A Will To Murder by Hilary Thomson Page A

startled to receive such attention.  Rose stepped forward to greet Colette, who unbent enough to proffer two fingers to shake, but when Katherine again tried to hug her niece, Colette stepped back, ducked her head, and coughed a huge, thick, phlegmy, basso cough.  Arthur’s romantic fantasy shriveled a little.
    “Excuse me,” said Colette, throwing her blonde hair back, “I have bronchitis.”  She took a deep drag on her cigarette.
    “And you’re smoking?” asked Armagnac pointedly.
    “Sure,” Colette replied.  “Why not?”
    Armagnac cast a wall-eyed frog look back at Mrs. Marshpool through the windows.  At this summons, the housekeeper came out to stand beside him.
    Bert did not approach when introduced, and neither of the Wileys tried to shake hands with him, nodding instead.  Arthur stayed hidden behind his father when Katherine pronounced his name, hoping that Mrs. Marshpool hadn’t seen him.  He was a little disappointed, though, when Colette didn’t even look his way.
    “We’ll have Willowby collect your bags,” said the housekeeper.  A note of caution had entered her voice, as if the arrival of the Wileys had caught her unprepared.  “Won’t you come inside?”
    “Letitia,” Armagnac chided.  “Excuse me.  I’m the host here, remember.  Won’t you come inside?”
    “Excuse me,” interrupted Katherine, shoving Armagnac back with her fist.  “ I’m the host.  Come in, come in.  I expect you (she addressed Colette) would want to lie down as soon as possible because of your unfortunate illness.  You must be worn out.  Your rooms are already made up, and they’re on the third floor.”
    Colette gave no sign of having heard.  She was inspecting Rollingwood’s black exterior in a desultory way.  Willowby appeared and hefted the luggage, but discovered the two bags of weights to be beyond him.  “I’m afraid someone is going to have to help me carry these in,” the chauffeur said.
    With a look of contempt, Lance hefted both bags.  “Hey dude, you could do it if you lifted regularly like me.”
    Whatever retort Willowby might have made was kept professionally inside the chauffeur.
    “Hey,” Lance commented after he entered the living room, “this isn’t too bad.”       
    “Smart-alec shopgirl type,” Jac declared to Rose.  “Though her clothes aren't quite good enough for that.”  Rose tried to shush her sister with a hand.
    “Why don’t I show you your rooms?” Katherine said.
    “Yeah, hurry up and get that shit upstairs,” barked Lance to Willowby, “there’s a Raiders game on TV I’m not about to miss.”
    The chauffeur met Jac’s eyes, but Jac only smiled pertly.  “Hurry up,” Mrs. Salisbury said.  
    Willowby ported upstairs, his face bland.  Lance, Colette, and Katherine followed him.
    After they left, Bert asked his son, “What do you think of your cousins, Bonnie and Clyde?”
    “Her name is Colette,” said Arthur with a scowl.
    “Kid, I was only teasing.  Well, what do you think of them?”
    “She’s really pretty,” said the boy, dazedly.
    Jac bristled at this.  “I don’t think your admiration will last very long,” she said.  
     
     
    Upstairs, Katherine finished showing the Wileys their bedrooms, then left them alone to freshen up.  Willowby tried to linger in Colette’s room a moment to ask if she needed anything, but she ducked out immediately, a tissue held to her nose.  Like Arthur, she fascinated Willowby.  The chauffeur trailed after her when she entered Lance’s room, but she shut the door in his face.
    “God, these people,” said Colette, withdrawing the tissue.  “You can’t get away from them.  And did you see my room?  The drapes and the bedspread are just thick with ground-in dirt.  I can’t stand the thought of touching anything.  This house must not have been cleaned in years.  It stinks of mold, too.  Old houses always have this horrible smell.”
    Lance dropped his weights on the rug,