“I make do,” she said with a shrug.
Right. Her first car had probably been a limousine.
“It’s a pleasure to meet you,” he said, taking her hand. “I’m—I’m Quinn. Quinn James.” His brother’s name was the first that came to mind. It would have been too easy for her to Google his name and find out he worked for the very law firm that had been causing her trouble. With an alias, he could hopefully maintain his anonymity long enough to get to the three aunts and make his proposal. After that, it wouldn’t matter.
“That’s a good name for a writer,” she said. “What kind of book are you writing?”
Since that was another lie, he decided to change the subject. “I’d love to see some of your work. You said you painted owls?”
“No,” she said. “Owls have just been on my mind lately. They visit me in my dreams. I think it’s a sign but I’m not sure what it means. Do you know what it might mean?”
He slowly shook his head. “I’m afraid I don’t.” Tristan walked to the car and opened the driver’s-side door, waiting for her to slip behind the wheel.
So far, things had gone much easier than he’d imagined they might. However, his problems were mounting. Now, if he managed to wrangle an invitation to stay at the colony, he’d have to produce a novel—or at least a few pages. But his biggest test was still the three sisters.
He circled the car and jumped into the passenger seat. He’d cross that bridge when he came to it. For now he was determined to get to know this strange yet beautiful woman. He sensed that Lily might be the key to everything he wanted—both professionally and personally.
* * *
“HE’S A LAWYER. I’d be willing to bet my life on it.”
Lily paced the length of her aunt Violet’s front parlor. Violet, dressed in her usual dance attire of black unitard and chiffon skirt, casually sipped at her tea. Her gray curls were covered by an elaborately tied scarf and her eyes were ringed with dark makeup. “Do sit down, Lily. I think your imagination has run away with you again.”
“I’m right, I’m sure of it. He says he’s a writer, but no writer I’ve met would drive a car like that. A Mercedes convertible? In Minnesota? Do you know what that car says?”
“I wasn’t aware automobiles had acquired the power of speech.”
Lily rolled her eyes. “You understand what I meant.”
“Please, Lily, be more precise in your speech. If you don’t stop this tendency of yours to wander off topic, you’re going to start sounding like Daisy. Trying to follow her train of thought is like chasing a hummingbird through the woods.”
“I’m not going off topic. That expensive convertible says that he’s a lawyer. It tells anyone who bothers to notice that he’s wealthy enough to have a summer and a winter car. And then there are his shoes. And his watch.”
“Perhaps he’s a lawyer who is attempting to be a writer,” her aunt suggested. “Must you always be so suspicious? Not everyone is out to get us.”
“I’m just trying to protect us all,” Lily said.
The door to Violet’s cabin opened and her two sisters hurried inside. Rose, the youngest of the trio, wore her long gray hair in an untidy knot on the top of her head. A composer, she was currently working on a new series of songs inspired by art. Over the course of the day, she’d stuck pencils in her hair until she looked like some deranged geisha.
The middle sister, Daisy, was an artist like Lily and could normally be found wearing a paint-stained smock and a scarf covering her hair, which had been dyed a shocking shade of pink for the last few months. Before that, it had been lavender, a much more appropriate tone for someone of her age.
“What is the problem?” Daisy asked. “I really need to get back to work. Did you see the sunrise this morning?” She sighed. “Paris, 1963.”
Violet motioned for them to sit down. “Lily thinks she’s seen a lawyer. Here. At the colony.”
“What? Just wandering through?” Rose asked.
“No,” Lily said. “He’s pretending to be a writer. He’s asked to stay.”
“What do you call those clouds that look like horse’s tails?” Daisy asked.
“I’m not sure,” Lily said. “I suspect he’s going to try to get closer to you three.”
“He’s welcome to try, but you know we can’t be persuaded,” Violet said. “Nothing he says will change our mind. We’re not going to leave the colony and that’s that.”
“Then what do you want me to do about him?” Lily asked.
“Well, perhaps we should take him in,” Violet said. “We might find him useful for other reasons. And don’t they say that it’s better to keep your friends close and your enemies closer?”
“Who said that?” Rose asked. “I do recall arguing about that very quote one night at the bar in the Savoy Hotel in London. I’d had far too many gin fizzes.”
“Wilbur Fontaine,” Daisy said.
“Who?”
“The butcher in town,” Daisy explained. “I heard him say that very thing just last month. ‘Keep your friends close and your enemies closer.’ Or maybe it was ‘keep your musket cocked and your tinder dry.’ But I’m not really sure what that means.”
Violet sighed softly. “Back to the matter at hand... We could be like cats with a mouse with this lawyer. When we grow tired of him, we’ll send him home. We haven’t had real amusement here in such a very long time. Let’s do ask him to stay.”
“I asked Finch to take him on a tour of the colony while we talked,” Lily said. “He’s supposed to bring Quinn back here for tea when they’re finished. But we should have our plans in place before he gets here.”
“How old is he?” Rose asked.
“I suppose he’s about my age,” Lily replied.
The aunts looked at each other and smiled. “And is he handsome?” Violet asked Lily.
“No, he looks like a lawyer,” Lily said, “one of those shrewd, ruthless types who eat people like us for breakfast.”
“Oh, he can’t be that bad. Even a lawyer has to have some redeeming qualities.”
“They can get you out of jail when you’ve started a brawl at the Opera Ball and slapped a policeman’s horse,” Daisy said.
“I’m sure, given time, the three of us can noodle the truth out of him,” Violet said.
A knock sounded on the screen door and Violet stood up, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear and beneath her scarf. “Well, shall we have a look at Lily’s lawyer?”
Lily
