An Illustrated Death by Judi Culbertson Read Free Book Online

older, his smile nuanced. He was holding on to a squirming child of three or four with tangled dark hair who I assumed was Morgan. Restraining her, actually. She was pulling away, half off his lap, looking as if she were impatient to jump down and make someone’s life miserable.
    An interesting photo, though not one you would frame. I stared at it, considering what I should do with it. If I returned it to Der Hund von Baskerville , the photo ran the risk of being undiscovered if the books were ever sold. I had a collection of things left behind in the books I bought, from dental appointment reminders to ticket stubs and love letters. This ephemera was probably worthless, but I couldn’t bring myself to discard this evidence of once-lived lives.
    The only items I did discard were reviews that people had tucked inside books, a major bookseller annoyance. Cheap newsprint turned brown and stained the inside covers. Taped-in reviews left a yellow bruise where the tape had worn away. I was happy not to find any of these in Nate’s books.
    I looked at the photo of Nate and Morgan again. It felt presumptuous to prop it up on the studio table. Instead I left it lying flat.

 
    C HAPTER N INE
    I WAS ABOUT to get out my chicken wrap—I usually eat and work at the same time —when there was a knock on the door and Bianca came in. “Lunchtime,” she said warmly. “Everyone was so happy to meet you yesterday. They were saying at breakfast how interesting you are.”
    Really? Nate Erikson’s family found me interesting? I tried to remember what we had talked about. I knew I couldn’t skip lunch with them after that. Still, tomorrow I would leave the grounds well before 1 p.m. There was no reason to wear out my welcome.
    Mama wasn’t at the table. As we were sitting down, her aide, whom Claude called Bessie, stepped into the dining room to say that Miss Eve was feeling poorly and would have a tray in her room.
    There was still the family toast to the patriarch, but with a sense of giddiness, as if the teacher had stepped out of the room. Only Rosa stared wide-eyed at the flowered urn as if imagining her father inside.
    “Are you coming to the show Saturday night?” Puck asked me, as he spooned homemade applesauce onto his plate.
    “What show?”
    “What show?” He raised his eyebrows at his sister. “Shame on you, Bianca.”
    I could feel her bristle. “I assumed she knew about it. Anyway,” she explained to me, “Guild Hall is honoring the family and our contribution to the East End in a memorial to Dad. There’s an exhibition of Dad’s and Regan’s paintings, and a concert of Puck’s music Saturday night. That’s by invitation only, of course. But starting Monday, the paintings will be open to the public.”
    “But I want Delhi at the concert ,” Puck said. “Honestly, Bianca, you’re thick as a board sometimes. Why not have someone there who actually looks like an artist, who isn’t just eye candy. There’ll be enough of that and I still have a few tickets left for friends.” He winked at me. “Truth is, most of my friends wouldn’t be caught dead in black tie.”
    “I’d love to come.” I smiled back. I didn’t know if he was calling me eye candy or not, but at least he’d remembered my name.
    Bianca rallied. “Puck, you’ll need to give her two tickets. So she can bring Colin Fitzhugh.”
    What was she talking about? I didn’t mind bringing a guest—but Colin? We hadn’t been out together in ages. Inviting him would make him think I was trying to lure him back. He had left me. It wasn’t that there was tension between us, we just knew how to make each other crazy. After four children and twenty-five years, we had become experts.
    “Who’s Regan?” I asked, to forestall making a commitment about Colin.
    “You don’t know who Regan is either?” Puck feigned surprise. “Bianca didn’t tell you about the prodigal daughter?”
    “Oh, knock it off, Puck.” Bianca’s cheeks glowed red.