Read The Secret Life of Violet Grant for Free Online Page A

them. What if someone opened up
my
suitcase?
    In the wake of the earlier fracas, the courtyard had gone unnaturally still. The clock ticked mechanically in my ear, and for some reason the sound reminded me that I hadn’t had lunch, that I had packed an entire week’s worth of excitement into a single Saturday afternoon, and for all I knew it might be dinnertime already.
    I glanced at the face. Two-thirty-one.
    I rose from the table and went to the kitchen, where I measured water and coffee grounds into the percolator. Doctor Paul would need coffee when he woke up, and lots of it.
    Two-thirty-one. I’d known the good doctor for two hours and thirty-nine minutes, and he’d been asleep for most of it. I plugged the percolator into the wall socket and opened the refrigerator. Butter, cheese. There must be some bread in the breadbox.
    Doctor Paul would be hungry, too.
    â€¢Â Â Â â€¢Â Â Â â€¢
    AH, the scent of brewing coffee. It bolts a man from peaceful slumber faster than the words
Darling, I’m pregnant.
    I watched his big blue eyes blink awake. I savored the astonished little jerk of his big blue body. “Hello, Doctor,” I said. “Welcome to heaven.”
    He looked at me, and his head relaxed against the pillow. “You again.”
    â€œI made you grilled cheese and tomato soup. And coffee.”
    â€œYou didn’t.”
    â€œYou carried my parcel. It was the least I could do.”
    He smiled and sat up, all blinky and tousley and shaky-heady. “I don’t know how I fell asleep.”
    â€œIt seems pretty straightforward to me. You were exhausted. You made the mistake of lowering your poor overworked backside onto my unconscionably comfortable sofa. Voilà. Have some coffee.”
    He accepted the cup and took a sip. Eyelids down. “I think I’m in love with you.”
    â€œAw, you big lug. Wait until you taste my grilled cheese.”
    Another sip. “I’d love to taste your grilled cheese.”
    Well, well.
    I rose to my feet and went to the kitchen, where Doctor Paul’s sandwich sat in the oven, keeping warm. When I returned, his eyes lifted hopefully.
    I handed him the plate. “So tell me about yourself, Doctor Paul.”
    â€œI do have a last name, if you’d care to hear it.”
    â€œBut, Doctor, we hardly know each other. I’m not sure I’m ready to be on a last-name basis with you.”
    â€œIt’s Salisbury. Paul Salisbury.”
    â€œYou’ll always be Doctor Paul to me. Now eat your sandwich like a good boy.”
    He smiled and tore away a bite. I perched myself at the edge of the armchair, such as it was, and watched him eat. I was still wearing my frilly white apron, and I smoothed it down my front like any old housewife. “Well?”
    â€œI do believe this is the best grilled cheese I’ve ever had.”
    â€œIt’s my specialty.”
    He nodded at the suitcase. “Haven’t you opened it yet?”
    â€œOh, that. You’ll never guess. It belonged to my secret great-auntViolet, who murdered her husband and ran off with her lover, and the damned thing is, of course, locked tight as an oyster with a lovely fat pearl inside.”
    Doctor Paul’s sandwich paused at his mouth. “You’re serious?”
    â€œIn this case, I am.”
    He enclosed a ruminative mouthful of grilled cheese. “I hope you don’t mind my asking whether this sort of behavior runs in the family?”
    â€œMy behavior, or hers?”
    â€œBoth.”
    I settled back in my armchair and twiddled my thoughtful thumbs. “Well. I can’t say the Schuylers are the most virtuous of human beings, though we do put on a good show for outsiders. Still and all, outright psychopathy is generally frowned upon.”
    â€œI can’t tell you how relieved I am to hear it.”
    â€œThat being said, and as a general note of caution, psychopaths do make the best