Copper Lake Confidential - By Marilyn Pappano Page 0,45
where he was probably making notes at the island, she went into the library across the hall. Mark hadn’t been an avid reader, but of course they had an entire room to house books. These were the really old ones, the rare ones, handed down through the family. It wasn’t likely that ungloved hands had touched them in her lifetime. No one read them for pleasure or even out of obligation. They simply sat on their shelves, looking old and tome-ish and neglected except for regular dustings.
“Lydia said she’ll get in touch with her two favorite dealers and set up an appointment.” Stephen stood beside Macy a moment before walking farther into the room. He stopped in the middle, right in the center medallion of the hand-woven Tunisian rug, and turned slowly.
What did he see? She saw a pretty, dark, lavishly decorated room with plush chairs, more Tiffany lamps, cherrywood and mahogany and oak tables that gleamed with age. She saw the library ladder, propped against one wall like a praying mantis, and the eight-foot-high shelves filled with row after row of books bearing uninspired covers and often script nearly impossible to decipher.
But he was an author. Words and books were his passion. Did his fingers itch to sit down with an armful of these? Could he spend a few hours or days in here, browsing and appreciating?
From the oak library table, he picked up a piece of jade, turning it gently in his large hands. Three dozen carvings were spread across the surface, none bigger than an egg, ranging in color from typical green to white and in between.
“Those belonged to Mark’s father. They were his passion. He made countless trips to Asia, selecting each one himself. When he died, they passed to Mark, though without the passion. He displayed them because that’s what you do with valuable old things. They used to be in the living room, but Clary could reach them there, and she was in that putting-everything-in-her-mouth stage, so he moved them in here.” She hugged her middle. “Clary didn’t like this room. All her crawling, walking and wandering, she wouldn’t come in here.”
Stephen carefully replaced the jade. “I don’t much like it, either. It’s not exactly a welcoming place. Libraries should be about comfort and books, not about hands-off displays. Though I bet some collector would pay a fortune for the whole set of books.”
“These books are going to the library, too. They never have enough money to do what they need. They can be the proud owner of all these rare books, or they can sell them and supplement their budget for a while. As for the jade...I’ll offer it to Lorna or maybe keep it for Clary.” Her smile was on the bitter side. “I don’t hate her grandfather.”
Distantly there came the sound of a thudding car door. Macy’s gaze jerked to the clock on the library wall. It wasn’t even three—early for Brent and Clary. If it was Louise Wetherby wanting an answer on the disposition of Fair Winds, Macy would give it to her: No. Not in this lifetime.
Brushing her hair back, she went to the door as the bell pealed, that awful funereal tone that Mark had picked. She opened it to find no one there, and for one instant a terrible fear started to form in her chest. Then a giggle came from around the corner, and from opposite sides of the steps, Brent, holding Clary, and Anne stepped out from where they’d pressed themselves flat against the wall. “Surprise!”
Breathe deeply. Don’t let them see they frightened you. She took a breath, then forced an animated exaggerated fright onto her features. “Oh, my gosh! You scared me!”
“Don’t be scared, Mama. It’s just me an’ Uncle Brent an’ AnAnne.” Clary leaped from Brent’s arms into hers, making her stumble back a step or two. Her little girl felt so solid and warm and smelled so sweet, and she’d missed her, God, more than she’d been willing to admit. She held her tightly for an instant, enough to make Clary squirm, then pressed loud smooches to the girl’s cheeks, throat, stomach, sending her into another fit of giggles.
“I know we’re early, but we can take Clary to the park for a few hours if you want,” Brent offered as he followed Anne through the door.
She swatted his shoulder before hugging him, too, then her sister-in-law. “You could never be too early. Not with my baby.”