a fine face he had. He had a look that was intense, as if the world around him was solemn. But when he smiled his grin broke the chiseled structure, and lightened his eyes. Without a smile, he was compelling—tall, well built, lithe, an outdoorsman with bronzed skin, honed muscles and the rugged appeal that went with it all. When he did pause to smile or laugh, there was an added dimension to him that was even more appealing; the man was sensual.
She wasn’t admiring him, she decided. He’d ruined her life, and he remembered her as a little kid. Sean’s much younger sister.
“I really wish you understood what I feel about the museum,” he said. “I’m not out to destroy anyone’s dream.”
“Well, you managed anyway,” she said. She remembered her apparel—and the fact that she looked like Simba on a very bad mane day.
They were both holding the newspaper. She tugged at it. “Thanks for my paper,” she said. He released it immediately.
Behind her, she felt Bartholomew. “Hey, he’s trying to be nice,” Bartholomew said.
She forced a rigid smile.
“You think you can talk him into seeing it all your way, remember?” Bartholomew asked. “Invite him in. I just made coffee!”
“Don’t be ridiculous,” she snapped, not thinking.
David Beckett’s dark brown brows arched high. “Pardon?”
“Sorry, I’m sorry,” she murmured. She cleared her throat and looked around. It was going to be a beautiful day. Hot, but with a really nice breeze coming through. “I’ve just brewed a pot of coffee, if you’d like to come in.”
He hesitated.
“Seriously, you’re welcome to come in,” she said. “If you don’t mind helping yourself for a moment and letting me run up.”
“You’re going to try to convince me to sell the museum,” he said.
“Well, I won’t be able to if you’re really determined, right?”
“I was actually headed to the Starbucks at La Concha. Sure, I’d love a cup of coffee,” he told her.
“Then, please…” She indicated the steps.
She came in behind him but headed straight for the stairs. “Go ahead, help yourself. I’ll be right down.”
She showered, dressed and brushed her hair with the speed of light and came hurrying back down the stairs. Heading toward the kitchen, she stopped. David Beckett was sitting at the table in the breakfast nook, perusing the paper and sipping coffee.
Bartholomew was sitting across from him, one leg tossed casually over the other, his fingers laced around his knees as he observed David attentively.
David Beckett, of course, was oblivious to him.
“Thus far, he has perpetrated no evil deeds,” Bartholomew said, immediately aware of Katie’s presence and looking up at her.
She ignored him. She had gotten very good—most of the time—at ignoring his comments.
She poured herself a cup of coffee and came striding toward the table. Bartholomew instantly moved over to make room for her. She wasn’t sure what ghosts felt when the living—or inanimate objects—went through them, but Bartholomew wasn’t fond of being sat upon, she knew. A husky fellow at karaoke had sunk down upon his lap once, and Bartholomew’s face had screwed into such an expression of distaste that Katie had quickly lowered her head to hide a laugh.
“So.” She held her cup in both hands and sipped from it. “Lovely day.”
“The kind I remember,” he said.
“What are you doing while you’re here?” she asked him. “You did say you weren’t staying.”
He shrugged. “I don’t like to think of anything as permanent,” he told her. “I don’t have fixed plans at the moment. I’ll spend some time with Liam, and with my great-aunts. Alice and Esther. I believe you know them—everyone always seemed to, anyway.”
Katie nodded. “Of course. They don’t spend much time in town, though.”
“No, at the age of eighty, they still compete over their flowers. Oh, and they both enjoy volunteering at a few of the museums. But will you see them swigging down a pint or two at Sloppy Joe’s? Probably not!”
“The man does seem to have a dry, pleasant and even self-deprecating sense of humor,” Bartholomew commented.
Katie refused to glance his way.
“So, family time, eh?” she queried.
He nodded.
“And dismantling the museum?”
He set his cup down. “Actually, I will get to that. In a month or so.”
“Okay, so, immediately on your agenda? Are you planning on swilling down a few pints at Sloppy Joe’s?”
He laughed. “I may. But that’s not my main intent or purpose.”
“What is?” she asked.
“I want to find out who did kill Tanya,” he told her.
She frowned, so surprised that she just stared at him for long seconds. “I…I don’t see what you can discover now. It happened a decade ago. The police tried—very hard, I’m certain—to find her killer. It’s now ten years after the fact. How could you possibly find out something now that they couldn’t discover then. And why would the killer have hung around?”
“A random killer wasn’t going to bring Tanya’s corpse and leave it in our family museum,” David said.
“Perhaps it had nothing to do with it being your family’s museum. Maybe he had just seen the Elena/Carl Tanzler tableau and decided it was the right place to leave a corpse. God knows, maybe he even thought that the body wouldn’t be discovered.”
“I have the files. Liam is a detective now. He’s been given leave to reopen the case. It’s time that it’s done.”
“They never even had another suspect,” Katie said. She bit her lip. She saw the slight tensing of his features. “I mean, they never had a suspect at all—”
“Other than me.”
“You were never really a suspect, were you?” She flushed slightly, looking away. Of course he’d been a suspect!
“Just a ‘person of interest,’” he told her. “And you’re right—there was never another suspect. And there had to be a reason for that. Either the police continued to believe that I had done it, or they were protecting someone else.”
“Like who?” Katie asked.
“I don’t know. But I intend to find out. Tanya deserves justice.”
“Her
