Page 44

CHAPTER 44

“ WELCOME!” SAID PAUL with a broad grin. “Come in!”

Holmes did his best to hide his surprise. “I thought you lived in Queens,” he said.

Paul turned to lead the way up the elaborate wood staircase to his apartment.

“We did,” he said. “But when this place came back on the market, we couldn’t resist.”

“We?”

As Holmes walked into the apartment, a woman emerged from the kitchen. Young. Attractive. Her brunette pixie cut complemented her delicate features. She was accompanied by two little girls, one in her arms, the other clinging to the leg of her jeans.

Oliver slid behind the woman and rested his hands on her shoulders. She was about an inch taller than he was. “This is my wife, Irene. Irene, this is Mr. Holmes. I call him Sherlock, for short.”

Holmes suppressed the urge to roll his eyes.

“I’ve heard all about you,” said Irene, jostling the little girl in her arms. “Sorry, my hands are full.” Her accent was British. The two girls were silent and shy, turning their heads away as Irene introduced them.

“This is Lily,” she said, nodding toward the girl she was holding. She reached down to tousle the hair of the girl grabbing her leg. “And this little Klingon is Brenda.” Both the girls were dressed in T-shirts and animal-patterned shorts. Their toenails were painted bright pink.

“Lovely children,” said Holmes. “How old?”

“One. And not yet two,” said Paul.

“Irish twins,” added Irene with a little smile. She glanced at Paul. “Well, we’ll leave you to it.” She and the two tiny girls moved as a unit up the narrow staircase to the top floor.

“Come in,” said Paul, waving Holmes into the living room. The décor was a tasteful mix of classic and contemporary. Holmes glanced along the bookshelves. They were lined with tome after tome on watchmaking and repair. He wasn’t surprised to see a gorgeous Georgian-style clock resting on the mantel.

“I see you bring your work home,” said Holmes, rubbing his hands over the polished walnut.

“Restored it with my own two hands,” said Paul. “Wrote an article on it.” He took a step toward a shelf and pulled out a thin magazine. “Would you like to read it?”

“Maybe later,” said Holmes. He was ready to get down to business.

“Please,” said Paul, gesturing toward the sofa. “Sit.”

Holmes eased himself down onto the plush cushions. Paul took a seat in an armchair.

“It doesn’t make you uncomfortable?” asked Holmes.

“What?” asked Paul.

“Living here,” said Holmes. “In the place where your mother died.”

Paul smiled and shrugged. “That’s why I bought it,” he said. “To feel close to her.” He leaned forward in his chair. “Would you like to see where it happened? I know that’s why you’re here.”

Holmes looked up. “If it wouldn’t trouble you…”

“Not at all,” said Paul. “Follow me.”

He led the way up the narrow set of stairs to the bathroom on the top floor. When they reached the landing, Paul stopped. Holmes could hear splashing water and the sound of a woman singing in a high-pitched voice. He could smell lavender and lemon in the air.

“Dammit!” said Paul. “I think Irene is giving the girls a bath.”

“In that case, a peek would be inappropriate,” said Holmes. “Another time.”

They walked back downstairs to the living room. Holmes took his place on the sofa again. Paul leaned against the bookshelves.

“Where were you that night?” asked Holmes.

Paul stared at the floor for a moment, then looked up again. “At a friend’s house down the street. I was thirteen.”

“And your father…?”

“Gone,” said Paul. “Years before. Left us some money but not much else.”

“So your mother was alone in the house?”

Paul nodded. “She loved her baths,” he said. “Took one every night before bed to help her sleep. The coroner thought she’d had a little too much wine that evening. Accidental drowning, he ruled it, with alcohol as a contributing factor.”

“But you think it was murder.”

“I’m sure of it,” said Paul. “The first of many.”

“How did you and your mother get along?” asked Holmes.

Paul smiled. “I can see where you’re headed, Sherlock. And I don’t blame you for thinking it. After all, you’re a great detective. But I was just a kid. And she was my mother. We all love our mothers, don’t we?”