Page 33 of The Seven Rings
“You’ve got a good eye,” Owen commented. “Why not take another look now?”
“It’s been over a hundred years,” Trey pointed out. “Some of the wallpaper’s changed. I know Collin did a lot of remodeling. Except for the short period Charlie and Clover lived here, the house stood empty for a generation when Patricia Poole refused to live here. Or, hell, be here.”
“Threatened or warned off, take your pick, by Hester Dobbs. Okay, maybe.” Sonya lifted her shoulders. “It can’t hurt to look. I’d love to see it where she had it. It just feels like the right thing to do.”
They went down to the second floor and began to study the rooms facing west.
“More centered than these, or those on the far end of the hall. Not the one my mother used. That has a sitting room, and this one didn’t. I think…”
She opened another door, walked in. A guest room now, with its own small en suite and windows facing the gardens and the woods.
“You know, this feels right. The angles. The view. It’s not snowing, and the woods are a hundred-plus years older. But the fireplace. It’s the same mantel and surround. Where the bed is—a different bed, but the same place. The wallpaper’s different, but it has the same tonal qualities. Hers was deep pink—rose-colored flowers over cream, and this is cream-colored flowers and vines over rose.”
Sonya nodded. “This was her room.”
Sonya’s phone played Katy Perry’s “Teenage Dream.”
“Yes, she was, just a teenager, and one with dreams. We’ll put her desk back by the window, where she dreamed some of those dreams.”
They went back down to where Cleo had a platter of antipasto on the kitchen island along with a bottle of Chianti.
“We’re going Italian tonight, start to finish. From antipasto through the gelato.”
“Looks fancy.” Owen snatched a marinated artichoke heart. “Tastes good and fancy.” He looked down at Jones. “You guys have to settle for your usual. I’ll feed them.”
Trey crossed over to set the box he’d taken from Sonya on the dining room table.
“And I’ll pour the wine. We found Lissy’s room. The desk just belongs there. So, a Saturday project.”
“I’ve got to work awhile in the morning. I can be back around noon. One, latest,” Owen qualified. “I’m feeding these guys outside.”
“Good idea.” Sonya turned to Trey. “Working this weekend?”
“Client-free weekend. So it looks like I’m working in the attic.”
“Which is much appreciated.” She handed him his wine. “Mmm, Cleo, what did you do to these mozzarella balls?”
“Marinated them. I amaze myself.”
“Join the crowd.”
Owen came back, glanced at the platter, then the stovetop. “How long that’s going to take determines how much of this I’m going to eat.”
“About twenty minutes. Maybe fifteen.”
“Good enough.” He took one of the little plates and loaded it up.
“This is nice. A little bit fancy on a Friday night, it’s nice. Thanks, Cleo.” Sonya lifted her glass in a toast. “And everyone, forget all about this when I try making pulled pork tomorrow.”
“Don’t forget the hand-cut fries.”
“I’m trying to, Owen. Really trying to.”
“Use the mandoline.”
She let out a laugh. “You want me to play a musical instrument while I make French fries?”
Shaking his head, he walked into the butler’s pantry, rummaged around, and came back holding a tool with a long, flat surface and a leg he folded out to make an incline.
