Chapter
! Eight #
The special elevator that carried them up to the penthouse over Bergstrom’s department store had been opulent with gold-tone mirrors and a pink velvet bench that ran around its perimeter. Hannah had never seen an elevator with seating before, and she was even more impressed when it rose to the fifth floor in one smooth motion and the doors whispered open to reveal even more luxury.
The foyer they stepped into could have graced any one of several five-star hotels. Two walls were covered with a silvery silken material that matched the pillows on the pink and light green silk couches. Wing chairs in light blue silk were grouped around oval-shaped gold tables with mirrored tops, their beveled edges trimmed in gold. The other two walls were made entirely of glass, affording a spectacular view of the pine-dotted snowscape outside.
“Holy Hannah!” Hannah breathed, taking her own name in vain. “This is even better than Teensy’s Penthouse!”
“Better than what?”
“Teensy’s Penthouse. Tracey put it on her Christmas wish list. It’s the hot item this year and all the stores I called are sold out. There was one that had it, but they wanted a hundred and twenty dollars. And that was without Teensy!”
“And Teensy is a doll?”
“She’s not just a doll,” Hannah corrected him. “Teensy is CANDY CANE MURDER
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a fully articulated reproduction of a female child in miniature. She has her own series of children’s books and DVDs, and there’s a Saturday morning cartoon. She’s a little rich girl with a fabulous wardrobe and all sorts of places they call environments like ski chalets, thoroughbred horse farms, and ocean cottages. Teensy lives in the lap of luxury.”
Norman smiled. “Correction. Teensy’s manufacturer lives in the lap of luxury.”
“Sir? Madam?” The same maid who’d answered the door and taken their coats addressed them from the doorway.
“Mrs. Bergstrom will see you now. Please follow me.”
Hannah and Norman were led past priceless artwork and more ornate furniture as they traversed the wide carpeted hallway to an arched doorway near the rear of the penthouse.
“Through here, please,” the maid said, opening the arched door and stepping aside. “Mrs. Bergstrom wishes to meet with you in the indoor garden. She designed it shortly after her marriage and it’s her favorite spot to entertain. Just follow the path to the seating area by the fountain.”
As Hannah and Norman entered the warm, humid space, they gave nearly simultaneous gasps of surprise. It was a tropical paradise filled with exotic plants, ferns, and even trees.
Flowers in riotous colors were blooming everywhere, enough to keep a florist in business for the whole winter season.
“Wow!” Hannah said, turning to Norman. “The only other time I get to see this much green in the winter is on St. Patrick’s Day. This is just like Mother’s orangery.”
“Your mother’s what?”
“Orangery. Mansions in England had them during the Regency period. It was a solarium, an indoor greenhouse, with all sorts of exotic plants, fruit trees, and flowers.”
“I think this probably qualifies,” Norman said, gazing around him. “It’s like a jungle in here. Or maybe a rain forest. I’m not that well acquainted with the difference.”
“It’s paradise,” Hannah said, “especially in the dead of 96
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winter.” It was true. Melinda’s solarium was a paradise requiring only constant temperature and humidity monitoring, and expert gardening. To add to the sensory delights, the indoor garden had two walls and a ceiling made of glass. The frigid winter scene outside was a startling juxtaposition to the lush tropical illusion inside.
“This way,” Norman indicated a path made of smooth round stones. “She said there was a fountain and I can hear falling water.”
Hannah looked down at the stones on the walkway as she followed Norman. She figured they were probably fabricated. As far as she knew, stones were like snowflakes. If you made it your life’s work, you might find two that were exactly the same, but you certainly wouldn’t be lucky enough to find the thousands of identical pebbles it had taken to line Melinda Bergstrom’s solarium walkway.
Hannah hadn’t seen Melinda recently, but the formermodel-turned-wife hadn’t changed one iota. She was seated in a rattan peacock chair by the fountain and she was just as svelte and impeccably groomed as she’d been when she’d strolled down the runway. She was wearing what Hannah assumed was a designer pantsuit made of black velvet that set off her light ash-blond hair and her peaches-and-cream complexion. Her feet were encased in black sandals with stiletto heels, something that gave Hannah pause. Would a grieving widow wear stiletto heels? Perhaps, if she happened to be a former model. But wouldn’t a grieving widow who’d been crying all night and day have swollen eyelids and blotchy cheeks? She’d have to ask Andrea if there was a way to hide prolonged tears with makeup.
“Mrs. Bergstrom.” Norman stepped forward to take Melinda’s outstretched hand. “We’re so sorry for your loss.”
Hannah took her cue from Norman. “This must be a very difficult time for you.”
“Oh, it is. I can’t seem to stop blaming myself. I should CANDY CANE MURDER