Free The Collector by Nora Roberts Page B

remarried. They had Oliver, but split when he was a baby. Our mother remarried, and there was Valentina—step, then Esteban, and so on, down to Rylee, she’s fifteen and might’ve read your book, and the youngest, Madison. She’s four.”
    â€œYou have a four-year-old sister?”
    â€œMy father’s current wife is younger than I am. Some people collect stamps,” he said with a shrug.
    â€œHow do you keep them all straight?”
    â€œI have a spreadsheet.” He smiled when she laughed—and again had the image of her in a red dress whirling in front of a campfire. “No, seriously. When you get an invitation to a college graduation or somebody’s wedding, it’s good to know if you’re related to them. Who’s the gardener?”
    â€œThe amazing Macey. I call her that because she’s pretty close to perfect. I’d like to be her. She has one of your paintings.”
    â€œThe people who live here?”
    â€œNo, sorry. My thoughts are like buckshot sometimes. SageKendall. Julie told me, realized she knew her—a little—as a client, and that she bought one of your pieces. A woman playing the violin in a meadow. I know the piece because I’d told Julie if I had a wall, I’d have bought it. I probably couldn’t have afforded it, but if I’d had a wall and could’ve afforded it, I’d have bought it. It’s wonderful. Now it’s sad, because she must’ve thought it was wonderful, too. Screw water.” She set the bottle aside. “Do you want a glass of wine?”
    â€œYeah, I do.”
    â€œGood.” She rose, went inside.
    Ash lifted the glasses again. Oliver might have nudged his latest girlfriend to buy the painting. Bragging rights again. Or she might have bought it thinking it would please Oliver. Who knew?
    â€œDid you ever see anyone else in there? A visitor, a repairman, anyone?” Ash asked when she came back with two glasses of red.
    â€œNo, and I remember wondering about that. Everyone else I watched had someone. A little party, or friends over, a delivery. Something at some point. But not them. They went out a lot, nearly every night. And they both went out most days, not usually together. I figured they were going to work. Then again, they might have had someone over when I wasn’t looking. I know it seems like I just sat here trained on the building, but honestly I might take a look in the morning, then in the evening. Or if I was restless, late at night.”
    â€œA place like that, you entertain. Oliver liked having parties, having people over, and he’d have wanted that in that kind of space. So why didn’t they?”
    â€œA lot of people get out of the city in the summer, which is why I’m usually really busy in the summer.”
    â€œYeah, and why didn’t they?”
    â€œDidn’t he work?”
    â€œHe worked for an uncle on his mother’s side. Antiquities—acquisitions and sales. If he was still doing that. Mostly he lived on his trust fund when he could get away with it. But I think he’d beenworking for Vinnie—the uncle—for nearly a year now. I think it was working out, at least that’s the family buzz. Oliver finally found his place. And now . . . I’ll have to talk to Vinnie.”
    â€œIt’s hard. Especially with such a big family. So many people to tell or talk to about it. But it has to be a comfort, too. I always wanted a brother or sister.”
    She paused a moment because he was staring at the boarded-up window again.
    â€œDid you talk to your father?”
    â€œYeah.” Because that depressed him, Ash sat, studied his wine. “They’re in Scotland for a few weeks. They’ll come back to Connecticut when I let them know the arrangements.”
    â€œYou’re making them?”
    â€œLooks like it. His mother lives in London now. This flattened her. Losing a child has to