Killer Investigation. Amanda Stevens

did he tell you that?” Arden asked with a frown. She didn’t like the idea of her grandmother’s attorney repeating a conversation that Arden had considered private.

      “Don’t blame Ambrose. He let it slip in passing. It’s none of my business, of course, but I would hate to see you sell. This house has been in the Berdeaux family for generations.”

      Was that a hint of bitterness in her uncle’s voice? He would have every right to resent her inheritance. He was Evelyn’s only living offspring. Why she hadn’t left the property to him, Arden could only guess. In the not-too-distant future, her uncle would be the soul beneficiary of Clement Mayfair’s estate, which would dwarf the worth of Berdeaux Place.

      She rested her hand on one of the wooden tables. “It’s not like I want to sell. Though I can’t see myself living here. The upkeep on a place like this is financially and emotionally draining. I don’t want to be tied to a house for the rest of my life.”

      “I understand. Still, it would be nice to keep it in the family. Perhaps I could have a word with Father. He’s always had an interest in historic properties and a keen eye for real estate. And I imagine the idea of Evelyn rolling over in her grave would have some appeal.”

      Hardly a convincing argument, Arden thought in distaste.

      “A word of warning, though. Keep everything close to the vest. Father is a master at sniffing out weakness.”

      Arden detested the idea of her grandmother’s beloved Berdeaux Place being used as a final weapon against her. She’d have Ambrose Foucault put out feelers in other directions, although she was no longer certain she could trust his discretion. Maybe it was time to look for a new attorney.

      She glanced at her uncle. “Please don’t say anything to anyone just yet. As I said, my plans are still up in the air.”

      “Mum’s the word, then. I should get going. I’m sure you’d like to get settled.”

      “It’s been a long day,” she said.

      “Don’t forget about the blooming party. And do stop by the studio when you get a chance. I’ll give you the grand tour.”

      “Thank you. I would like that.”

      “You should probably also know that the Mayor’s Ball is coming up. It’s being held at Mayfair House this year, all proceeds to go to the construction of a new arboretum. You know how political those things are. Everything revolves around optics. If Father gets wind that you’re home, he’ll expect an appearance.”

      “Balls are not really my thing,” Arden said with a shrug. She could hardly imagine Clement Mayfair hosting an intimate dinner, much less a grand ball, but as her uncle said, those things were political. She doubted her grandfather had agreed to throw open his doors and his wallet without getting something very valuable in return.

      “He can be relentless when he wants something,” her uncle cautioned. “It’s never a good idea to cross him.”

      Arden lifted her chin. “I’m pretty stubborn, too. I guess that’s the Mayfair gene.”

      Calvin’s expression froze for an instant before a smile flitted. “Yes, we are a hardheaded lot. Maybe Father will have finally met his match in you. At any rate, your presence at the ball would certainly make things more interesting.”

      They stepped out of the steamy greenhouse into the cool evening air. He turned to her on the shadowy pathway. “Whether you come to the ball or not, Arden, I’m glad you’re home. It’s good to have someone in the house again.”

      “It’s good to be here.” For now.

      “Good night, Niece.”

      “Good night, Uncle.”

      He strode down the flagstones toward the gate, pausing at the entrance to pluck a magnolia petal from a branch that draped over the wall. Lifting the blossom to his nose, he tilted his head to the moon as he closed his eyes and savored the fragrance.

      Then he dropped the flower to the ground and walked through the gate without a backward glance.