the contents of the canning jar. She was relieved when Dee declined, saying water would be fine.
Her thirst quenched, Dee perched on the edge of a ladder back chair and, clutching her hands in her lap, hesitated a moment before asking, “Could I see the rest of the house? This room is so pretty, I’d really love to see what else you’ve done.”
Standing by the sink, sipping her own glass of water, Edna was warmed by the compliment, thinking again what a mix of emotions this woman stirred in her. She glanced at her watch. “Yes, I can give you a quick tour.” By the time she’d set her glass in the sink, Dee was already out the door and into the front hallway. When Edna caught up with her, Dee was studying a small table.
“ What lovely grain in this walnut,” she said, running a hand along one edge.
“ Thank you. It was a favorite of my mother’s. I remember it beside the chaise lounge in her bedroom.”
“ Must be a nice memory,” Dee said, the smile not reaching her eyes. Turning back to the furniture, she added, “This is a particularly nice tea table. It looks to me like eighteenth century.”
“ Why, yes, it is.” Edna thought Dee was going to prove as knowledgeable about antiques as she was about plants. “Why don’t I show you the living room?”
Before leaving the hall, however, Dee poked at her shoulder-length curls in front of the gilded mirror hanging just above the little table. Standing behind her guest, Edna was surprised to realize that Dee was examining the scrollwork on the mirror’s frame and not her blonde locks.
She’d supposed Dee to be vainer, and again Edna found she was adjusting her opinion of this unusual woman. Obviously, there was more to Dee Tolkheim than met the eye. When she realized her guest was watching her in the mirror, Edna hurried to break a lengthening silence.
“ That mirror belonged to my husband’s great-great-great grandfather who was captain of a whaling vessel out of New Bedford,” she said and turned down the short hallway.
“ It must be nice to know so much of the history of your family,” Dee replied, following. In the living room she moved to sit on a mahogany sofa, upholstered in gold brocade, and ran a bejeweled hand over the fabric. “Another fine piece of furniture. Yours or your husband’s family?” She smiled as she raised an eyebrow.
Edna chuckled, pleased that Dee recognized what was another family heirloom. She found herself becoming more delighted than annoyed with the woman. “That sofa always takes me back to my grandmother’s parlor. That’s what’s nice about having things handed down in one’s family, the stories and memories that go with them.” Edna grew uncomfortable, realizing she was babbling on about her family to a stranger. She wanted to know more about Dee. “You must have wonderful accounts of your own.” She made it sound like a question, hoping to draw the woman out.
Dee’s laugh sounded like the tinkling of tiny wind chimes. “Hardly. I grew up with what has been referred to as early Salvation Army.”
Her guest’s frankness made Edna squirm inwardly, as though she’d been flaunting her wealth. At the same time, she remembered that it had been Dee who’d led the conversation down this particular path. Besides, according to Tuck, Dee was now a very rich woman.
As if again reading Edna’s mind, the sides of Dee’s mouth twitched. “My fortunes certainly have changed.”
Edna began to think Dee was purposely trying to unsettle her. She used the opportunity to encourage Dee to talk some more about herself. “What was your home like—the one you grew up in?”
Dee laughed again, more like breaking glass than twinkling chimes this time. “Oh, Honey, it was nothing like this.” She looked down at her hand stroking the brocade. “Definitely not like this at all.”
Edna felt her face grow hot at the term “Honey.” She didn’t consider herself a snob, but she couldn’t help the reaction.
Volume 2 The Harry Bosch Novels