Murder in Pastel
“Adam asked after dinner that night.“Hmm? No.” I refilled my glass and set the bottle of Clos du Bois on the table, avoiding Adam’s gaze.We were sitting out on the verandah, watching the sunset. In a khaki shirt with vaguely military epaulettes, he looked handsome and austere. My heart hurt every time I looked at him, like I hankered for some mineral.“I was wondering, did you ever find Brett’s anklet?”“No.” Adam’s slim fingers played absently with the box of matches he had used to light the citr...onella candles. “He must have lost it on the beach that day.”“It meant a lot to him.”“Yes.”“Do you know why?”I thought for a moment that he wouldn’t answer, then he said, “It’s the sole link he had to his past.”“What do you mean?”“Did Brett ever tell you—no, he wouldn’t.” His smile was acrid. “Brett was a few hours old when he was left in a basket on the steps of a San Francisco orphanage. Real Victorian stuff.”“I didn’t know.”“No.MoreLess
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