* * *
Noway.
Gideon couldn’t believe it.
He’d taken such great pains to not mention to his grandfather and Iva where he intended to go this evening—in fact, he’d made sure not to discuss the Valente case in any detail at all in the last week, and he’d certainly not mentioned the spread in thePress.
But it was all for naught, for whom did he see the minute he walked into Charmed Antiquity?
And with whom was Iva having, by the looks of it, one hell of an interesting conversation?
“Damn,” he muttered under his breath, pausing in the doorway of the shop.
For a moment, he was actually torn as to whether he should slip out before he was noticed, or brave the tidal wave of questions that was sure to follow. But then he saw another unwanted figure, and his mind was quickly made up. He was staying.
Gideon sauntered casually over to Brad Forth. “Well, now, Forth, fancy seeing you here. I thought you’d be out fund-raising or at least stumping for votes. It’s getting pretty close to the election.”
The other man was holding a glass of red wine, and he frowned, moving it in the barest of greetings toward him. “Nath.” His gaze flickered toward Fiona, who was still chatting with Iva, then back around the room. “She’s done a nice job with the place,” he commented. “I told her food would be a nice touch—it adds a bit of elegance to the affair. Too bad she couldn’t afford a live harpist.”
So she’d been taking advice from the smarmy politician, had she? Gideon managed to control a sneer, but barely.
Instead of responding, he took a moment to actually look around the shop and see what she’d done to it.
The place had become inviting and warm. It was charmingly cluttered in an eclectic fashion that somehow made sense. Fresh flowers, trailing plants, or succulents graced nearly every gleaming, polished surface. There were countless sources of light illuminating the place with a soft, golden glow: glittering chandeliers, colorful Tiffanys, twinkling string lights, elegant sconces, Japanese lanterns of all shapes and sizes, and dangling Art Deco pendants. Some tinkling, New Age music provided a suitable, subtle background—although Gideon thought a string trio would have been even nicer than a harpist.
More importantly, the place was filled with people milling about as they sipped beverages and nibbled on tapas. As he finished his perusal, he noticed a large, brightly-colored object descended from the stairway near the back of the shop.
“Isn’t that Mrs. Ruthven?” he asked Forth. “Your cousin, Viola?”
The politician turned just as the object materialized into the carrot-red hair of a woman sheathed in what appeared to be a multi-colored quilt, followed by a slender but just as colorfully dressed figure of a man. “It is. I hadn’t noticed they were here,” he said dismissively.
“It’s hard to miss that,” Gideon muttered, eying the couple.
At the reading of the will and during their subsequent meetings with him, the two had been dressed in similar clothing of screaming colors and unusual design. He’d learned through their conversations that they owned a small boutique in Traverse City that carried items such as the ones they wore today. Viola’s dress appeared to be little more than a shiny bedspread with beads and fluorescent embroidery embellishing its hem, and Rudy wore a man’s vest of ornate damask pieces patchworked together.
But apparently, somehow, their boutique was highly successful—and had been profiled inMidwest Livingas well as several other national magazines. A number of celebrities had even been photographed wearing what amounted to eyesore quilts and blankets.
For the life of him, Gideon couldn’t understand how anyone found the style attractive, but, he acknowledged, it took all kinds.
“Why hello, Mr. Nath!” Viola trilled as she steamrolled her way over to them. “And Bradley, darling. Why I didn’t even see you here.” She seemed a bit out of breath and fluttered a plump, lily-white hand at her throat. “We just had to see what was hiding upstairs,” she gushed.
Her husband came up behind her and gave Gideon a brief handshake. “Nothing up there but a bunch of dust and an old table or two,” he said. “Don’t know why we had to waste our time up there in all the dust, but you know how women are.” His chuckle sounded too hearty. “What are you doing here, Brad?”
“And there’s Uncle Arnold,” Forth pointed out, neatly avoiding answering the question.
Gideon turned, and sure enough, there was the well-dressed investment banker with the gelled-back hair, emerging from the dim rear of the shop.
They were all here. All of Nevio Valente’s heirs.
For some reason, that bothered Gideon.
He glanced over at his grandfather and saw Fiona leaning toward Iva, looking down at something she was probably holding while Gideon Senior looked on.
He wondered if his grandfather’s instincts about Valente’s estate—and the man himself—were correct. Now that the man was dead, it would be just the time for ugly secrets to come out.
Then, just as quickly, his uneasiness left and he berated himself for allowing his grandfather to put wild ideas into his head. The remaining family of Nevio Valente was most likely simply interested in seeing what had become of their relative’s shop—and were probably simply curious about the stranger who’d inherited it.
“Well, we’ll be going now,” Rudy said, extending a hand to Arnold.
