“Elizabeth is one of my favorite names,” Mom said fondly. “A classical, solid name for a woman.”
Her comment was interesting, considering she’d named her girls Brooklyn, Savannah, China, and London, after the cities in which we were conceived or born. But I wasn’t about to bust her chops in front of Trudy. I’d save it for the drive home.
Trudy handed the e-mail to Mom to read, while I glanced around the room, trying to be nonchalant. I couldn’t see the sculpture anywhere, but there were so many objects on every available surface, including several small shelves affixed to the walls that held fancy commemorative teacups and such. I turned in my chair to search again, scanning the shelves on either side of the fireplace and the mantel. And there it was! The marble piece I’d been hoping to see.
Now that Trudy had rediscovered the missing twin bookend, she had cleared a miniscule section in the middle of the mantel, slightly hidden behind a cloisonné vase, to show off the creamy white bookends. Between them they held a small collection of nicely bound books.
“Oh, I just noticed your bookends!” I said, my voice rising two octaves. Did that make me sound a little phony? Probably, but Trudy was too polite to say anything. “May I see them?”
“Of course,” Trudy said. “Pick them up and hold them. They love being touched.”
I smiled at her words because it was the same way I felt about books. I crossed the room and stared at the twin pieces.
“Don’t they look wonderful together?”
“They do,” I murmured, and carefully lifted the piece that had been carved into a kitten. Its lighthearted features and frisky front paws were fully formed and ready to strut away from the block of marble. But its little back paws and tail were still encased in marble, their outlines carved in bas-relief.
“This is delightful,” I said.
“I love them so much,” Trudy said, and her eyes glazed in reminiscence. “My father had no choice but to give me the set because I refused to leave it alone. I always had them in my room.”
“I don’t blame you.”
Mom set Elizabeth’s letter down on the table. “Your friend’s granddaughter sounds like a wonderful, thoughtful girl. I hope I’ll have a chance to meet her while she’s here.”
While Mom chatted with Trudy, I pulled my phone out of my pocket and surreptitiously snapped a photo of the marble kitten to show Derek later. I doubted the sculptures had been created by Rodin, simply because the subject matter was so lighthearted, but I had no doubt that they were worth a lot more than Trudy thought they were. Glancing around, I’d bet there were a lot of things in this room that were worth more than she thought. It was just hard to tell because of the overwhelming amount of stuff on display.
My shoulders stiffened all of a sudden, and I glanced up to see Amelia watching me from the kitchen doorway. Her eyes were narrowed and suspicious. Was she going to snitch on me and tell Trudy I’d snapped a picture? I smiled and waved, but inside, I felt the temperature plummeting. Rubbing my arms, I wondered what was wrong with that woman.
A sudden image flashed through my mind of Henri the angry Frenchman threatening Guru Bob the other day. He had mentioned Guru Bob’s family in his threats, and that meant Trudy. Did Henri know her? They lived within a few miles of each other. It would be easy enough to find out where she lived. Would Henri consider hurting her or stealing from her?
While I was still feeling the biting chill of Amelia’s stare, another thought occurred to me. Did Henri know Amelia? What were the chances of those two ever meeting? Was that what Henri had inferred when he mentioned getting closer to Guru Bob’s family? Would he use Trudy’s companion to gain access to Trudy’s expensive art objects? What did we know about Amelia, after all?
My mind was spinning, and I forced myself to brush the thoughts away. Just because Amelia was unpleasant didn’t mean she hung out with all the other people I considered equally hostile. It wasn’t as if they met weekly at the local Cranky People’s Club, right? At least, I hoped not. Besides, Amelia seemed completely devoted to Trudy.
I glanced around, trying to be subtle as I checked to see if the windows were wired or if a security company decal was visible anywhere. Did Trudy have an alarm system? I couldn’t tell and this wasn’t the time to ask her, but as soon as I got to my car, I planned to call Gabriel to find out.
Chapter Eight
“Trudy’s house isn’t part of the Dharma security grid,” Gabriel told me.
Security grid? I wasn’t exactly sure what he was talking about. “So she doesn’t have any kind of alarm system set up?”
“Not that I know of. Is there a problem?”
“I’m worried about her,” I said. “She has some valuable things in her house, but mostly I’m nervous about her safety after hearing what that hothead Henri said the other day.”