Scarlet Nights (Edilean 3)

“I was thinking how much you’re like all the other women I’ve worked with.”

His sarcasm made her feel good. “They didn’t hide with you in trees?”

“No, and they missed a lot. I liked holding you.” When Sara kept looking straight ahead, he added, “And they didn’t want to replace the dogs of some old man they disliked.” Mike had to look away to hide his pleasure at the way the day had gone—and at the way Sara was sitting there frowning. It was the first real dent that had been made in the myth of Greg Anders.

“How about if we take the night off from the case?” he said.

Sara’s eyes brightened. “Watch more movies together?”

“I was thinking that maybe we could go to your apartment and fix dinner over there. You haven’t even shown me your place yet.”

“I guess you forgot that I have no kitchen sink.” She narrowed her eyes at him. “You want to search through everything I own, don’t you?”

“Yeah,” he said, but in such a lascivious way that she laughed.

“Fine with me. You can not only look at the jewelry Aunt Lissie left me, you can try it on.”

“I’d rather you model it for me.”

“After what I heard today about my fiancé, I just might do that.”

Mike’s grin almost cracked his face.

13

EVERYTHING ABOUT SARA’S apartment said “family.” Whereas Tess’s place was like Mike’s, with furniture that had come from stores—preferably in preplanned rooms—he didn’t think Sara owned so much as a dish that hadn’t come through her friends and relatives. And what she’d bought had been carefully chosen because it looked old and worn in that romantic way that women liked.

As soon as she opened the door—unlocked, of course—she ran to her bedroom. But Mike stood in the doorway and stared.

Even though Sara’s living room was shaped like Tess’s, they couldn’t be more different. Sara’s room looked like something off the History Channel titled “Furniture Through the Ages.”

She had a big peach-colored couch with huge rolled arms. Mike wasn’t much of a historian, but he could imagine ladies in long dresses taking tea on that sofa. The chair next to it was nearly as plush and was covered in a flowered fabric. On the other side was a big chair upholstered in old brown leather, and he was sure he’d seen one just like it in some World War II movie.

Around the room were little tables and knickknacks that ran the gamut of years from Thomas Jefferson’s time to the 1980s. Nothing he saw was new.

And everywhere, there were photos in frames. They ranged from so old it looked like Matthew Brady had taken them, to one of Tess on her wedding day. Mike smiled when he saw she was dressed in a dark blue suit that she’d probably later wear to work. He and Tess had been taught frugality and recycling long before it became fashionable. He remembered how hard he’d tried to be there that day, but he’d been tied up—literally.

“So who gave you all of this?” he called to Sara.

“Everybody,” she answered. “There’s a saying in town that if you don’t want it, give it to poor Sara.”

Mike snorted at that. Nothing could be further from the truth because every item had been ca

refully selected. He ran his hand over a small table that had extensions on the sides. He didn’t know much about antiques, but he’d spent a lot of time in rich houses, and he knew Sara’s little table was worth some money. If he’d been dealing with a different criminal he would have said that whatever treasure was being sought was somewhere in this room. But Stefan had lived here with Sara, so he must have seen all this—and known that there was something more valuable elsewhere.

Sara came into the room. She’d showered and changed into a dress of pale blue cotton, and he thought she’d never looked prettier.

Sara walked to Mike and turned her back. “Could you please button me?”

There were about thirty little white buttons down the back of her dress, and he started from the bottom up. Her skin was covered by an old-fashioned slip, and he wondered if she’d also inherited her clothes. “You couldn’t get out of this dress very quickly,” he said, joking, and working very slowly.

“But then that’s the point, isn’t it?”

Mike chuckled. “I guess it is. There. Done. So tell me about your home. Have you ever bought a piece of furniture in your life?”

“No. Just knickknacks. In fact, my dad pays the rent on a big storage unit in Williamsburg that’s full of old furniture and photos that relatives have given me. They like Ikea; I like Edwardian.”

“It sounds like a giant hope chest.”