Page 88 of Close Up

“Do whatever you have to do. Please call me as soon as you’ve got something.”

“Of course,” Raina said. “How’s the shoulder?”

Nick glanced at his right shoulder. His shirtsleeve covered the bandage. “Better, thanks. Stitches will come out next week.”

“Lucky it was just a twenty-two. Not much stopping power.”

“I’m hearing that a lot.”

“Oh, one more thing,” Raina said. “You can tell Vivian I happened to walk past the Ashwood Gallery this morning on my way into the office. One of her photos was in the window.”

“She’ll be thrilled.”

“She certainly knows some interesting men,” Raina said.

“Don’t remind me.”

Chapter 43

The following afternoon Nick was drinking coffee with Vivian and Lyra in the hotel gardens when he heard his name.

“Long distance for Mr. Sundridge.” A page dressed in a snappy little cap and the livery of the Pacific Horizon Hotel strode briskly across the terrace, an ornate telephone in his gloved hands. “Long distance for Mr. Sundridge.”

Nick put down his cup and signaled the page. The young man hurried forward, set the telephone on the table, and plugged the cord into a nearby wall jack. He paused to give Rex a couple of pats and then sped off.

Nick picked up the receiver. “This is Sundridge. What have you got for me, Raina?”

Vivian and Lyra put down their cups and listened intently.

“I’ve got some answers,” Raina said, cool satisfaction edging her polished voice. “Luther is here with me. We just finished going through my notes. Jonathan and Edward were the two sons of HaroldFeathergill, a wealthy New Yorker from an old, established family. Harold evidently took his own life when the boys were in their teens.”

“Evidently? The authorities aren’t sure of the cause of death?”

“Officially his death was an accident. He fell from a high window at his summer home. But my contact at a New York newspaper told me that rumors of suicide circulated widely at the time. You know how it is when it comes to suicide. Families go out of their way to cover it up.”

“Right.”

“My contact said there were a few other rumors about Harold Feathergill as well,” Raina continued. “Looks like he may have murdered a housemaid. Her death was listed as accidental, too, but the maid’s family refused to believe it. They claimed he killed the girl with, get this, an antique dagger. He owned a large collection of blades. After his death the collection went to his eldest son, Edward.”

“Who became Morris Deverell,” Nick said. “Like father, like son.”

“It was shortly after the housemaid’s death that Harold Feathergill apparently jumped out a window. However, Mrs. Feathergill was found dead a few months later. This time there was no doubt that it was murder. She was killed by a dagger from her husband’s collection.”

“Edward murdered his own mother.”

“According to the authorities, a madman broke into the house and attacked Mrs. Feathergill, who was home alone at the time. But my contact says people who were acquainted with the family were sure Edward was the madman who murdered her.”

“Were there any rumors about the brother’s mental health?”

“According to my source, Jonathan Feathergill was supposed to be the stable son,” Raina said. “It was said he appeared to have escaped the family curse.”

Nick closed his eyes and took a couple of deep breaths. Raina was just using a casual turn of phrase. He didn’t have a curse, he had very strongintuition. The Sundridge intuition had its downside but a few nightmares and visions did not constitute a curse. He had that ongood authority, first Caleb Jones’s old journal and recently from Vivian. Vivian saw beneath the surface. She would know a curse if she encountered one.

“Nick?” Raina said into his ear. “Are you still there?”

He opened his eyes and found Vivian watching him intently.

She smiled.

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