length of this hallway! The color, that incredibly rich rose, the arches. Is this his art?”
“A lot of it,” Sonya said as they walked. “But apparently art runs in the family. I’ve found some signed Arthur Poole, Jane Oglebee—who was a Poole—a Leticia Poole Bennett, and so on.”
