Free 2 Pane of Death by Sarah Atwell Page A

ethereal. I don’t want it to look like a piece of Victoriana that just wandered in.”
    “What’s the alternative?”
    “Frankly, I don’t know yet. I’m still trying to get the glass part down, work out the curvature. It’s a little out of my comfort zone, but I’m learning.”
    “You aren’t going for anything showy? Like a Chihuly sea creature?”
    I had to check to see if he was making fun of me. He was. “You know very well how ridiculous that would be, in this context.”
    “Em, I have every faith that you’ll find a way to make this work.”
    “You know, there’s one thing that’s been troubling me: How do you plan to protect the glass?”
    He cocked his head at me. “Do you mean security? You’ve seen my alarm systems.”
    “Yes, I know, and I assume you’ve got that covered. But I mean, physically. You’re not from around here, right? I don’t know what gun laws are like where you come from, but around here, there’s not a lot of regulation, especially for rifles and shotguns.”
    “Where are you going with this, Em?”
    “There are plenty of guns around, and your place is pretty exposed. What’s to stop somebody with a grudge, or just a bellyful of tequila, from taking a few potshots at your windows?”
    “Ah,” he said, smiling. “I wouldn’t have expected you to think of that, but it has crossed my mind. I will be installing bulletproof glass on the exterior. And before you ask, this will be done as unobtrusively as possible, following the lines of the leading. And it will also be vented—I understand conditions can be rather extreme around here. Does that satisfy you?”
    “That’s perfect. It’s just that I’d hate to see anything bad happen to the pieces.”
    “I understand.”
    Our eyes met, and I wondered what I saw in his. He had always been professionally distant in our meetings, and our discussions had focused on practical issues. Save when he talked about his collection—then, I saw flashes of passion. But he was still an enigma. He never mentioned any other people, and there was no evidence of others in the house, apart from whoever had carried in the glass panels—too heavy for one person to manage. But there was a lurking sensuality in him that was intriguing, and I wondered more than once who was on the receiving end of that. Not me, nor did I invite it. I valued the careful friendship we had established, and we both respected the limits.
    And then it ended, in the most final way.
    He called a few days after our last meeting to say that the final panel had arrived, and would I like to see it? It was a Frank Lloyd Wright, one of his Saguaro series, which made it a particularly apt inside joke. But I had a busy week planned, and much as I wanted to dash straight out there to see the latest treasure, I had to put him off for a couple of days. We set a date for Thursday, two days in the future, in the afternoon when the sun would be low in the sky. I felt a mixture of excitement and sadness: excitement because now the ensemble would be complete, and I would know the full scope of what I was working with; sadness because this would be the last surprise, the last opportunity to walk into a room to something wonderful and to know that I would have the luxury of coming to know it intimately.
    When the day came, I made the now-familiar drive and arrived on time. By now I was used to passing through the exterior defenses without announcing myself, so I drove straight up the driveway and parked. When I walked to the door, it was closed, so I buzzed the intercom and got no response. That was odd—until now Peter had always been waiting for me. After trying again, I reached for the door handle, and to my surprise the door opened.
    My sensible inner voice told me to stop right there. Peter was absolutely scrupulous about security and had always been at least within earshot when I arrived, with or without Maddy. Maybe he was doing something in another part of the house? I felt