Passion and Scandal by Candace Schuler Read Free Book Online Page A

referring to the legend of the lady in the mirror," said a soft voice from behind them. The accent was faintly Russian.
    Steve and Willow turned as one. A tiny woman, not much more than five feet tall, was standing at the bottom of the wide brick steps. She was dressed in a hot pink jogging suit and high-top sneakers. A silver lame baseball cap was perched on her head, with a thick, snow-white braid poking out the hole in the back and hanging down over one shoulder. She appeared to be in her eighties.
    "I'm sorry," Willow said, thinking she must want to get into the building. "Are we blocking your way?"
    "Oh, heavens, no, child. I usually go through the courtyard gate around the other side of the building after my morning walk." She waved one fragile, blue-veined hand to indicate the general direction. "That way I do not have to remember to carry my key. But I saw you here, pushing the manager's buzzer, and I thought I should tell you he is probably not back yet. He was just leaving the building—a trip to the hardware store, I believe—when I started out on my walk this morning." She gave them a cheery, unabashedly inquisitive smile. "Did you want to see him about renting an apartment?"
    Steve shook his head. "We just have a few questions about some former tenants we hoped he might be able to answer. It all depends on how long he's been the manager here."
    "Oh, Mr. Mueller has been with the Wilshire Arms for..." she tilted her head as she thought about it "...for almost twenty-seven years, I believe it has been."
    Steve and Willow exchanged a significant glance. Twenty-seven years. This Mueller might be able to tell them something about her mother.
    "Yes, I am sure of it," the beautiful old lady said. "He started to work here in 1968.I remember it very well because that was the year I had my apartment painted in shades of mauve. What an unfortunate mistake that was," she confided with a lilting laugh that wouldn't have sounded out of place coming from a young girl. "I had Mr. Mueller repaint the entire apartment over for me immediately."
    "Then you've been here since 1968, too?" Willow asked, hoping for yet another possible source of information about the mother she'd never known.
    "Oh, my dear child, heavens no. I have been a resident of the Wilshire Arms since 1947."
    A moment of stunned silence greeted her announcement.
    "This has all been way too easy," Steve said. "It's almost scary, it's been so easy. Everything's just been falling into place as if it were meant to be."
    "Perhaps the lady in the mirror has something do with it," the tiny woman suggested.
    "The lady in the mirror?" Willow asked.
    The woman inclined her head toward the brass plaque on the wall." 'Believe the legend,' " she quoted.
    "What legend?" Steve demanded, his tone a shade peremptory. Willow nudged him with her elbow, giving him a disapproving little shake of her head when he turned to look down at her. He glanced at the little woman in the pink jogging suit. "What's this legend about?" he asked again, making it a request this time, rather than a demand.
    "It's quite a long story," the woman replied. "Please, come to my apartment," she invited them, "and we can all have a nice glass of tea while I tell you about it." She held her hand out, the gesture as gracefully elegant as if they had just been introduced at a ball. "I am Irina Markova."
    "Steve Hart." He reached out to take her offered hand as he spoke, carefully enclosing it in his oversize palm. "And this is Willow Ryan. We're both very pleased to meet you, Ms. Markova." And then, without thinking, he lifted her hand to his lips and placed a kiss on her fragile fingertips. It seemed to be the only appropriate response to the way she had presented it to him.
    Irina Markova's green eyes beamed her approval. "The young people here call me Madame," she said regally. "You may do the same."
    * * *
    "Although there are many rumors, the true identity of the lady in the mirror is not known," Madame