Okay, so it was entirely different than my house in the French Quarter. Maybe I could get used to living in a place like this.
Chuckling, I explored the rest of the downstairs, making a pitstop in the kitchen. Ah, my brand of whiskey. Maybe this wouldn’t be so bad after all.
Noticing a note on the counter, I grimaced. Instructions.
Mr. Prince,
I hope you find everything you need as I tried to anticipate your preferences. You’ll find clean linen on the bed in the master,fresh towels and other toiletries. I’ve left my number in case you discover any maintenance needs. Don’t hesitate to call. I’d pretty handy with most things.
Bart
Well, Bart. I certainly hope I don’t need your services.But at least there was contact. I was curious how much anyone knew about our family as the house was owned by a shell company, as were all our other properties. You could never be too careful.
Or too rich.
Chuckling from the thought, I confirmed that the fridge was stocked with enough food I could eat like a king, and the pantry as well, the room larger than many bedrooms I’d seen. Satisfied I wouldn’t go hungry, I returned to the living room, also impressed at the stereo system positioned against one wall.
My mom and dad had adored listening to records when we were growing up. Actual LPs. Their collection of music was inspiring. Maybe that’s why I selected my mother’s favorite classical but more contemporary artist, George Winston. His piano music was haunting, brilliant, and surreal.
Maybe it was exactly what I needed at this point to clear my head.
Or abate the vigilant, oppressive silence.
I stood in the middle of the room, slowly turning in a circle. The space cried out for a massive twenty-foot fully decorated Christmas tree, swags of garland running across the stone mantel and around every doorway. It was picture perfect likesome sappy holiday card where family members gathered, all wearing the same ridiculous pajamas.
At least the tradition hadn’t caught on in our family. Instead of holly and mistletoe, there would have been gris-gris and other herbs to keep the demons at bay.
After taking a swig of my drink and depositing the glass on the coffee table, I yanked off my jacket and tie, tossing them aside. The instant chill in the air reminded me once again of where I’d be spending several days. Maybe four or five. After that, I’d convince Alexander I’d experienced an attitude adjustment.
Jesus Christ, it was freezing inside. A fire. That’s what I needed, a roaring fire in the big stone fireplace. Only there wasn’t any wood positioned in the holder. Somehow, I doubted it was a gas fireplace, which meant I’d need to look outside. And here I thought Bart had taken care of everything.
Before I had a chance to throw open the back door, my phone rang.
Another taunt, no doubt. “Don’t start with me, brother. I already can’t stand the place.”
Alexander’s chuckling snort caused me to roll my eyes. “I take it you’ve arrived.”
“Yeah. To snow. I hate snow. You know that.”
“As I said, it’ll do you good. You need to get some dirt under your fingernails.”
“Dirt? You mean ice. But yeah, I’m here.”
“Good. Glad to know you’re safe and sound. Did Bart fill up the fridge?”
“Yeah, Bart did. He also announced my arrival to the entire goddamn town.”
Hearing Alexander’s controlled laugh was typical. “How so?”
“Maybe not the entire town, but to one woman in particular who decided to make it her mission to drive me fucking nuts as soon as I arrived. But how am I supposed to blend in when your buddy Bart is telling the world I arrived?”
“A woman, eh?” He was finding it difficult to keep from laughing hard at my expense.
“Not what you think in the least. Some flake who chastised me for breathing.”
“I like her already.” His hesitation was typical just before he shifted the conversation into business. “Remember the safe room and ammunition supply in case you need it. Hopefully, you memorized the entrance code as well.”
His statement seemed as off as his tone. “Yeah, of course. What’s going on? Don’t lie to me. You suck at it, brother.”
