Free Buried Bones by Carolyn Haines Page B

paper sacks lined the drive. I let out a sigh of appreciation. Terribly, terribly romantic.
    Inside, there was the smell of fresh-cut cedar from the boughs that lined his staircase. Holly and wild magnolia leaves formed a bower, and from it hung the mistletoe. I had kissed Harold only once before. I'd been surprised, then, by my reaction to him. This time I was prepared. The restraint he used made me want to press for more. As before, though, he refused to accelerate the embrace.
    "Our past indicates we should proceed with caution," he said gravely as he ran his hands over my bare arms and concluded the kiss with a brushing of his lips across my cheek in a tease. "You returned my ring, and I tried to recapture something that was long gone," he reminded me.
    He spoke truth. I didn't bother to say that I could forgive him for taking off with Sylvia Garrett since I'd had my turn with her brother. I wasn't much of a scorekeeper in home runs of the heart, but we seemed to be even in the errors department.
    He seated me and poured us both a glass of wine. Then he set the room ablaze in candles.
    We ate in that rare light where everything gleamed and sparkled, even my conversation. We took champagne to the fireplace and sat down to listen to Beethoven. I found myself leaning against Harold, his arm around me, as I sipped the bubbly he'd poured into
Waterford
flutes.
    "To the future, Sarah Booth. Yours and mine," Harold said. "And to Lawrence Ambrose, a man of talent and generosity."
    It was an easy toast to drink to. "Tell me how you knew
Lawrence
," I said. Though the hour was late, I didn't want to go home. It was Christmas. Harold's arm around me felt just right, creating a 3.2 on the Richter scale in my right thumb as I remembered a moment beneath fairy lights.
    "As an adult, I became reacquainted with him through his wonderful work. But I knew him when I was a child. He was a friend of my Aunt Lenore's. He encouraged me to pursue music, but it was mainly our love of art that drew us together in the past few years.
    Lawrence
was a fine sculptor. His work is in the best collections in
Europe
."
    "Sculptor, too?"
    "He was many things, Sarah Booth. It's one reason he never achieved the acclaim he deserved in this country. He refused to focus. That made him hard to categorize--and easy to dismiss."
    "What was he like?" The champagne had made me warm and lazy, and I relaxed against Harold, enjoying his solid warmth, the beautiful music, and the flames of the fire.
    "He'd come to visit Lenore, and sometimes he spent hours with me. He had the imagination to create another world, a place of enchantment for a young boy who craved attention from an adult."
    I didn't know a lot about Harold's childhood, but I knew enough to know it hadn't been like mine. "He sounds wonderful."
    "He was. And kind. He made me feel special, Sarah Booth." A log shifted in the fire, sending up a shower of sparks. It broke the spell of memory and Harold sat a little straighter. "
Lawrence
did what few people ever have the courage to do. He took life by his own terms."
    "And he may have paid the price." The words were out of my mouth before I thought of the implications. Harold, though, was not as sizzled by the wine and candlelight.
    "What are you saying?" He turned so that he could look into my eyes. "The cut on his hand was an accident. He died while trying to call for help--didn't he?"
    I shrugged, hoping to end it there.
    "If foul play was involved . . ." His gaze focused beyond me for a moment. "Last night, that party, it was all about the book. He wanted everyone there to worry about what he'd written, what he might reveal."
    I could see Harold mentally going over the guest list from the night before. It didn't take him long to get to the Rs. "Will Brianna go forward with the book?"
    "I don't know." I put every scrap of sincerity I could muster into those three words. I sipped my champagne and decided to shift gears. "Harold, what could have prompted