Page 15 of Final Cost

“Anyway, I’ll see what I can do to get someone out here ASAP. Then he’ll donate the proceeds from the sale.”

“To what?”

“No idea,” she says, shrugging. “He has a lot of charities that he supports. And his foundation, of course.”

“Well, he’ll get a lot of proceeds from this,” I say, scanning the room again. I can’t begin to imagine the cost of everything here. Hundreds of thousands easily, I’m guessing, if not millions.

“Truer words were never spoken,” she says, heading for the door. “Did you need something? I didn’t even ask.”

“No.” I waved a hand. “I’m fine. I’m about to go down for breakfast.”

“Sounds good, she says, hurrying off. “Let me know if you need anything from me.”

I battle the uncomfortable feeling that what I really need is a few minutes alone with Ravenna’s stuff as I watch Maddie disappear down the hallway. Then I head straight for the wedding dress like the furtive jewel thief, glancing over my shoulder to make sure no one’s coming. I reach out, hesitate, then decide,fuck it. What am I so worried about? That Ravenna won’t like me rifling through her things? That I’m unworthy of touching such finery? That her possessions are somehow infused with her lingering negative energy and will contaminate me? Ridiculous. Besides. Ravenna had no problem sneaking into the guest cottage and rummaging throughmythings, did she? She even stole my perfume and used it to try to seduce Lucien.

Turnabout is fair play.

I unfold the dress’ bodice just enough to get an appreciation for the heaviness of the silk. The fineness of the weave. The tiny perfect stitching. The lining, in Ravenna’s signature pale gray.

Oh, and there’s a label:

Designed for Ravenna Balfour Winter on her Wedding Day

It’s the most beautiful garment I’ve ever seen. And it makes me feel sick, although whether it’s from envy or revulsion is anyone’s guess. Funny how I have both this endless fascination with Ravenna that pulls me in and a simmering dread of what she’ll do next that warns me away.

She’s dead, I remind myself.Dead.

I carefully replace the dress and its tissue paper before I accidentally leave a smudge on something, my pulse thumping away in my throat. Then I turn to the nearest rack. These seem to be everyday clothes—wool trousers, silk dresses in jewel tones and some blazers. I run my hand over the stunning fabrics, imagining her in them.

Oh, and there’s something else, I notice. Many of the items have a dated Polaroid of Ravenna wearing the item attached to the hangar by a gray silk ribbon. And the event where she wore it written on the bottom in a bold and slashing handwriting. Ravenna’s handwriting. I assume this is a practice she established to ensure she never committed the unforgivable fashion faux pas of wearing the same outfit around the same people more than once.

So there’s Ravenna posing in the Chanel jacket, pouting at the camera before some women’s luncheon in the city. There she is in a red tweed dress, a hand on her cocked hip and a Prada bag over her arm with Daniel on her left. That was for some charity luncheon here at Ackerley. And there—oh, God— there she is in a beaded black ball gown, her arm slung around Lucien in his tux. They’re at some glittering high society function that’s a million worlds away from my childhood in Brooklyn or the frat parties I went to in college. They look young and happy. The picture is a tiny little dagger to my heart. Another one. Worse, it’s another reminder that I don’t belong here in this rarefied world. I have no business feeling jealous about the wife of a man who rejected me so brutally. And I guess there’s something else Ravenna and I have in common: when it was all said and done, Lucien didn’t want either one of us. What a fucking kick in the gut.

That’s when I register an elusive new detail. The faint smell of an expensive perfume seems to be everywhere and nowhere. I pick up the sleeve of the latest garment and give it a furtive sniff. It’s intoxicating. Nothing that I would ever wear, but unmistakably compelling. The kind of thing you want to follow to its source.

I recognize it immediately as the sophisticated oriental scent I encountered in the hallway last night. Which is evidently, I realize with a dash of horror, Ravenna’s perfume.

Get out of here, Tamsyn. Ackerley isn’t for you. You’ve got to protect yourself?—

“The Voice of the Snake,” comes a new male voice from the doorway, startling me out of my skin. Daniel’s voice rather than Lucien’s, thank God.

I hastily drop the sleeve, embarrassed to be caught in all my nosy glory.“What?”

“The name of Ravenna’s signature perfume. Voice of the Snake. I remember when she discovered it a few years ago. At Harrod’s on some trip to London, if I’m not mistaken. She danced down the hallway spritzing it on everything. Let’s just say Maddie was not thrilled.”

So there it is. A perfectly reasonable explanation for me smelling it last night. I probably got a whiff of it from the curtains. Not Ravenna’s ghostly presence drifting along overhead. And how appropriate that someone with Ravenna’s bright green eyes and venomous disposition would be attracted to something withsnakein the title. Still, “I don’t remember it from when I met her.”

Daniel shrugs. “She didn’t have access to it. Lucien got rid of most of her personal items when she died the first time. Beautiful clothes, aren’t they?”

“They are,” I say, now recovered from my ridiculous case of the willies. “I’ve never seen anything like it.”

His gaze drifts out of focus, a faint smile hovering around his lips. “He used to take her to Paris and Milan for the fashion shows. She’d order her clothes for the season. She always wanted to look her best for him. And he never spared any expense for her.”

A sour taste creeps into the back of my mouth at this reminder of the perfect couple and their great love. At least in the beginning. Poor Lucien. He went from ordering the finest European couture for Ravenna to grabbing some Chuck Taylor sneakers for me. It’s all I can do to hold back my hollow laugh. At least I was a cheap date. “I can imagine.”

He frowns down at the floor, shaking his head. “I still remember the day Lucien brought her home to meet the family. How happy they were. How happy everyone was for them. I can’t figure out how it’s come tothis.”

“Right. Me either.” I gesture toward the hallway, eager to get out of here. Between the scent of her perfume, the sight of these exquisite clothes and the stories of ye good olde times, I’ve had enough of Ravenna for the day. And it’s not even noon yet. “I’m going to grab some breakfast.”

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