favorite champagne. If your mother had joined us, I would have opened a bottle of Perrier Jouët.”
“Mother’s favorite,” Hannah confirmed it with a nod.
Lynne sat down in the second chair. “Do you have a favorite champagne?”
“Not really. I don’t know that much about champagne. Norman’s the expert when it comes to things like that.”
“But Norman doesn’t drink . . . does he?”
“No, but he’s still an expert.” Hannah didn’t go into details about the reason that Norman didn’t touch alcohol. He’d told her, but that was a confidence between the two of them and she wasn’t about to break it. “Norman brought me a bottle of champagne called . . .” Hannah stopped, trying to remember. “It was French, and he said some people referred to it as The Widow.”
Lynne nodded. “Veuve Clicquot. That nickname refers to a woman who inherited a winery from her husband and made their champagne into a success. Which champagne do you like best, Hannah? Norman’s or mine?”
“I don’t know. I think I’d need to have them side by side to compare them. I like your champagne very much, though.”
“Good. I was hoping you would. Let’s have a fire in the fireplace. It’s a little chilly here today.”
Hannah’s eyebrows shot up in surprise. It seemed nice and warm to her, but perhaps Lynne had lost her tolerance for cold since she’d lived in California for so long.
“This is so handy,” Lynne said, picking up the remote control that sat on the table, the one Hannah had assumed would operate the flat-screen television set on the wall. But Lynne didn’t swivel in her leather chair to face the television set. “Are you going to turn on the television?” Hannah asked, thoroughly puzzled.
“No, just watch. I think you’ll enjoy this,” Lynne told her, aiming the control at the fireplace and pressing a button.
Hannah watched as the multicolored crystals in the bed of the fireplace began to glow. A moment later, small flames licked up between the crystals to make the colors even brighter.
Hannah knew she must have looked every bit as amazed as she felt. “That’s beautiful!” she breathed.
“I know. This is the place I always sat when Tom was gone. And he wasn’t here with me very often. He had a luxury apartment downtown in the financial district and when he wasn’t traveling, he spent most nights there.”
“Why?” Hannah asked, and then she wished she hadn’t asked. Perhaps the reason was too personal for Lynne to divulge. “Sorry,” she apologized. “If you don’t want to tell me, I’ll understand.”
“That’s okay. I can tell you.” Lynne paused to take a deep breath. “I asked Tom why he bought the apartment and Tom told me that sometimes he was really tired after a late meeting with a client and it was exhausting to drive back here if the traffic was heavy.”
Hannah was surprised. “The traffic here is that bad?”
“It can be, especially coming from downtown if there’s a convention or a sports event.”
“Did Tom ever take you to see the apartment?”
“Yes, it’s on the top floor and it’s completely renovated. The view is just breathtaking.”
“And you helped him furnish it?”
Lynne shook her head. “No, he bought it completely furnished from a stockbroker he knew. Tom said the man made a fortune in hedge funds. He was moving to London and he planned to buy new furniture when he got there.”
“I guess that makes sense. It probably costs a lot to move furniture to another country.”
“Yes, it does. I believed the whole story until Tom showed me the bedroom.” Lynne paused to take a sip of her champagne. “The first thing I noticed was the red velvet bedspread on the bed. Tom doesn’t like red. It’s his least favorite color. When we furnished this house, he told me not to buy anything red.”
“Did you ask Tom about the red bedspread?”
“Yes, the second I saw it. He said he hadn’t gotten around to replacing it yet, but this was a good three months after he’d bought the place. I found it hard to believe that someone like Tom, who hated the color red that much, would wait that long.”
“Perhaps he was too busy with his clients?” Hannah suggested.
“That’s the excuse he used. But then I noticed the bottle of perfume on the dresser. I’m almost certain that the stockbroker who’d owned the apartment wouldn’t have worn Chanel.”
“Oh, dear! Did you ask Tom about it?”
“No, I didn’t mention it.”
“Why?”
“I really didn’t want to know, at least not for sure. Then, when