She must be pressed to the door itself, eyeing Nora through that peephole.
Nora tried another tack. “I have something to show you,” she said in a singsong tone. “I think you’ll be sorry if you don’t take at least a peek.”
The door crashed open, rattling the glass.
“Are you threatening me?”
Shocked, Nora clutched the big briefcase to her front. Her heart had begun to thump ominously, and for a moment she felt breathless.
“No. Of course not. I have some sketches here…”
With a weary sigh, Geneva clattered away from the open door.
“Come in, then. But I won’t change my mind. After Detective Caine and I spoke, I know that wouldn’t be wise.”
What did the man say to her?
Nora clenched her teeth. “I am not a criminal.” She followed Geneva inside, the cool air washing over her like a damp cloth against her heated skin. “That man has problems of his own. And if you believe Starr—”
Geneva clipped toward the nearby living room, right past the antique, glass-fronted curio cabinet that had held the now-missing heart-shaped vase. Nora glanced at the barren space on the shelf. The cause of her current troubles, or one of them.
Her business might depend on these next few moments—she had no doubt they would be very few—but so did her shaken sense of self-worth.
She perched on the edge of an obviously costly sofa. “I have never been accused of dishonesty before,” she said, zipping open the black case to draw out her sketches. “If you need references, I’ll provide them. I’m terribly sorry for your loss, but I can assure you I didn’t take your vase. What would I do with it?” Nora gave her a weak smile. “Adorn another customer’s home with a stolen object? Hardly. Keep it for myself—and wait for the day when Caine barges in to catch me in the act? Sell it on eBay?”
For the first time she noticed that Geneva, who sat on the matching sofa opposite, didn’t look quite herself. Maybe Nora shouldn’t have tried to make a joke. Geneva’s normally perfect blond hairstyle looked in disarray, and her blue eyes lacked their usual sparkle. Her gray sweatpants and T-shirt matched the pallor of her complexion beneath its tan. Even while wearing those three-inch heels, black with fetching crystal beads across the instep, she looked thrown together. Of course, she’d had no reason to expect company.
Geneva’s mouth quivered.
“All right, then. Show me.”
Nora had expected a bigger fight.
“Really?” She handed Geneva the first of half a dozen drawings, her ideas for the main rooms of the Whitehouse home. Despite Geneva’s decision Nora had put them together last night and she felt they’d turned out well. There would be none of Starr Mulligan’s typical touches, no garish colors, strange artifacts or overstuffed furniture. The fact that Starr did possess an eye for arrangement, and that her judgment on wall coverings could be pleasing, didn’t enter into Nora’s assessment. “As you can see, I’ve gone for a minimalist effect. Neutrals, clean lines, a contemporary look that should serve as a natural background to highlight your treasures.”
Her sharp glance made Nora swallow. Perhaps she shouldn’t have reminded her would-be client—her temporarily lost client—about the missing vase or any of its scintillating companions.
“This sort of design is all the rage now. I think you’d be very pleased with the outcome—”
“Or else?”
Nora faltered. “Why, of course I’d be happy to work with you on any changes, minor or more extensive.”
“Nora. As you know I’ve already hired Starr Mulligan.”
“Yes, I do know.” She cleared her throat. “And I realize my comment to her was less than, well, businesslike. I’m sorry you heard it. Starr and I have our differences, but they shouldn’t concern you. It’s the job that really matters.”
“Does it?” Geneva’s strained tone alerted Nora. There was something wrong here, even more wrong than Nora being replaced by Starr because of some silly misunderstanding. She’d already apologized, but maybe not enough.
“I am sorry, Geneva. I made a bad impression, but that’s why I’m here. Other than to show you my sketches, of course, which I had hoped might speak for themselves. And me,” she added.
“The sketches are beautiful.”
“You like them?”
Geneva’s blue gaze swept over the last drawing in the stack. For an instant her eyes brightened, but then, to Nora’s horror, they filled with tears. A few brimmed over, and before she stopped to think, by instinct Nora had fallen to her knees onto the thick carpet in front of Geneva’s sofa. She reached out to pull Geneva awkwardly into her arms. “There, there. We can work something out.”
“I doubt that,” Geneva wailed.
Maybe she felt terrible about her earlier decision. She might feel torn between Nora and Starr but regretted her rejection of Nora based on such tissue-thin evidence of a crime. Maybe now she wanted to make amends, as Nora did, but wasn’t sure how.
Nora rocked Geneva in her embrace, as she might one of her children even now. Geneva clung to her, sobbing as if her heart had broken.
“I don’t know about you,” Nora said after a few moments, “but I can’t sit on this rug as if I’m in a Japanese restaurant with one of those little tables that are no higher than a foot.”
Geneva Whitehouse didn’t smile. She pulled back, embarrassed by her display of emotion, and avoided Nora’s searching gaze. Geneva studied the pale cream carpet, the wall covered in an exquisite gold-washed French paper, the violated curio cabinet just visible in the hall, then the deep crown molding that edged the double tray ceiling before at last she met Nora’s eyes. Nora had misunderstood.
“Oh, Geneva. Please tell me what’s wrong. What have I done that can’t be corrected? Certainly you don’t believe Detective Caine—”
“No,” Geneva murmured. “It’s not him.”
Unable to speak, she gestured at the elaborate living room before she followed Nora’s lead and struggled to her feet. They faced each other with the marble-topped coffee table between them, a gorgeous piece of stone that Geneva hoped would be incorporated in the new design. Right now the house was the furthest thing from her mind. Odd, when it had consumed her for so long.
“My husband…lately, he hasn’t been very attentive. He works almost every night—not in his study here, as he used to do, but at his office in town. When I called there last evening, I—I got his voice mail.” The last was uttered in a shaken tone. “I thought then he was on his way home, but he didn’t show up until three in the morning. I know because I was still awake.” She made a futile gesture. “I don’t know what’s happening…”
Nora sat beside her again on the sofa. She took Geneva’s cold hand.
“You’re freezing, angel.”
Geneva
