Page 28 of Dying to Meet You
“Did Iaskfor your opinion?” His voice is so sharp that I have to draw a slow breath. And then Beatrice replies in a voice too low to hear.
“I cancount, Bea,” he snarls. “But the cops should be done by now. Can’t they get the hell off our lawn?”
Yikes. The second-floor gallery has shockingly good acoustics. The Wincott family must have had a fun time eavesdropping on one another, because I can make out almost every word.
“I’ll ask the cops for an update,” Beatrice says. “But a mandiedout there, Hank. Do you want to be the rich guy who’s getting in the cops’ faces?”
“No, I wantyouto do that.”
I don’t think I’ve ever witnessed Hank losing his temper before. Not even in high school. He was more the kind to charm his way out of a situation. But today he’s worked himself into a real lather.
“You want a job at the mansion? Thenlock this down. Park a damn excavator in front of the police tape if you have to. The goddamnshow is over. Getoff my fucking lawnand get my name out of your fucking headline!”
I’m practically trembling on her behalf, so when she answers in a voice like ice chips, I’m surprised. “Hank. Do not,for one second, pretend like you’re the only one who cares about protecting the family. That’s insulting, especially when you rarely make it through a day without asking me to cover your ass. I said I’m on it. That meansI’m on it.”
Whoa. There can’t be many people who aren’t afraid to push back at Hank Wincott.
“Fine,” he grunts. There’s an extended silence, as if they’re both taking a minute to get their tempers under control. “What other fires need putting out?” he asks. “How’s our architect holding up? Any problems there?”
Once again, I stop breathing.
There’s a pause before Beatrice answers. “Honestly? She’s kind of a mess. But give her a few days. We’ll be back on schedule.”
“As if,” he grumbles. “I need you to deliver a message to her—no speaking to the press. Absolute blackout. We don’t want her describing the murder scene on TV.”
Gosh, you think?
“No problem, Hank.”
“She’s too straightforward, you know? Probably isn’t any good at spin.”
I want to be offended by this, but he’s right. Spin is not my specialty.
“We’ll have a conversation,” Beatrice says firmly. “She’s not a sharer, though. Can you really see Rowan holding court on Channel Four?”
“No. But if she’s stressed out and distracted...”
“Okay. You’ve been heard. I already told you we’ll have a conversation.”
“Thank you.” There’s a tense silence. “What else? Anyone scared? Any issues with the contractors?”
“Lots of whispering. This is worse than the damn ghost stories. But so far everyone has shown up for work. I called the electrician this morning and ordered him to get the new exterior lighting done yesterday. And the security company got here an hour after I rang them. So that’s something.”
A sudden bang startles me. I practically jump out of my skin until I spot the source at my feet—a metal paint scraper that’s somehow leapt off the ladder. I must have bumped it.
Below me, the voices stop. If Hank and Beatrice leave the library, they’ll spot me. Heart pounding, I ease back into the Blue Room.
A moment later, I hear their voices start again, at a murmur this time. I can still feel the tension between them.
I lean against the window and give Poseidon a sulky eye. He’s the part of the mural that’s causing all the trouble. If I move him to the other side of the door, the symmetry will be ruined.
My head pounds, and I can’t remember why I should care about a single thing in this building. The whole place is tainted now.
I want to walk out the front door and never come back.
10
Coralie
