“But it wasn’t.”
Cleo patted Sonya’s arm. “I’ll get us some wine. The windows in that room started slamming. Hard enough I don’t see how the glass didn’t break. The dogs went crazy.”
She pulled the stopper from an uncorked bottle, poured two glasses.
“The dogs went crazy, and we all ran to the house. They’re barking and snarling and racing upstairs. We heard banging and crashing. You were shouting.”
Owen took another long pull of beer. “Was I?”
She nodded. “Your turn.”
“It was mostly my fault. I’ve gotten everything about that room and Dobbs secondhand. So, you know, let’s have a look.”
“Nice try. Commendable.” Steadier now, Sonya sipped her wine. “But Trey’s a big boy, and—obviously—he can take his lumps.”
“Just saying. So, the light’s off in that wing—got a dingy look to it—and the air’s cold. Did you notice?”
“No.” At her look at Cleo, Sonya got a headshake. “But we were a little distracted seeing Trey crumpled on the floor.”
“I wouldn’t say crumpled.” He added.
He picked up the story, careful not to leave out any details. Not fair to her, and he had to admit, he hadn’t been fair to her.
“A lot like before then.” The anger faded, leaving just a shade of resentment.
“A lot like,” Trey said. “But not altogether. This time I saw her.”
“You saw her.” Instantly Cleo dropped down into the chair beside him. “And you didn’t lead with that?”
“Just for a second, but I saw a woman, black dress, black hair, and one who looked a lot more pissed off than either of you.” He looked at Owen. “You didn’t?”
“I was pretty busy watching you go airborne. And the door slammed shut.”
“Sonya did some drawings of her. Like I said, I only caught a glimpse—while airborne—but I didn’t have any trouble recognizing her. Or recognizing that most of what we saw in there was bullshit.”
“So you said before you flew,” Owen reminded him.
“The curtains weren’t moving. The room’s full of wind, but the curtains don’t move?”
Frowning, Owen sat. “You’re right. You’re right about that.”
“Illusions. Trickery.”
“The bloody nose and the lump on your head aren’t illusions.”
“No.” Because he thought they could both use it, he rose, put his arms around Sonya. “But she couldn’t, or wouldn’t, come past the door. Like the bird that vanished a few feet out of the window.”
He kissed her forehead. “We’ll figure it out.”
“Any way we can figure it out with food?” Owen wondered.
“Damn it! I forgot to get anything out for dinner.”
“You could do that thing you did last time. With the vodka and the pasta. I want to see how you do it.”
“I could do that.”
“We’re about finished upstairs. We can do the basement tomorrow. Can you manage that?” Trey asked Owen.
“After what just happened? You couldn’t keep me out of it.”
“No more side trips while the little ladies are tucked away.”
He gave Sonya a solemn nod. “No, ma’am.”
“You’re welcome to stay if you like. God knows we have enough bedrooms—discounting that wing.”
“I don’t have any gear, but … I’ve never spent the night in the manor. I’ve got some work clothes in the truck. Got a spare toothbrush?”
“And plenty of them. Pick a room.”
“I’ll do that. What do you all do about breakfast?”
“That’s strictly fend for yourself,” Cleo told him. Firmly.
“Even on Sunday?”
“Even. And I’m down to my last Toaster Strudel, so don’t even think about it.”
“The apple ones with the white stuff on the top?”
“Don’t even think about it.”
With a shrug, he opened the refrigerator, checked some cabinets. “I’ll make breakfast.”
“While we’re taking a moment, Trey says you work out, lift weights, and such?”
He gave Sonya a shrug. “Sure. Yeah, you’ve got that gym downstairs. Can I use that?”
“Help yourself. And that brings me to a project I’m working on, a possible job, for Ryder Sports.”
“Okay.”
“I need photos, which Trey’s mother is going to provide.”
“She’s good at it.”
“She is. I want one of you, maybe doing the classic biceps curl.”
“Me? Why?”
To help the cause, Cleo reached over, tested his biceps. “Oooh.” She batted her lashes. “That’s why, stud.”
When he laughed, Sonya went in for the kill. “It’s a big job, and I’ve got one shot at it. I want to show ordinary people—not professional models—using Ryder equipment in their daily lives. You do biceps curls, so, that’s you. Cleo’s going to represent yoga. Trey’s baseball.”
He laughed again. “She got you? First the lawyer shot, now this? He hates having his picture taken.”
“Hate’s a strong word,” Trey said.
“But…” Lashes batting again, Cleo ran a hand down Trey’s cheek. “So handsome.”
“Yeah, she’s got you. Me? I’m fine with it. Come on, Jones, let’s go pick out our bunk for the night. Don’t start that vodka thing without me,” he told Cleo. “I want to watch.”
“An interesting man, your friend.”
Trey sent Cleo his slow smile. “He’s many-layered. Like Shrek.”
Chapter Twenty-seven
As Trey walked toward the kitchen in the morning, he smelled bacon and coffee. The duet of siren calls.
Owen, the sleeves of an ancient denim shirt rolled up, the front open over an equally ancient T-shirt, whipped something in a bowl.
“Dogs beat you down. They’re having a meeting outside.”
Nodding, Trey headed straight to the coffee.
“Heard the clock,” Owen added. “Three in the a.m.”
“Yeah. Sonya slept through it. And the music after.”
“I heard somebody crying, it sounded like down the hall from the library. I walked over, then downstairs. Nothing and nobody there. Except. You know I’ve got twenty-twenty, but when I walked into the music room, just for a second, I didn’t see rings on either portrait. Wedding rings. Then I did.”
Eyes narrowed, Trey leaned against the counter. “That happened to Sonya. She mentioned it last night.”
“Yeah? Maybe it’s a Poole thing.”
“Maybe. And maybe it means she’s not the only one who can find the rings. Wherever the hell they are.”
“Or—maybe again—take a walk through that magic mirror. Wherever the hell that is.”
“Have you talked to any of the cousins about this?”
“They’re not interested. Collin didn’t leave them the manor for good reason. They’d have sold it in a heartbeat.”
“But not you.”
“No. I don’t know what the hell I’d do with it, and there’s another reason he left it to Sonya. But it’s been in the family for more than two centuries. That shit matters. The business matters, same reason, and that they get. Even if it’s only, or at least mostly, for the income.”