Lucy and the Valentine Verdict by Rae Davies Page B

too often.
    “I wish I’d known,” I replied. “We could
have borrowed something.”
    “That is a shame,” he said, raising his
eyebrows in an expression that completely belied his words.
    “Well, I could have borrowed
something,” I said as we reached the porch. I adjusted my hat,
which coincidentally hid my recently dyed blue hair. I wasn’t
ashamed of my style choice, but in the face of the top-class ivory
bead ensemble, I wasn’t ready to show it off just yet.
    The woman stepped forward. She was also, I
noticed, wearing a Victorian era gold watch that hung from a chain
around her neck. Not completely period appropriate if she was going
for the Jazz era, but with a gorgeous relief carving of a stag’s
head and rose gold flowers surrounding it, who would quibble over
time period? Unless, of course, mentioning that the item predated
the rest of her outfit might convince her to let a certain Helena
antiques dealer take it off of her hands.
    “Clothing you mean?” she asked. “No worries.
We have clothing and props for all the roles.” Her gaze shifted to
Peter. “Although tall as you are, you might just have to settle for
a prop.” She tilted her head and tittered, slightly enough that I
couldn’t quite justify feeling annoyed at the attention she was
giving him. Well, not overly annoyed.
    “I’m Lady York, and this is Sir Arthur
Cannon. We’re your hosts.” She gestured to the man who placed a
hand in his vest pocket and gave us a genteel nod.
    I could feel Peter looking at me. I
studiously did not look back. He’d agreed to come; he’d have to put
up with a little play acting.
    “And this must be Kiska,” the woman said,
running her fingers under my dog’s chin. “If we’d known he was
coming earlier we would have planned something more Hound of the
Baskervilles .”
    Kiska was not a hound, but I did appreciate
the idea of including him. I immediately forgave her earlier
tittering over Peter’s height.
    We followed them inside, making the usual
small talk about weather and how long the two had owned the
property, or how long Sir Arthur had. The couple had been married
for less than a year and had met only a few months before that.
    Once past the threshold, I took in my
surroundings. The home’s decor was a rather disturbing mix of
Montana rustic and English manor. A silver tea set waited for us on
a Black Forest inspired table.
    I discretely walked around eyeing hall
chairs with bears carved into their wooden backs and a china
cabinet filled with Staffordshire dog figures. There was also a
bookcase with an impressive display of mystery novels, all hardback
and some, I guessed, first editions.
    “Just sign here.” Sir Arthur held out an
antique fountain pen to Peter. My boyfriend took it without
fluttering a lash and signed us in.
    Suddenly nervous, I glanced around. “Is
anyone else here yet?” I asked.
    Lady York smoothed her dress. “One couple.
They arrived this morning and decided to use the extra time to do a
little exploring around the lake.” She cleared her throat. “She
seemed to need a bit of air.”
    Her husband gave her a pointed look and then
glanced back at us. “You young have fewer boundaries. We aren’t
used to that.”
    Since his wife was far from what I would
call old, I thought it best to just nod and look non-committal. I
did, however, wonder what boundaries this “young” couple might have
crossed and how much air the female half could need to make
exploring the lake in the dead of winter a tempting idea.
    I glanced out the front window. Besides the
walks and parking area, which someone had cleared, the snow had to
be two feet deep, with drifts that would probably cover my head if
I chose to do something so idiotic as step into one.
    I immediately made the assumption that the
air-needing female was a close relative of Admiral Byrd.
    “Most of the guests will be staying in the
main house,” Lady York explained. “But with your dog, well, we
thought it best if