Page 58 of For the Love of Lilah
She almost smiled, then sniffed and aimed at Sloan. “And you’re the one who’s after Amanda.”
“That’s right.”
“What’s that accent?” she demanded, eyes sharpening. “Where are you from?”
“Oklahoma.”
“O’Riley,” she mused for a moment, then pointed a long white finger. “Oil.”
“There you go.”
“Humph.” She lifted her tea to sip. “So you’ve got some harebrained notion about turning the west wing into a hotel. Better off burning it down and claiming the insurance.”
“Aunt Colleen.” Scandalized, Coco gaped at her. “You don’t mean that.”
“I say what I mean. Hated this place most of my life.” She shifted to brood up at the portrait of her father. “He’d have hated seeing paying guests in The Towers. It would have mortified him.”
“I’m sorry, Aunt Colleen,” Coco began. “But we have to make the best of things.”
“Did I ask for an apology?” Colleen snapped. “Where the hell are my grandnieces? Don’t they have the courtesy to pay their respects?”
“They’ll be along soon.” Desperate, Coco poured more tea. “This was so unexpected, and we’ve—”
“A home should always be prepared for guests,” Colleen retaliated with relish, then frowned at the doorway when Suzanna came in. “Which one is this?”
“I’m Suzanna.” Dutifully she came forward to kiss her great-aunt’s cheek.
“You favor your mother,” Colleen decided with a grudging nod. “I was fond of Deliah.” She shot a look at Max. “You after her?”
He blinked as Sloan struggled to turn a laugh into a cough. “Ah, no. No, ma’am.”
“Why not? Something wrong with your eyes?”
“No.” He shifted in his chair as Suzanna grinned and settled on a hassock.
“Max is visiting for a few weeks,” said Coco, coming to the rescue. “He’s helping us out with a little—historical research.”
“The emeralds.” Eyes gleaming, Colleen sat back. “Don’t take me for a fool, Cordelia. We get newspapers aboard ship. Cruise ships,” she said to Trent. “Much more civilized than hotels. Now, tell me what the hell is going on around here.”
“Nothing, really.” Coco cleared her throat again. “You know how the press blows things out of proportion.”
“Was there a thief in this house, shooting off a gun?”
“Well, yes. It was disturbing, but—”
“You.” Colleen hefted her cane and poked it at Max. “You with the Ph.D. I assume you can articulate clearly. Explain the situation, briefly.”
At the pleading glance from Coco, Max set his unwanted tea aside. “The family decided, after a series of events, to investigate the veracity of the legend of the Calhoun emeralds. Unfortunately, news of the necklace leaked, causing interest and speculation among various people, some of them unsavory. The first step was to catalogue old family papers, to verify the existence of the emeralds.”
“Of course they existed,” Colleen said impatiently. “Haven’t I seen them with my own eyes?”
“You were difficult to reach,” Coco began, and was silenced with a look.
“In any case,” Max continued. “The house was broken into, and a number of the papers stolen.” Max skimmed over his involvement to bring her up to date.
“Hmm.” Colleen frowned at him. “What do you do, write?”
Max’s brow lifted in surprise. “I teach. History. At, ah, Cornell University.”
