Nora gathered a basket and shears from the shelf over the machines. “I’ll just run up and see if there are any dead flowers to be removed from their arrangements,” she told Agnes.
“I’m taking Sean to see the garden before he goes down for his nap.” Agnes took her heavy sweater off a peg and draped it around both of them. “A spot of fresh air, laddie.”
Nora helped her button it to keep it in place around them both. “He loves being outdoors. Thanks, Agnes.” She kissed the baby’s head and went up the back stairs to Poppy Braeburn’s room. Callie left as Nora approached the door. “Leave it open, Callie. I’ll freshen the flowers.”
Nora entered the Potter Suite and made a beeline for the vase on the nightstand. She exchanged the water, cut the stems and threw a few wilted daisies into her basket. Then she gently shut the door and put her basket down, making a quick tour of the suite.
Poppy was neat, her clothing hung in the closet with care and with equal space between each hanger. Her few cosmetics stood arranged in a row along the bathroom counter. Felt slippers were aligned next to the bed; even her dresser drawers showed carefully folded items. It spoke to Nora of someone who had grown up with little and who valued what she owned, everything of good quality. Several pieces with labels stitched inside read: “ A Poppy Braeburn Original .”
Nora got down on her hands and knees and lifted the white eyelet dust ruffle that hung around the bed. At first, she could only see the trundle bed, but as her eyes got used to the dark shadows, she picked out an object thrust near the head of the bed. She reached in and pulled out a large tin with pictures of the Twelve Days of Christmas. Turning it over, she read the label across the bottom: St. Kew English Cookie Assortment .
Nora opened the tin. Inside were photos, newspaper clippings and magazine articles, all carefully scissored. It took only a moment for Nora to realize the subject of each item was Grayson Lange. And was that a used disposable razor?
Now Nora understood why Poppy was so charming one second but became possessive of anything to do with the play. It all revolved around her infatuation with Grayson Lange.
She heard footsteps and quickly closed the tin and thrust it back under the bed in the same spot. By the time she reached the door and opened it, basket over her arm, Callie was reaching for the handle, a clean tub mat over her arm.
“Oh, Nora, didn’t realize you were still in here.”
“Didn’t want to get in your way. What rooms have you finished?”
“This one and the Dentons’ suite.”
“Fine, I’ll do theirs next.” Entering the Morris Suite, Nora quickly perused Lydia and Rupert’s room after dealing with their flowers. Their suite showed signs of habitation, but all their clothes were neatly hung. Both nightstands had books, and Nora noted their choices: Ian Rankin’s newest police procedural would be Rupert’s; she decided Alan Bradley’s Flavia de Luce offering was more Lydia’s style.
A framed photograph stood on the dresser and drew her close attention. Its highly polished silver frame indicated the care it received, and the photo showed a much-younger Lydia and Rupert. Between them stood a pretty, young woman with Rupert’s lean frame and Lydia’s porcelain skin and sweet smile.
The Dentons must have a daughter. Nora didn’t recall either of them mentioning her. She’d Google that later today.
Callie was next door in the Lewis Carroll Suite. Fiona had left a few items of clothing draped over a chair, and the amount of makeup on her counter would supply Nora for a year, but she didn’t see anything unusual at first glance and could hardly open drawers with Callie there making up the bed.
Nora changed the water from the vase and cut the stems down. She followed Callie to Gemma’s room to repeat the process. In contrast to the other rooms, this one
“I’m taking Sean to see the garden before he goes down for his nap.” Agnes took her heavy sweater off a peg and draped it around both of them. “A spot of fresh air, laddie.”
Nora helped her button it to keep it in place around them both. “He loves being outdoors. Thanks, Agnes.” She kissed the baby’s head and went up the back stairs to Poppy Braeburn’s room. Callie left as Nora approached the door. “Leave it open, Callie. I’ll freshen the flowers.”
Nora entered the Potter Suite and made a beeline for the vase on the nightstand. She exchanged the water, cut the stems and threw a few wilted daisies into her basket. Then she gently shut the door and put her basket down, making a quick tour of the suite.
Poppy was neat, her clothing hung in the closet with care and with equal space between each hanger. Her few cosmetics stood arranged in a row along the bathroom counter. Felt slippers were aligned next to the bed; even her dresser drawers showed carefully folded items. It spoke to Nora of someone who had grown up with little and who valued what she owned, everything of good quality. Several pieces with labels stitched inside read: “ A Poppy Braeburn Original .”
Nora got down on her hands and knees and lifted the white eyelet dust ruffle that hung around the bed. At first, she could only see the trundle bed, but as her eyes got used to the dark shadows, she picked out an object thrust near the head of the bed. She reached in and pulled out a large tin with pictures of the Twelve Days of Christmas. Turning it over, she read the label across the bottom: St. Kew English Cookie Assortment .
Nora opened the tin. Inside were photos, newspaper clippings and magazine articles, all carefully scissored. It took only a moment for Nora to realize the subject of each item was Grayson Lange. And was that a used disposable razor?
Now Nora understood why Poppy was so charming one second but became possessive of anything to do with the play. It all revolved around her infatuation with Grayson Lange.
She heard footsteps and quickly closed the tin and thrust it back under the bed in the same spot. By the time she reached the door and opened it, basket over her arm, Callie was reaching for the handle, a clean tub mat over her arm.
“Oh, Nora, didn’t realize you were still in here.”
“Didn’t want to get in your way. What rooms have you finished?”
“This one and the Dentons’ suite.”
“Fine, I’ll do theirs next.” Entering the Morris Suite, Nora quickly perused Lydia and Rupert’s room after dealing with their flowers. Their suite showed signs of habitation, but all their clothes were neatly hung. Both nightstands had books, and Nora noted their choices: Ian Rankin’s newest police procedural would be Rupert’s; she decided Alan Bradley’s Flavia de Luce offering was more Lydia’s style.
A framed photograph stood on the dresser and drew her close attention. Its highly polished silver frame indicated the care it received, and the photo showed a much-younger Lydia and Rupert. Between them stood a pretty, young woman with Rupert’s lean frame and Lydia’s porcelain skin and sweet smile.
The Dentons must have a daughter. Nora didn’t recall either of them mentioning her. She’d Google that later today.
Callie was next door in the Lewis Carroll Suite. Fiona had left a few items of clothing draped over a chair, and the amount of makeup on her counter would supply Nora for a year, but she didn’t see anything unusual at first glance and could hardly open drawers with Callie there making up the bed.
Nora changed the water from the vase and cut the stems down. She followed Callie to Gemma’s room to repeat the process. In contrast to the other rooms, this one
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