himself a glass of one of his favorite red wines. Two thousand dollars a bottle. He rarely opened that particular wine, but tonight he was going to listen to his very favorite Italian opera and sit in that room surrounded by his beloved paintings and let them take Scarlet Foley with her brilliant green eyes away so he wouldn’t wake up the way he did whenever he thought too much about her.
She’d gotten out of prison, a female attorney had suddenly taken on her case, advocating for her, turning everything around, and Holden couldn’t bribe her or scare her into giving up. She had uncovered the fact that the medical evidence had supported Scarlet’s account, not Robert Jr.’s account. Somehow, she had found all kinds of facts that turned up evidence no one wanted to come to light, including his part in the entire mess. Scarlet’s incarceration was over, and the city paid her money to keep her quiet. Holden was furious.
Calloway was very happy he had been allowed to retire with his pension. Scarlet left the country and disappeared. Calloway didn’t blame her at the time. He had been afraid for her safety. Robert Jr. was a little pissant who would definitely target her again. She’d bested him and he couldn’t take that. Now, her attorney had bested his father. She hadn’t brought a civil suit against him, but it was hanging over Holden Sr.’s and Jr.’s heads and everyone knew it.
Fast-forward five years, Scarlet returned and moved a couple of hundred miles away, got a job as a librarian, minded her own business, and one by one, some killer murders the little pissant and his friends and Holden is absolutely convinced it’s Foley. It didn’t matter that the police investigated her thoroughly over and over at Holden’s insistence and cleared her repeatedly until her attorney insisted it was harassment. Or that Holden got the Feds involved, and they cleared her, paving the way for her attorney to finally bring an enormous lawsuit against him.
Holden was positive that somehow Scarlet could be in two places at one time. Calloway had studied the photographs of the crime scenes. Scarlet wasn’t a large woman. How could she have managed to kill three strong men even if she had found a way to be in two places at one time? He’d tried to talk to Holden once, but of course that man wouldn’t listen. He knew everything, more than all the investigators. More than everyone. Now, he’d put a hit out on her. That was so like Holden. Things weren’t going to end well either way and Calloway had distanced himself as best he could.
He slid open the door in the wall so cleverly hidden in the panels among all the intricate white cork sculpturing on the walls. It was quite breathtaking and all his friends had gotten up close to view the exquisite artistry, yet none had spotted the hidden door within the panel that slid inside the wall to allow him to enter the stairs leading down to his viewing room. He loved showing the beautiful walls in his home, each one a masterpiece all on its own, this one hiding a spectacular secret and millions of dollars’ worth of precious artwork.
He carried his glass of red wine down the polished granite stairs, holding on to the curved bannister made of the finest polished wood over an intricate filigree of silver. He took his time, enjoying every step. No one else had ever made that journey with him. This beautiful place of solace he’d created was his alone and he never hurried. He didn’t ever take a cell phone, nor did he have a landline in the room. He wanted no interruptions when he sat and listened to his opera and looked at his beloved paintings.
He pulled open the door to the room, a door that had once graced Teatro alla Scala in Milan. He had traveled to Milan on numerous occasions to sit in the world-famous opera house to listen to the best of the best perform. This room not only was temperature controlled for his artwork, but the acoustics were perfect for his operas.
He continued the slow, steady pace to his wide, comfortable chair that faced his most precious paintings but allowed him to tip his head back and look up at the ceilings, where more of his collection was displayed. He could close his eyes to savor the glory of the music, or simply study the beautiful