I bent down to pick up the fork while they discussed Keystone. Better that they do most of the talking since I didn’t want to upset Viktor by saying something I wasn’t allowed to disclose. Most of it was common sense, but I never liked to make assumptions. When I lifted the tablecloth to search the floor, I blinked in surprise.
Patrick’s little boy sat Indian style beneath the center of the table. It was dark down there, only a little candlelight filtering through the tablecloth. He quickly held a finger to his lips to ask for silence. I did the same to let him know I’d keep his secret. The poor little guy was probably too frightened to come out—not at all the same spirited youngster I remembered from the party. He had a black mask made of fabric over his eyes and a cape around his neck. It reminded me of a period in my youth when I wore a pair of ballerina slippers everywhere, believing they’d magically make me into a dancer. My father told me that I’d inherited both his left feet, and that was why he couldn’t send me to ballet class.
I pointed at the fork. He timidly leaned forward and handed it to me.
When I sat back up in my chair, Patrick was pouring himself a second glass.
“Aye,” he said. “I have a few bottles of Chartreuse left over that I bought a century ago, but it’s a shame I couldn’t preserve any of the ale. Nobody makes it like the monks. Are you a beer drinker, Miss Black?”
“Not really. It’s okay, but if I’m going to drink, I usually want something strong.”
“How’s the wine?”
I lifted the glass. “Delightful.”
No sense in offending our host with the truth that his wine was so bitter that I had to bite my tongue to keep from making a face.
“Perhaps next time I’ll break out the Chartreuse.”
My eyes widened in horror when Shepherd lifted his spoon from the bowl and there was a whole turtle on it. He locked eyes with me for a moment before he put it back and continued eating the soup around it.
There were a lot of things I’d do in life, but eating tiny turtles wasn’t one of them.
“Is something the matter?” Patrick inquired.
My stomach churned as I stared down at my bowl, knowing what lurked beneath.
Shepherd chuckled. “She’s suffering from reptile dysfunction.”
Patrick snapped his fingers, and on command, his servant appeared. “Bring her another plate of the sandwiches.”
“Yes, sir.”
And just like that, my turtle nightmare went away. I reached for one of the cheese trays between Shepherd and me and filled up a small plate.
“This work hasn’t been kind to you,” Patrick said, nodding at the scars on Shepherd’s hands.
Shepherd continued slurping on his soup. “I handle the job just fine.”
I placed a cube of cheese on my leg, and seconds later, I felt a little hand grab it away. It put a smile on my face, and I must have made a sound.
“What amuses you, Miss Black?”
“I just had a tickle in my throat.”
My smile quickly waned when I saw the turtle shell appear again in Shepherd’s bowl.
“Mr. Moon, would you mind if we had a private conversation after dinner? I wasn’t expecting a guest, and I wanted to give you some private words of gratitude.”
I looked between them. “That’s fine. I can wait in the foyer.”
When I pushed my chair back, Patrick stretched out his arm and placed his hand on the table.
“We’ve still got three more courses to go.”
I felt myself turning green. “Oh, that’s… perfect.”
Shepherd coughed and laughed at the same time. My napkin fell to the floor, and when I bent down to pick it up, I saw the little boy had fallen asleep, his hand resting on the toe of Shepherd’s boot.
