a perfectly manicured hand. “I’m so glad you could come this evening.”
Russell took her hand. “Please. It’s Russell.”
“Russell,” she said with an ingratiating smile. “Do come in.”
She closed the door behind them, and Russell held out the wine. “This is for you.”
Setting Astrid down, Loucinda took the wine, admiring the vintage and the label. Shannon’s father, Jerome, came into the entry and shook Russell’s hand, but Loucinda cut that short by shoving the wine at him and escorting Russell into the living room herself.
When they entered the room, Shannon saw Eve sprawled on the plush Bridgewater sofa, poking away at her iPhone. Her hair, brassy red this week, hung in thick waves across her shoulders. She wore a tie-dyed skirt she’d gotten at a craft fair in Austin, flip-flops, and a skintight lime green shirt that left very little to the imagination from the waist up. It was as if a Woodstock hippie had traveled through time and landed in an Ethan Allen showroom.
“Hey, you guys.” She tucked her phone into her pocket and scooted over, making space for the two of them on the sofa. “I just sold a vintage brooch to a guy on eBay. I was finalizing the deal. If only I hadn’t caved in and sold it to him for twenty-five percent off, I might have actually made money on it.”
“So what sob story did you buy into this time?” Shannon asked.
“Hey, it wasn’t a sob story!” Eve said, then twisted her mouth with irritation. “Okay, so it was a sob story. He wants to give it to his wife to wear to their daughter’s wedding.”
Sucker, Shannon thought, even though it was nice that Eve at least had a heart. In her profession, it meant she’d probably be broke forever, but to Eve, the story was way more important than the money.
They sat down on the sofa, and Astrid promptly leaped up and plopped down next to Russell.
“Oh, look at that!” Loucinda said, beaming. “Astrid likes you!”
But Shannon wasn’t entirely sure Russell was returning the love. Astrid was very sweet, but she had no radar when it came to snuggling up next to a receptive ear scratcher. Russell patted her head, then pulled his hand back to his lap and shifted uncomfortably. The slacks, his body language said. Move away from the slacks.
Jerome sat down on his throne—a La-Z-Boy recliner in cranberry leather with power recline and Shiatsu massage. Ever since he’d retired from his law practice, he’d divided his time between that chair and Majestic Golf and Country Club, an exclusive property halfway between Rainbow Valley and Austin where the rich folks gathered for golf, gossip, and gastronomics.
“You have a lovely home,” Russell said.
“Why, thank you,” Loucinda said. “But it wasn’t always that way, you know. It was an absolute horror when we bought it. It hadn’t been updated since the 1930s, and there was so much to do. We recently went through another round of renovations to bring it into the twenty-first century.”
“That was fun,” Jerome muttered.
“That was necessary,” Loucinda said.
Jerome looked at Russell. “‘Necessary’ meant we had to paint all the walls exactly one shade darker. I’m still trying to figure that one out.”
From the look on Russell’s face, he didn’t know which person to side with. In the end, he just said nothing.
They made small talk for a few minutes about the weather and the economy, and then Loucinda announced it was time for dinner. They gathered in the dining room, where she’d set the table with one of her three china patterns and the most ornate silver she owned. Classical music filled the air, wafting out of the sound system she’d insisted on installing during their last renovation.
“So how’s business?” Shannon asked Eve as they sat down. “Aside from giving brooches away.”
“Great. I have two new estate sales booked. Lots of good stuff.” She turned to Loucinda. “Oh, Mom! I found something just for you.”
“And what’s that?”
“A Mickey Mouse wall clock. It would look très chic over your fireplace. A hundred and twenty-five bucks. Want me to reserve it for you?”
Loucinda gave Eve a long-suffering look, then turned to Russell. “I’m afraid Eve has a very odd sense of humor.”
Eve shook her head sadly. “I try to save the good stuff for family members, but do they appreciate it? No, they do not.”
“We already have something over our fireplace,” Loucinda said, then turned to Russell. “It’s a portrait of Emmaline North, Jerome’s mother. She died fifteen years ago.”