Page 30 of Her Dark Lies
Jack doesn’t seem to notice. He massages my shoulder. “What an introduction to the island, right? I told Claire that we do come across remains from time to time—it’s the nature of the beast with an island that’s been populated for so long, especially one under a historical restoration.”
Ana starts to answer but Brice talks right over her. “Come, come, we can deal with that all later,” Brice says heartily. “Why don’t we finish up the legalities so we can get to the fun.”
Brice snaps his fingers and the stranger steps forward. I’ve forgotten him entirely. His accent pegs him as Italian, but his English is perfect.
“Signorina, for the Italian religious marriage to be legal we must do a blood test. If you wouldn’t mind showing me your arm?”
“Ugh. We didn’t have to do this in Nashville for our marriage license.” But I roll up my sleeve compliantly, only wincing a little at the pinch. Jack rubs my shoulder compassionately.
“Formalities, darling. Ah, it’s my turn.”
The Italian is very fast. He takes a vial from Jack, then places them both in a padded box.“Grazie,”he says with a teensy bow, and leaves as quietly as he entered.
Brice says, “Good. Good. The hard part’s over. Now for the rest. We’ll need a photograph, Claire, for the Villa’s facial recognition system, as well as an iris scan and fingerprints. All our homes are biometric. Once you have all of this in the system, you won’t ever need a key. Everything will be coded to you, and you alone, so you’ll be completely secure and able to access anything you need.”
“Do you want to swab me for DNA, too?”
Brice laughs. “Not necessary, we’ll have all that in your bloodwork.”
Well, that’s not unnerving at all.
Elliot has all the tech in his bag. He takes a digital photo, unsmiling, does the iris scan, and holds up a small gray screen that I press each finger to, watching the loops and whorls appear as if by magic.
“Oh, and sign this for me, would you?” He pulls out another small reader. “We like to have the family signatures on file. In case anyone ever tries to forge a signature. This machine takes such minute measurements, the pressure you use, the angle you hold the pen, it all but guarantees no one can ever forge your name.”
I sign my name with its usual flourish on theRat the end of Hunter and watch it load into the system. “Cool.”
“Totally cool. But you need to sign it Claire Compton. Claire H. Compton, if you’d like.”
“Oh. Oops.” They laugh politely, and I do it again, smooth and elegant. It’s not like I haven’t written my name with Jack’s before, like a teenager with her first crush covering her notebook in hearts and flowery cursive.
“I’m going to get you uploaded right now,” Elliot says, opening his laptop. “Welcome to the family, sis.”
The lawyers bundle together their papers and briefcases. They shake our hands and disappear out the door.
Finally, we’re alone, just me and the Comptons. Once the door clicks closed, all eyes fall on me.
Brice clears his throat. “Jack told us what happened in Nashville, Claire. I’m so glad you’re all right. Jack said you were hurt when you...fell?”
“I’m fine, really. Just a bump on the head.” And dissolvable stitches, but that’s no biggie.
“And Malcolm shot the intruder?” Brice asks.
I nod. “Yes, that’s right. It was all such a blur. Thank goodness he was able to respond so quickly.”
“Yes, indeed,” Ana says. “We are so very lucky Malcolm was able to get to you both in time.”
Jack threads his fingers through mine. “Do we know what the man was after? Has he been identified? We haven’t heard from anyone yet.”
“They’ll be in touch soon, I’m sure,” Brice says. “Karmen has been fully briefed. She’s running point with the Nashville police. In the meantime, let’s try to enjoy ourselves this weekend. The storms are going to put a damper on the outdoor activities, but there’s plenty to keep us occupied. Shall we have some champagne? And perhaps a bite to eat? I’m sure you’re hungry.”
Brice gestures and we follow like obedient little lemmings, through the library door, down the hall, and into the majestic dining room. The inlaid parquet floors show a sunburst pattern; the walls are the lightest robin’s egg blue plaster, with extensive millwork. The ceiling is vaulted, with frescos painted the length, and ribbed buttresses offset in dove gray. Naturally, the table has room for a good thirty or so, ready for intimate entertaining. As you do.
I stifle a giggle at the idea of Jack and me at opposite ends of this monstrosity, calling to one another to pass the salt.
I’m relieved to see that despite the grandeur of the room, this is an informal family dinner, rather than something more organized. The table is laden with platters, cheeses and meats and fruit and bread. Champagne cools in silver buckets, water in carafes are set on the sideboards.
Brice pours champagne for Ana, then for me. Elliot is tapping on his phone, and a few minutes later, Amelia shows up. She’s been working out; she’s got on yoga shorts and a sleeveless top, her hair piled carelessly on top of her head, the roots dark with sweat. Always too thin for my taste, she now looks downright unhealthy. She’s all bones and sinew, dark circles under her pale eyes as if she hasn’t slept in weeks. I watch as she takes some grapes and a sliver of prosciutto and retreats to the opposite side of the table.
