She could only hope she was ready.
Twenty-three
FROM THE NAME—SHERRILYN BURKE—AND THE VOICE over the phone—brisk Yankee—Eli pictured a lanky blonde in a smart suit. He opened the door to a fortyish brunette in jeans, a black sweater and a battered leather jacket. She carried a briefcase and wore black Chucks.
“Mr. Landon.”
“Ms. Burke.”
She pushed a pair of Wayfarers on top of her short cap of hair, held out a hand to shake his. “Nice dog,” she added, and held out a hand to Barbie.
Barbie politely shook.
“She’s got a hell of a bark, but doesn’t appear to have much bite.”
“The bark does the job.”
“I bet. Some house you’ve got here.”
“It really is. Come on in. Can I get you some coffee?”
“I never turn it down. Black’s good.”
“Why don’t you go in, sit down. I’ll get it.”
“Maybe we could save time, and I’ll go to the kitchen with you. You answered the door, you’re getting the coffee. That tells me it’s the staff’s day off.”
“I don’t have staff, which you already know.”
“Part of the job. And, full disclosure,” she added with a smile that showed off a crooked incisor, “I wouldn’t mind a look around. I’ve seen some magazine spreads,” she added. “But it’s not like being in it.”
“All right.”
She studied the foyer as they walked on, then the main parlor, the music room with its double pocket doors that could open to the parlor for parties.
“It goes on and on, doesn’t it? But in a livable way instead of a museum. I’ve wondered. You’ve kept the character, and that says something. Inside matches the out.”
“Bluff House is important to my grandmother.”
“And to you?”
“Yeah, and to me.”
“It’s a big house for one person. Your grandmother lived here alone for the last several years.”
“That’s right. She’ll come back when her doctors clear it. I’ll stay with her.”
“Family first. I know how it is. I’ve got two kids, a mother who drives me crazy and a father who drives her crazy since he retired. He put in his thirty.”
“Your father was a cop?”
“Yeah, he was one of the Boys. But you knew that.”
“Part of the job.”
She smirked. Then turned into and around the kitchen. “This isn’t part of the original, but it still manages to reflect the character. Do you cook?”
“Not really.”
“Me either. This kitchen looks like one for serious cooking.”
“My grandmother likes to bake.” He moved to the coffeemaker as she made herself at home on an island stool. “And the woman who takes care of the house is a pretty serious cook, I’d say.”
“That would be Abra Walsh. She’s . . . taking care of the house for you now.”
“That’s right. Is my personal life relevant, Ms. Burke?”
“Make it Sherrilyn. And everything’s relevant. It’s how I work. So I appreciate getting a sense of the house. I’m also an admirer of Ms. Walsh’s mother. And from what I’ve learned, I got some for the daughter. She’s making an interesting life for herself here, after some hard knocks. How about you?”
“Working on it.”
“You were a decent lawyer, of your kind.” She added that quick smile again. “Trying to be a writer now.”
“That’s right.”
“Your name would make a splash. Old money, scandal, mystery.”
Resentment curdled inside his belly like sour milk. “I’m not looking to make a splash off my family’s money, or my wife’s murder.”
She shrugged. “It is what it is, Mr. Landon.”
“Make it Eli if you’re going to insult me.”
“Just getting a gauge. You cooperated with the police more than I’d have expected after your wife’s murder.”
“More than I should have, in hindsight.” He set her coffee in front of her. “I wasn’t thinking like a lawyer. By the time I did start thinking, it was a little late.”
“Did you love her?”
He’d asked for a woman, he reminded himself. Someone fresh and thorough. He’d gotten one, and an investigator nothing like the one he’d hired after Lindsay’s death.
Now he’d have to deal with the result.
“Not when she died. It’s hard not knowing if I ever did. But she mattered. She was my wife, and she mattered. I want to know who killed her. I want to know why. I spent too much of the last year defending myself and not enough really trying to find the answers.”