Now that we were alone, I gave my daughter an apologetic smile, which she returned with a skeptical look.
“All right, Mama. Out with it.”
Cleo had far more sense than I did at her age, likely becauseI had not been able to shelter her from the harsher realities of life. I swallowed the guilt that usually accompanied such thoughts.
“We met by chance when I went out for the evening with Aunt Delia,” I explained. “And we have seen each other a few times since then.”
Her expression lightened, and I knew what she was thinking. “But, that’s wonderful.”
I shook my head. “It’s not like that.” I glanced back to make sure Tommy was out of earshot, and sure enough, he was still at the table, piling a plate with far more than one biscuit. I quickly turned away, as I could deal with only so much at once. “Your aunt was in a bit of trouble, and Mr. Dorian was kind enough to help.”
But Cleo only narrowed her eyes. “What kind of trouble?”
“She was being courted by a man who was … murdered,” I said, trying to sound unbothered.
This, unsurprisingly, did not work on my daughter. Cleo leaned forward. “Mama,” she hissed quietly, “you were almost killed the last time you tried to investigate a murder. Don’t tell me you are doing itagain.”
For one brief moment, I considered lying to her, but knew I could never fool Cleo. That girl could have broken the leader of the Spanish Inquisition. “This isn’t like last time—”
“No.”
“I’m being careful,” I insisted.
But Cleo was unrepentant. She sat back in her chair and crossed her arms. “Then make him do it.”
I let out a sigh. “I was trying to protect your aunt. The police were treating her as a suspect, and I was worried that she would be arrested.”
Cleo’s frown softened slightly. “And now?”
“I think they have determined that only a man could be the murderer.”
“So then there’s no need for you to continue,” she said, with a hopeful look in her eyes that broke my heart.
I shook my head. “No, darling. There’s more.” I paused to take a sip of tea, and because I was a bit of a coward. Cleo waited patiently while I gathered my nerves. “I’ve begun to suspect that there may be some connection to your father and the work he was doing in Greece.”
She blinked as she absorbed my meaning and finally let out a softOh. “Do you mean at the embassy?”
I held her hopeful gaze. “I’m not entirely sure yet.”
That was technically true, as I had yet to determine if Oliver had used his official position to gain entry into a black-market antiquities ring or if it was merely something he had cultivated outside the office. I grimaced at the thought. But thehowdidn’t matter. I was far more concerned with thewhyand whether this had somehow played a role in his death. I could barely bring myself to even conceive of such a thought. To consider that years of pain, both my own and my children’s, could have been avoided if Oliver had only behaved differently. But there was also still a sliver of hope. A possibility that this was all a part of some massive misunderstanding and that, even in death, my husband was still the man I had believed him to be. It was that possibility that fueled me now, even in the face of my daughter’s entirely understandable concern.
Cleo worried her lip. “Can’t you tell someone else to look into it? What about Uncle Jack.”
I let out a mirthless laugh. I couldn’t trust Jack. He seemed far more concerned with suppressing any possible connection to scandal than uncovering the truth. And I was certain he would destroy any evidence he did manage to find, whether it absolved Oliver or not.
“No. I’m sorry, Cleo. But it has to be me. Ihaveto do this,” I said with more force than I meant.
Yet it had the desired effect as Cleo reluctantly nodded. “I understand.”
“Thank you. And I promise, I will be careful.”
“All right,” she said, not sounding the least bit convinced.
I longed to give her more reassurance, but nothing short of swearing to stay home every evening darning socks would do. And I simply couldn’t promise that.
“Will you at least tell me what you find? Even if … even if I might not like it?”
As I took in the apprehension in her eyes, my heart broke. While Tommy barely remembered Oliver, Cleo had idolized him. I suddenly wondered if I was being horribly selfish in pursuing this. For it wasn’t only my image of Oliver that was at stake, but the children’s as well. I hadn’t felt this uncertain since I was trying to decide whether to stay in our home or move closer to the center of Corfu Town after Oliver died. But, in the end, I had decided to honor my late husband and remain in the home we had shared as a family. Now I was choosing to do something that threatened to ruin those last memories.
