Wes glanced at Octavia, who had made herself at home in the corner of a cabinet surrounded by vases. “If you break it, you buy it,” he warned her.
He must be losing it, talking to Octavia. At least Erma listened, tilting her head to the side whenever he asked her a question. He returned to his examination of the room, which had to be one of his favorites. Winter-nude branches were painted on the pale pink wallpaper and climbed up the ceiling toward a large chandelier with peacock heads for the lights. Small birds sat on the branches, looking so lively it was like the artist caught them midsong. A large daybed covered in dark blue cushions sat on one wall, and matching portraits of a Qing couple in full court dress were displayed above.
He’d looked through and under the bed. Behind the picture frames. Checked inside the vases and under the rosewood chairs. That left one thing, the huge Italian-style bureau that had been lacquered a deep crimson and was a perfect hiding place for a secretive old woman with a perverse sense of humor. The drawers curved out in a smooth belly, each painted with a different scene of junks at a Chinese harbor, and seemed to contain nothing but unused linen place mats.
He couldn’t see any clues to Dot’s book or her mystery, so he sat in a chair and considered declaring this room done. But he kept looking at that cabinet. “Who does this kind of thing?” he asked Octavia.
Dot Voline did. Had the Agatha Christie story given her the idea in the first place, or was it simply a coincidence? Good old Miss Marple. She would be able to figure out what to do.
Then he slapped himself on the head. She had.
Going back to the cabinet, he emptied out the top drawer again and felt around the back. There it was: a small hole. He grabbed a letteropener shaped like a dagger and used the sharp end to poke carefully until there was a slight click and the bottom of the drawer popped up.
“Nadine,” he called, a bunch of newspaper clippings in his hand. “Have you found anything yet, or am I the only one?”
Her scream of fury was gratifying. They might be getting along, but it was still nice to win.
***
Later, Wes watched Nadine walk away after showing off her latest clue.
The woman was addicted to sundresses, and this one had little straps over her shoulders. The skirt reached past her knees but had a disconcerting way of hiking up when she sat or bent over. He refused to let himself linger on this, although he’d looked enough to know she had a birthmark on her right thigh that he could swear was shaped like a rabbit. He wanted to look closer to confirm it. He wanted to sink his fingers into those thighs. He wanted…
Whoa, what the hell. No, he didn’t, although Wes hadn’t missed her very flattering reaction when she’d seen him shirtless. Her eyes had run up and down his body like a physical touch, making all those hours in the gym suddenly worth it, and he’d had to step behind a box to cover his reaction. He couldn’t let that happen again. This was Nadine. Not his enemy anymore, but also not entirely anything else. Their relationship was a shifting liminal zone that wavered between colleagues, irritants, and potential friends. That they worked so well together threw him for a loop. It didn’t seem right that they should fit, yet they did.
Regardless, she was definitely off-limits, at least until this investigation was done. He didn’t need to muddy already murky waters, especially since he was thinking about Nadine far more than he was about the secrets in Dot’s house. Gritting his teeth, he left the room and found a fresh cupboard to turn inside out.
***
Two days of searching later, Nadine was in the porcelain room trying not to break anything as she put the rug back in place after confirming there was no trapdoor. Last night, Wes had suggested they hold a séance to ask Dot about the secret basement entrance, and although she’d laughed at him, she thought he might be onto something. Finding it was clearly beyond the ability of living beings. At least they were getting along, much to her astonishment. Their work styles meshed well, and despite the frustration of searching hour after hour, they had managed to not take it out on each other. This was unexpected but welcome.
Sighing, she surveyed the room. There were vases and figurines, teapots and plates, and a sewing kit with china needles. Anything that could be made from clay and fired was on display in styles from around the world. It was a collection fit for a museum.
She picked up a photo from a side table, never having seen a porcelain frame before. Forget-me-nots were painted around a black-and-white studio portrait of a smiling woman that might be Dot in the 1970s. When she took the photo out, there was nothing hidden, although a small stamp read “Werner and Knapp, Ottawa.” She brought it to the library table in triumph and went to the kitchen to draw a point on her tally.
“Getting there,” said Wes as he passed by. “Almost.”
He added another one to his side and grinned at her. Nadine should have been annoyed. She was annoyed. She loved winning, and the only thing better than winning was winning against Wes.
But she couldn’t help smiling back.
Twenty-seven
At one in the morning, Wes flipped his pillow over for the sixth time, looking for the ever-elusive cold side. There was none. Despite the fans beating through the soupy humidity, nothing in the house was cool, let alone cold. Janice the cheetah’s crooked eye looked more sunken as the days passed.
He pushed away Erma, who had taken to curling up beside him at night, her fur sticking to his sweaty skin, and sprawled on the bed to consider his options. Sleeping in the library might be more comfortable, and he would feel like a Regency gentleman who had too much punch. If he took a bath, he could soak until he was cold and wrinkled.
Then he sat up. He was thinking like a poor man when he should be thinking like a rich one who had access to his own personal grotto. He didn’t have swim trunks, but that didn’t matter. It was one of the benefits of living, however briefly, on an estate with no near neighbors. He’d get some beer and go for a swim.
A few minutes later, he was working his way through the mini forest behind the house, and thirty seconds after that, he’d put his clothes on a chair and was floating bare-ass naked in the late Dot Voline’s swimminggrotto. It was heaven. Pure, unadulterated heaven. He swam to the waterfall and let it hammer down on him, the thunderous roar blocking out the heat, the tension, and everything negative until his mind felt clear.
Time for that drink. He moved into the pool from under the falls, swiping at his face to get rid of the water. The scream came before he had his eyes open, and he lost his footing in shock, causing him to fall back under the waterfall and come up sputtering.
It was Nadine. Topless, by the looks of it, since she had her hands clasped over her chest like the woman on the stripping album. The second they locked eyes, they both dropped down in the pool to their chins. The moonlight covered the water with a white glitter that hid everything under the surface.
“What are you doing creeping around at night, you sneak?” Nadine hissed.
“I could ask you the same thing.”
