The Blue Virgin by Marni Graff Read Free Book Online Page B

“They’ll be here shortly to get Janet’s address. I hope it’s not that dark-haired detective, he creeped me out.”
      “Why?” Simon asked.
      Val shrugged. “He came in at the end just before they let me go. He had this way of looking into me instead of at me.” She closed her eyes for a moment. “It doesn’t matter as long as he finds out who—hurt Bryn.”
      Nora returned with three mugs of tea on a tray and a tin of buttery shortbread she’d found on the counter. “Lottie’s?” she asked, and when Val nodded, Nora added for Simon’s benefit: “She makes the best shortbread you’ll ever eat.”
      “She’s my partner at the co-op,” Val said. “You’ll get to meet her soon; she’s a doll.”
      “So who’s this horrible detective?” Nora asked, pouring for everyone.
      “A slick inspector named Barnes, and his sidekick Watkins,” Val explained.
      “At least it’s not Watson,” Simon said with a wink.
      “Trust me, this guy’s no Sherlock,” Val said.
      Nora leaned across the table and took one of her friend’s hands. “Don’t worry, Val, we’ve got your back.”

    *
    Nora took Simon down to her flat to turn on the air conditioner and give Val a few moments to herself. She unlocked a blue door thick with coats of paint from previous tenants, and they passed a coat closet and entered the cheery main room Nora had always liked. The back wall was lined with bookshelves, and windows along one wall looked out into the garden, letting in bright light. Shelves crammed with more books ran underneath them. On the left side, a pass-through counter piled high with mounds of unread catalogues gave a view of the tiny kitchen.
      “It all looks new to me after not being here for a few months,” Nora said, sitting down at a bleached pine table near the counter. She’d updated her recycled sofa with floral slipcovers which, along with a plaid wing chair, sat around a low table facing the garden. “I was comfortable here,” she said to Simon as he wandered over to the bookshelves.
      “I can see that,” he said, looking around him. “Great light, too. But my, you do have quite a book collection.”
      “I told you I was a biblioholic,” Nora cautioned. “It’s a disease—but don’t worry. I’ll be storing some and giving others away. I won’t make you drag all of these back to my suite at the lodge.”
      Simon flashed a smile and reached for a book.
      “That’s the bathroom,” Nora said, pointing to a closed door at the end of the hallway. “And that’s my bedroom.” She had no idea why saying this should make her avert her eyes. She changed the topic. “I bloody well hope they realize Val had nothing to do with Bryn’s death.”
      “They’ll figure it out the right way, I expect,” Simon answered.
      “I wish I shared your faith in the police,” Nora said, noticing Simon’s hands as he paged through a book on Oxford history. They were the hands of an artist, with long slender fingers, tanned from the summer sun at the lake.
      Nora knew he was glad to be back in Oxford, a town he hadn’t had time to explore well when he’d had a show of his paintings mounted here over two years ago. He had told her of his fascination with the ancient golden stone of Oxford, wanting to capture the dramatic alteration in color on the Bodleian Library and the Sheldonian Theatre according to the light and time of day. They and the dozens of colleges, bookstores, pubs, and cathedral spires were all perfect fodder for sketches he could turn into paintings back in Bowness.
      “I can just see you in your studio trying to recreate Oxford on canvas,” she said, receiving a slight smile in return. She must be certain to give him the time he needed for himself while he was being so helpful to her, and to Val. “Sorry to drag you into this.  That’s why I should have come alone and let you come in a week or so to help me pack.”
      Simon shelved the book firmly