Free The Butterfly and the Violin by Kristy Cambron

to her Creator. And for how fervently she gave in to the magical dance of the notes upon her soul, she felt no physical pain. Adele was astoundedthat her hands didn’t hurt at all. No, they weren’t an impediment as she thought they’d be. They moved with dexterity to every note she wished to play. They flew back and forth, with the speed of the music and the haunting notes of each melody.
    It felt wonderful to conquer her fear, to play without the instability of the future hanging over them like a threatening tyrant. She felt exhilarated and alive onstage, alive like she’d never expected. Adele stopped on the last note, lowering the violin and bow. She accepted the thunderous applause with the rest of the orchestra as the blood began dripping from her hands down the sides of her gown.

CHAPTER NINE

    T he phone was ringing when Sera stepped through the door to her room at the Ivy Ridge Bed and Breakfast. She dropped her bags in a heap on the floor and sailed over the bed to answer it, slamming her hand against the bedside table in the process.
    “ Ow! ” She wedged the phone against her shoulder and began rubbing the stinging pain out of her fingertips. “Hang on.”
    She almost lost the phone again when she tried to reposition it against her chin. “Penny, I am so glad you called,” she said, assuming her assistant would be the only one calling. “I just ran into the room and I smashed my hand on the bedside table. And my meeting at the Hanover mansion was disastrous. You won’t believe this—he actually thinks I’m after his money.” She shook her head and let out a weary sigh.
    “Who is Penny?”
    She stopped, startled to hear a male voice on the other end of the line.
    “She’s my assistant,” she backtracked, with her gut telling her to shout, Wrong number! and hang up quickly. Or permanently button her lip. Either way, she dreaded confirmation of who waited on the other end of the line. “I’m sorry. Who is this?”
    “You’ll be disappointed to hear that it’s William.”
    She closed her eyes as her chin sank to her chest. Couldthings possibly get worse? He’d never help her find the painting if he thought she’d insulted him.
    She began tripping over an apology at once. “Mr. Hanover, I assure you I meant nothing by that comment—I only meant that I didn’t . . . that is to say, I expected someone else to be on the line and—”
    “It’s okay.” Was he laughing? It almost sounded like it. His voice was much lighter than it had been in the office. “Am I disturbing you?”
    “No. I just got in.”
    “Well, I don’t want to take more of your time than is necessary, so I’ll state the reason for my call. I was hoping to come to an agreement with you.”
    She repositioned the phone in her hand, the words having caught her attention. “I’m listening.”
    “We both want to find the original painting.”
    “I agree.” Yes. If she learned more about his painting, then it might lead to what her heart longed for, to see the original painting once more. Regardless of their different motives, they both wanted the same thing.
    “And we both know that my grandfather is the place to start.”
    Sera had to concede that point as well, no matter how much she preferred not to admit it. “That is why I came all this way.”
    “Exactly. I have a connection to the painting and you have the means to find it. We each have something the other wants.”
    “So what is this agreement you’re after?”
    “We work together. I hire you, and you share what you already know.”
    “Keeping your enemies closer?”
    “Not exactly.” He said it so lightly that Sera caught the hint of a smile evident in his voice. “I’m calling to invite you to dinner.”
    “Dinner?”
    “Is that a question?”
    “No,” she said, completely taken aback. Sera drifted down to sit on the side of the bed. “I just didn’t expect—”
    “That I could be civil when it comes to my family inheritance?”
    “I