Death of a Second Wife (A Dotsy Lamb Travel Mystery) Read Online Free Page B

now, don’t get the idea that you can invade Switzerland and get away with it. We also keep artillery there.”
    “I wouldn’t think of invading Switzerland.”
    “The family silver, eh?” Chet raised an eyebrow as if hinting that the bunker might be ripe pickings for theft.
    “That reminds me.” I set my glass down on the nearest coaster. “I have a presentation to make.” I tripped up the steps, grabbed the box I had gift-wrapped an hour ago and returned, calling for everyone’s attention.
    “I think this is as good a time as any. Patrick and Erin?” They both left their conversations and moved toward me. Erin’s sweater hung on her small bony frame, the sleeves covering most of her hands. Her black flats were too big for her feet, I noticed, forcing her to shuffle across the rug. “This is not exactly your wedding gift from me, but . . . well, open it. It’s self-explanatory.” I had intended to make a little speech welcoming Erin into the family, but I seemed to have skipped that part.
    Erin, her big brown eyes wide, took the package, tore off the wrapping, looked at the needlepoint quizzically, and turned to Patrick. He lifted it and smiled. “Love is the essence of life,” he said, translating from the Latin.
    My face flushed, I know, for in that moment I was certain everyone in the room thought that was it. My entire gift to my son and his bride. They were all thinking, What a piker!
    Erin read the enclosed note aloud. “The silver flatware service Grandmother Strait left to me is now yours. Sorry I couldn’t bring it with me. I wish you a life of happiness. Love , Mom.” Erin stepped forward and hugged me. Her body beneath the sweater felt like a little bird.
    “You shouldn’t have, Mom,” Patrick grinned as if he, too, was glad I was to be spared the embarrassment of having presented an inadequate gift. “Wow. That’s great.”
    I pulled the second gift from behind my back and handed it to Patrick. “This is from Marco Quattrocchi. You remember him, Patrick? From Florence?” I let my gaze sweep past Chet’s face and noted the tiniest tightening of the jaw in response to that name.
    Patrick slipped off the Florentine paper and handed it to Erin. He opened the box, looked in, pulled out a small note, and read it to himself. Tears welled up in both Patrick’s eyes and he dashed from the room.
    We were all left standing awkwardly, speechless.
    Erin and I looked at each other, jockeying for position. We were about to establish an important precedent. When Patrick needs a soft shoulder, whose shall it be? It had always been mine but now Erin, wife-to-be, appeared ready to throw down the gauntlet, shove me aside, and claim the spot for herself.
    Incredibly, Stephanie stuck her pinched nose in before either Erin or I could react. “Since everyone else seems to be paralyzed, I’ll go and see what’s wrong with him.”
    I grabbed her by the elbow as she flew past me.
    Stephanie whirled around, defiant. Her green eyes flashed.
    “Patrick would prefer to be alone now, Stephanie. Trust me. I’m his mother.”
    Stephanie’s gaze darted toward Chet, but she stayed put.
    I considered this minor skirmish won by Yours Truly.
    * * * * *
    Like a long-established evening protocol, Gisele appeared on the landing above us, nodded to Juergen, then turned back toward the dining room.
    “Dinner is served,” Juergen announced in his high-pitched voice. “Dotsy? May I escort you to the table?” Very formal, but in this case very much appreciated. Good timing.
    As I turned toward Juergen and his outstretched arm, I caught the briefest glimpse of a large shadow sweeping across the meadow beyond the living room windows.
    * * * * *
    Juergen and Stephanie sat at opposite ends of the rustic table with Chet and Erin on one side, Babs and me on the other. The dining room walls were of natural wood with big exposed beams overhead and a rough stone fireplace on one end. Casement windows along the two exterior walls