Free Zinnia by Jayne Castle Page B

that, she’d been too busy dealing with grief, the crumbling Spring empire and the family’s future to worry about her official status as an eternal spinster.
    Family and friends who had learned about her agency results viewed her with mingled shock, fascination, and pity. But lately Zinnia had begun to see distinct advantages in her situation. In a society where enormous pressure was applied to everyone to marry, she had a free pass.
    The conventional wisdom was that what she actually possessed was a ticket to loneliness, but she did not spend much time thinking about it these days. She was too busy trying to make a living.
    “Aunt Willy says you told her that you enjoy Luttrell’s company and that he’s got a nice sense of humor,” Leo pointed out.
    “I do and he does.” She did not add that a week ago Duncan had gone so far as to hint that he might be open to the notion of a non-agency marriage.
    Duncan was the president of SynIce, a high-profile computer firm. He had introduced himself to Zinnia six weeks ago at an art exhibition. They had fallen into conversation when they had found themselves standing, equally baffled, in front of a painting from the Neo-Second Generation school. They had each taken a long look at the meaningless blobs of paint, caught each other’s eye, and immediately succumbed to laughter.
    They had promptly adjourned to the museum cafe to share a cup of coff-tea and a conversation about art.
    When Duncan had phoned a few days later to invite her to the theater, she had accepted. Aunt Willy had gone into ecstasy. Zinnia was well aware that visions of recouping the family fortunes through marriage were dancing in the heads of her nearest and dearest.
    “You’re always saying how important a sense of humor is in a man,” Leo reminded her.
    “Absolutely crucial,” she assured him. “After growing up with Dad, how could I live with anyone who didn’t know how to laugh?”
    “I know. As a businessman, Dad was a complete washout, but he was a great father. I still miss him and Mom, Zin.”
    “Me, too.” A pang of wistfulness went through Zinnia as she recalled her father’s robust zest for life.
    Edward Spring had been a great-hearted man of huge enthusiasms. His wife, Genevieve, had shared her husband’s boundless optimism and gentle nature. Zinnia and Leo had grown up in a home that had been filled with warmth and laughter. Unfortunately, neither of their parents had had a head for business. Under Edward and Genevieve’s management, Spring Industries had been driven straight into the ground.
    “I guess it’s just as well that you’re not carrying a torch for Luttrell,” Leo said. “The tabloids as good as implied that you’re Nick Chastain’s mistress.”
    “It will be old news by tomorrow,” Zinnia assured him. She picked up a pen and fiddled with it. “The Spring name doesn’t have the interest level that it did a year and a half ago.” “Maybe not, but Chastain’s name will sure sell newspapers.”
    She tossed aside the pen and sat forward. “You know what’s really maddening about this whole situation?”
    “Yeah. The fact that the papers are trying to slice and dice your reputation again.”
    “No, it’s that everyone seems to have forgotten that poor Morris Fenwick was murdered last night.”
    “Unfortunately, Chastain is a lot more interesting than Morris Fenwick,” Leo said. “And so are you, for that matter.”
    “It’s not right. The newspapers and everyone else should be focused on finding Fenwick’s killer.”
    “The cops will get him,” Leo said off-handedly. “Whoever it was will probably be picked up in a drug bust sooner or later.”
    “Maybe.” Zinnia hesitated. “Leo, if I wanted to consult an expert in the Western Seas expeditions, especially one that was conducted about thirty-five years ago, who would I see?”
    “Any particular expedition?”
    “Yes. Don’t laugh, but I’d like to find out more about the Third Chastain