Perfect Sins by Jo Bannister Page B

always managed to give the impression of being a much bigger woman than she was. Her brother had monopolized whatever tall genes dangled from the family tree: Viv was on the short side of medium height and the broad side of medium build. “Taking Starlight for a spin?”
    Hazel gave a rueful grin. “I’d need something a bit bigger these days. The last year I Pony Clubbed him, I had to pick my feet up over the jumps.”
    â€œTake Leary, then.”
    Even from half a field away, even at twenty-five, Cavalier was a bigger, stronger horse than Hazel had any ambitions to ride. “Thanks for the offer, but—would you believe it?—I left my parachute at home.”
    Viv grinned. “He’s a bit keen, that’s all. You’d enjoy him.”
    â€œNo,” said Hazel carefully, “Mill Reef was a bit keen. Desert Orchid was a bit keen. Arkle was a positive slug by comparison. Maybe I’ll get Pete to saddle Blossom for me sometime.”
    â€œThat old thing!” snorted Viv, tossing her dark brown hair as a horse tosses its mane. “Couldn’t jump out of your way. Couldn’t fight its way out of a wet paper bag.”
    â€œMy point entirely.” Hazel smiled.
    Viv Byrfield gave in with a good grace. “I’m really here to see Pip. Just wanted to say hello to the old chap on my way in.”
    As they walked toward the house, Hazel reflected on the paradox of the English nobility—or one of them—which was that someone like Lord Byrfield could trace every relative, every forefather (and -mother), every dotty aunt, disappointed cousin, and strategically married sister back to the Battle of Bosworth and still be not quite secure in his own identity. She decided it was something to do with the names. Guardians of the lineage gave their children names like Peregrine because they’d look good on the pedigree, not because they’d wear well on the child. They didn’t even use them themselves—his mother called the current earl Pippin, his sisters called him Pip, friends called him Pete. No wonder he was never entirely sure who he was.
    â€œI got this weird phone call from him a couple of hours ago,” confided Viv. “I don’t suppose you know what it’s about?”
    Hazel played for time. “What did he say?”
    â€œJust that something had happened and he needed me down here, ASAP. My first thought was Mother, but he said she’s all right. He said he was all right, too, though I’m not sure I believed him.”
    There were things Byrfield had said to Hazel that Hazel couldn’t possibly pass on, not even to his sister. But there were other things that were a matter of public record, and if Viv knew about the grave they’d found, it might make it a little easier for Pete to open the conversation that was to come. Though God only knew how he was going to end it.
    So she explained about the archaeological survey, the grassy mound between the woods and the lake, and what it turned out to be hiding. “So now Byrfield’s in the middle of a police investigation. My friend and I just happened to be visiting my dad at the time. I imagine Pete’s looking to you for moral support.”
    Viv broke her mannish stride just long enough to give Hazel what used to be called an old-fashioned look. “Really? When you’re here?”
    Hazel shrugged that off without much thought. “Of course I want to help, any way I can. But when things get unpleasant, there’s nothing quite like family.”
    â€œThat’s true,” agreed Vivienne. “There’s certainly nothing quite like mine.”
    Ash, who seemed to have slipped into the role filled in earlier times by the butler, met them at the door. Hazel was introducing them, and about to ask where Byrfield was, when the answer preceded the question. Despite the immense solidity of the building, raised voices were making their way through