6 - Pages of Sin by Kate Carlisle Read Free Book Online Page A

nice-sized bathroom with a tub and shower combination. The towels were a masculine brown and the bathrobe hanging on the door hook was a man’s. It was warm still, and I could see steam condensed on the windows. Was this Byron’s bathroom?
    I pushed open the last door at the end of the hall and walked into a large room that had been set up as a home office. The walls were paneled in a warm, rich wood and the lighting fixtures were elegant brushed copper. A mahogany desk and executive chair filled one side of the room. Next to the desk was a matching table that held an efficient-looking printer and fax machine.
    The other side of the wide room was taken up by a comfortable, dark leather couch with a coffee table that held a small, tasteful stack of art books. Against the far wall was an entertainment unit with stereo equipment and a television. I was surprised to see a small refrigerator and microwave oven on a lower shelf, as well.
    There were bookshelves, and unlike in the front room, the books here were neatly shelved in alphabetical order. Beneath the scent of the sage that Mom still carried were the lingering aromas of leather and wood and a hint of lemon polish.
    Beyond the desk, a wide bay window looked out onto a patch of lush green lawn and a manicured herb garden. A sundial on a pedestal sat in the middle, surrounded by bushes of rosemary and sage. Three birch trees had been planted outside the window and the late morning sun cast a dappled shadow through the leaves and into the room. Against the far wall were more colorful flowers surrounding a neatly manicured and thriving vegetable garden.
    More of Wanda’s horticultural artistry.
    “This is so nice,” Mom said, gazing around.
    “This is where Byron lives,” I murmured, and pointed to a side door leading outside. “I wonder if he usually comes and goes through that door so he doesn’t have to deal with the fussiness of the living room.”
    “Or his wife?” Mom asked, sounding forlorn.
    “I don’t know.”
    Mom sighed. “That is so depressing. I hope they didn’t lead completely separate lives.”
    “I hope not, but it sort of looks that way,” I said quietly, knowing my empathetic mother was hurting for her friends. I quickly nudged her out of the room. “Are you ready to go upstairs?”
    She frowned, then nodded decisively. “Let’s do it.”
    I saluted her. “Right there with you, Mambo.”
    A few minutes later, we stood at the first doorway off the stairs. It was another office, but this one was much more cluttered. Despite the clutter, there seemed to be some organization to the room. Two computers on opposite sides of the desk were surrounded by lots of files and stacks of paper and more books. But, praise Buddha, these books were all neatly arranged on bookshelves.
    I stepped into the room and walked over to look. With a grin, I turned to Mom. “These are all books by her sisters.”
    “Oh, that’s sweet,” Mom said, and joined me in front of the bookshelves. “I didn’t realize they’d written so many.”
    “A lot of them are the same books translated into different languages.” I pulled a hardcover from the shelf. “This is a large print edition of one of Marjorie’s memoirs.”
    We didn’t spend much time in that room because it seemed to be filled with healthy vibes. Still, Mom waved her sage around, just for good measure.
    We walked down the hall to the open double doors that led into the master bedroom. It was a large, comfortable space. There was no overcrowding of furniture here, no overly fussy antiques. Instead, a California king-sized bed dominated the space with a modern blond wood headboard that matched two large dressers and a wide mirror. A comfy looking upholstered loveseat and chair filled a cheery corner space beneath two picture windows. The entire room was sedately decorated in pale blues, whites and browns.
    We walked around the room in silence as Mom waved more sage, its mellow scent wafting into the