Page 52 of Sinful Beauty

I haven’t yet parked in the garage because I need to get the key to open up the place, but given the weather coming in, I’ll be sure to park it inside. My father added the attached garage to the chalet about twenty or thirty years ago, and I can remember my grandfather mocking him and complaining it would be one more section of roof that would need to be cleared of snow. In most matters, I was team granddad, but on that one, I have to say, the younger generation had it right.

“Who else is staying here?” She hasn’t moved from her seat and remains transfixed by the building.

“Just us.” I drop my offered hand. “I told you we’d go somewhere we won’t come across anyone from the office. We won’t cross paths with anyone here.”

There are other chalets, of course, but the chances of someone from the office staying in this area are slim, and the one she most wishes to avoid, my mother, never visits this property. She’ll fly to Paris before driving to Chamonix.

Lucia finally swings her legs off the seat and takes my hand for balance. After assuring her I’ll return for our luggage, I lead the way through the entry vestibule and up the stairs to the main living area. The place has many bedrooms, but it’s the master that has been renovated in this century and boasts stunning views, a wood-burning fireplace, and mink throws. The bath is one of my favorites, with a soaking tub set before a glass wall and a pass through gas fireplace that separates the bathing area from the marble shower.

“How many bedrooms does this place have?”

“I don’t recall. Six or seven? We’re staying on the top floor.”

My phone vibrates as we reach the main living area. “Feel free to explore. I need to take this call.”

I step into the office and close the door. If Nigel calls on a Saturday, it’s important.

“Tristan, here.”

“Are you alone?”

“I am now.” I step back towards the desk, only stopping once I have a clear view of the light coming in below the door. If Lucia enters the hall, her shadow will alert me.

“William Salo died this morning.” His outlook hadn’t been promising. If he came out of a coma, his prognosis included a significant likelihood of brain injury.

“If you’re calling me to tell me, then I take it we don’t believe it was because of natural causes?”

“His wife pulled life support.”

“You can hardly blame her.”

“Under normal circumstances, I would agree.”

“Would having a knife thrown into your eye by your former lover ever qualify as commonplace?”

“Don’t get cheeky. We picked up a transfer to an offshore account she opened a little over a week ago.”

“Someone paid her?”

“Has the appearances of it. She knew authorities were hoping to speak to him.”

“Yes, but no one knew if he’d be able to speak. How much transferred?”

“One million euros.”

“That’s a tidy sum. I suppose life insurance wouldn’t work that quickly.”

“We’re tracking the funding source. It’s conceivable it’s simply a case of managing changes in the estate, but the use of the offshore account?—”

“Right. Understood. I assume we’ve been tracking her finances, and that’s how you noticed?”

“Within twenty-four hours of Salo being admitted to emergency. It’s almost a month later. Seems someone might have been debating what to do and chose a course.”

“Appears that way, but as you know, in investigations, it never pays to assume.”

“Right you are. Since I have you, any updates on your end?”

“None.” It’s disappointing, but the truth.

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