Page 9 of Wasted

The foyer appeared empty and quiet, the brown and cherry wood and intricately patterned encaustic tiles gleaming from Judy’s conscientious care.

“Stop your hovering, woman.” Thomas’s irritated voice carried to the foyer.

Victoria smiled as she followed the sound.

“I’m not an invalid, and I never will be, no matter how much you and that brother of yours would love it if I was.”

Victoria’s smile transitioned to a wince as she neared the open doors of the library. Sounded like she would have her work cut out for her today if his relatives were getting on his nerves that much.

Footsteps clinked across the library’s parquet-patterned hardwood floor toward the doorway, and Brenda appeared, muttering under her breath as she glared ahead. Until her gaze landed on Victoria.

The transformation was quick and smooth as Brenda stopped in front of Victoria, a polite smile shaping her red-lipstick-covered lips. “Ms. Weston. So glad you could make it after all. Uncle was so disappointed when you missed your appointment.”

As always, Brenda’s apparent friendliness was undergirded by barely disguised criticism.

Victoria smiled. “No more than I was, I’m sure. But I won’t keep him waiting any longer.” She watched Brenda, hoping the woman would take the hint and step out of the way.

Victoria could go around her. But such an action would only irritate Brenda and make any peacemaking efforts Victoria might need to attempt all the harder.

Brenda’s mouth tightened at the corners as if she was tempted to say something more.

“Did you need anything before I go in?” Victoria delivered the question in a professional tone.

“No, of course not.” Brenda moved aside and extended her hand toward the library. “Please.”

Victoria let out a quiet breath as she entered the room, inhaling the scent of old books as she took in the floor-to-ceiling shelves packed with early editions and favorites she and Thomas shared.

“So, you finally decided to show up.”

Victoria laughed and crossed the room to the distinguished gentleman who sat in an armchair in front of the grand fireplace, facing away from her. His tone assured her his remark was the opposite of Brenda’s—critical words that disguised fondness, welcome, and humor.

She rounded the chair and gazed upon the client she’d come to think of as a friend.

His gray beard and hair refused to thin with his eighty-four years, though his slight body, shrinking stature, and pale, milky skin tone made him hard to recognize in the portrait of the young, strapping shipping magnate that hung above the mantle.

But his eyes twinkled through his glasses with more merriment and kindness than the serious, cold young man he appeared to have been when the painting had been completed.

“Yes, I did. Despite the welcome I knew I would receive.” Victoria gave him a smile.

A single laugh burst from Thomas, and he slapped the leather arm of his chair. “About time somebody with some wit arrived. I’ve been having to put up with these imbeciles and their simpering all day.”

Victoria cast a glance beyond the chair.

Brenda still lingered at the library door, looking in their direction. She could probably hear every word her uncle said.

“I believe Brenda can hear you.” Victoria lowered her voice as she set the mail on the nearby end table, then placed a pad under her bag beside the letters.

“I hope she can.” Thomas raised his volume louder. “Maybe then she and her brother will stop their sickening patronizing and find something to do instead of waiting around for me to die.”

A predictable response from Thomas. But Victoria still frowned as Brenda turned away and left, disappearing from sight. Knowing Brenda, she was likely going to remain somewhere within hearing range.

“Perhaps she has better intentions than you think.” Victoria returned her attention to Thomas.

He harumphed. “The only intentions she and Ryan have are to see me dead within the year so they can get their hands on my fortune. They might even want to help it along if either of them was smart enough to think of how to do it.”

“Thomas.” Victoria stared at him. He often criticized his niece and nephew, but he’d never suggested they would do anything to harm him, beyond pestering him to death. “You don’t mean that.”

“Don’t I?” He placed both hands on the arms of the chair and leaned forward. “You are the only one I can trust, Victoria.” His voice lowered to a secretive tone she hadn’t heard him use before.