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Authors: Patricia Simpson
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known her name and wasn't aware of her presence
at Brierwood. What was going on? Was he deliberately trying to confuse her? And
if so, why?
"I'm making an omelet for Mr. Wolfe, Rose," Bea put in.
"Would you like one?"
She snapped out of her musings. "No, thanks. I've got to get
to work. I've lost too much time as it is."
"You shouldn't skip breakfast, Rose. It isn't healthy."
"I'll be all right, Bea. I'll just take some coffee up to
the studio."
She reached for a mug from the cup hook under the cupboard and
poured it full of the fragrant, freshly brewed coffee. Taking a sip, she
surveyed Bea as she poured the egg mixture into the omelet pan and hovered over
the stove, carefully monitoring the cooking process. Was Bea lying to her? She
had certainly seemed upset at the mention of the Bastyr family. But Bea
wouldn't lie to her. She had known Bea for fifteen years, and in all those
years she had never once distrusted anything the elderly woman had told her.
No, if anyone was lying to her, it was that awful Mr. Wolfe.
"Well," Rose said, walking to the door, "I’ll see
you later, Bea."
"Don't stay up there all day," Bea called over her
shoulder. "And don't take that ring off when you're working."
Rose glanced down at the simple emerald ring she had worn since
childhood. Bea insisted that she wear it always, and she did keep it on her hand
most of the time, just to humor her guardian. In fact, she'd even been wearing
it faithfully every night since Donald's collapse in the herb garden. Rose
pushed through lie swinging door, still musing over Bea's nervous behavior and
the strange unease that had settled over Brierwood.
Taylor sipped his coffee in the morning room just off the kitchen
while Bea Jacoby shuffled to the table and slid a plate of steaming food before
him. He breathed in the aroma of the omelet and homemade cinnamon roll, anxious
to taste the offerings of the Brierwood kitchen. One thing he appreciated was
good cooking, since he possessed only basic culinary skills. He picked up his
fork, waiting for Mrs. Jacoby to leave his side, but she just stood there
staring at him.
She studied him, her brown eyes taking in every detail of his
face and hair. Taylor was still not accustomed to people staring at his scars
and tried not to flush beneath her regard.
"Is there something you need, Mrs. Jacoby?" he asked,
slicing through the omelet with the side of his fork.
"Yes. I want to know who you really are."
Taylor paused, a forkful of egg poised in midair. "Pardon
me?"
"I want to know who you really are." Bea Jacoby clasped
her hands in front of her ample belly, making it clear that she was not about
to move until she got an answer.
"I'm Taylor Wolfe."
"I don't think so. None of your relatives have come to
Brierwood for twenty years. Then all of a sudden you show up. Why?"
"Personal reasons, Mrs. Jacoby, which are none of your
business." He popped the egg in his mouth, hoping Mrs. Jacoby would see
fit to remove herself.
"Personal reasons?" she persisted. "And might
those include Rose Quennel?"
"I hardly think so. I don't even know her."
"You told her that you knew all about her."
Taylor nearly choked on his omelet. What trouble had that
hysterical Ms. Quennel been brewing? The next thing he knew, he would be accused
of rape, perhaps taken to court and thrown in prison. He might very well have
stepped into a plot designed to get a piece of the Wolfe fortune, something he
had always guarded against but had never considered a possibility at Brierwood.
Once a family had money, they were constantly besieged by people who were after
that fortune in one way or another, whether through
marriage or crime or a combination of both.
"I never said that I knew anything about her."
"Rose is unusually bright, Mr. Wolfe. When she tells me
something, I have no reason to doubt her memory or her reason."
"Then maybe she's just confused." He took a sip of coffee,
wishing he could enjoy his breakfast in peace and quiet.
at Brierwood. What was going on? Was he deliberately trying to confuse her? And
if so, why?
"I'm making an omelet for Mr. Wolfe, Rose," Bea put in.
"Would you like one?"
She snapped out of her musings. "No, thanks. I've got to get
to work. I've lost too much time as it is."
"You shouldn't skip breakfast, Rose. It isn't healthy."
"I'll be all right, Bea. I'll just take some coffee up to
the studio."
She reached for a mug from the cup hook under the cupboard and
poured it full of the fragrant, freshly brewed coffee. Taking a sip, she
surveyed Bea as she poured the egg mixture into the omelet pan and hovered over
the stove, carefully monitoring the cooking process. Was Bea lying to her? She
had certainly seemed upset at the mention of the Bastyr family. But Bea
wouldn't lie to her. She had known Bea for fifteen years, and in all those
years she had never once distrusted anything the elderly woman had told her.
No, if anyone was lying to her, it was that awful Mr. Wolfe.
"Well," Rose said, walking to the door, "I’ll see
you later, Bea."
"Don't stay up there all day," Bea called over her
shoulder. "And don't take that ring off when you're working."
Rose glanced down at the simple emerald ring she had worn since
childhood. Bea insisted that she wear it always, and she did keep it on her hand
most of the time, just to humor her guardian. In fact, she'd even been wearing
it faithfully every night since Donald's collapse in the herb garden. Rose
pushed through lie swinging door, still musing over Bea's nervous behavior and
the strange unease that had settled over Brierwood.
Taylor sipped his coffee in the morning room just off the kitchen
while Bea Jacoby shuffled to the table and slid a plate of steaming food before
him. He breathed in the aroma of the omelet and homemade cinnamon roll, anxious
to taste the offerings of the Brierwood kitchen. One thing he appreciated was
good cooking, since he possessed only basic culinary skills. He picked up his
fork, waiting for Mrs. Jacoby to leave his side, but she just stood there
staring at him.
She studied him, her brown eyes taking in every detail of his
face and hair. Taylor was still not accustomed to people staring at his scars
and tried not to flush beneath her regard.
"Is there something you need, Mrs. Jacoby?" he asked,
slicing through the omelet with the side of his fork.
"Yes. I want to know who you really are."
Taylor paused, a forkful of egg poised in midair. "Pardon
me?"
"I want to know who you really are." Bea Jacoby clasped
her hands in front of her ample belly, making it clear that she was not about
to move until she got an answer.
"I'm Taylor Wolfe."
"I don't think so. None of your relatives have come to
Brierwood for twenty years. Then all of a sudden you show up. Why?"
"Personal reasons, Mrs. Jacoby, which are none of your
business." He popped the egg in his mouth, hoping Mrs. Jacoby would see
fit to remove herself.
"Personal reasons?" she persisted. "And might
those include Rose Quennel?"
"I hardly think so. I don't even know her."
"You told her that you knew all about her."
Taylor nearly choked on his omelet. What trouble had that
hysterical Ms. Quennel been brewing? The next thing he knew, he would be accused
of rape, perhaps taken to court and thrown in prison. He might very well have
stepped into a plot designed to get a piece of the Wolfe fortune, something he
had always guarded against but had never considered a possibility at Brierwood.
Once a family had money, they were constantly besieged by people who were after
that fortune in one way or another, whether through
marriage or crime or a combination of both.
"I never said that I knew anything about her."
"Rose is unusually bright, Mr. Wolfe. When she tells me
something, I have no reason to doubt her memory or her reason."
"Then maybe she's just confused." He took a sip of coffee,
wishing he could enjoy his breakfast in peace and quiet.
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