Better Homes and Corpses by Kathleen Bridge Page A

have been pay dirt,” Elle said. “We haven’t met. I’m Elle Warner.” She walked over to Adam and extended her hand.
    He said, “Adam Prescott. A pleasure. And in answer to your question, Caroline believed the fewer cooks stirringthe pot the better. When the house cleaners came, someone would follow them from room to room. She was very protective of her treasures, and that was one of the reasons why only the Arnolds were allowed to live in. Plus most of the rooms in the house are never used. She and I cleaned the rarest items ourselves, and we do have the best security system on the market.” Adam wore a black leather jacket, not well-worn like Cole’s; this one would be featured in the window of Ralph Lauren in East Hampton. The coat’s collar was up. All he needed were aviation goggles and a scarf and he could go off to fight the Red Baron. He turned to me and said, “Have you lost some weight?”
    “I borrowed some clothes—got caught in the rain.”
    “You look like you’re in high school.”
    “Uhm, thanks, I guess.”
    Adam walked over to Elle with the drinking cup. “Elle, I want you to know my offer still stands. If you need help, I’m free. I know Jillian is mentally indisposed, and Cole—well, he’s Cole.” It appeared that Adam didn’t know anything about Jillian’s morning. He glanced at the cluster of rhinestone pins on the lapel of Elle’s blazer. “Love your collection.”
    “Oh, these little things? I just threw them together.”
    Liar. I knew she wouldn’t lay her head on her pillow until she’d picked out her outfit for the next day, along with the coordinating jewelry and handbag.
    “I’m heading to the Golden Apple for a coffee. Elle, would you like to come along?”
    “Wish I could. We’re a little behind. Can I take a rain check?”
    “Can I bring you something?”
    “Nothing, but thanks.”
    I felt like the invisible woman. “Sure. A macadamia-nutbanana yogurt muffin and a nuttichino would be great.” Ten dollars for a muffin and latte wouldn’t break him, like it would me.
    Later, I said, “Wonder why Adam hangs around the estate, not the city. Perhaps Detective Shoner gave him the same
Don’t leave town
directive. You’re not attracted to him are you, Miss Elle?”
    “He is gorg. He’d make a wonderful one-night stand. And that dark, moody Heathcliff dude wouldn’t be too bad either.”
    Cole? Damn, Elle saw it too.

CHAPTER

    TEN
    We spent the next hour coordinating the insurance photos with the treasures in the room. Nothing overt appeared missing. When Elle turned on the video camera, I stepped out the front door to check the weather—Adam hadn’t returned and I was jonesin’ for some caffeine.
    The fickle day had returned to its original state. The sun shone in a perfect sky filled with flossy clouds; the only remnants from the storm were a multitude of twigs that littered the drive. An East Hampton police car was in its usual position with no occupant inside. I was about to step off the porch when a man darted from the woods and jogged toward me. My first instinct was to run inside, but he didn’t look like a killer. (Then again, neither had Ted Bundy or the myriad of other confessed psychopaths, Charles Manson excluded.) He wore the biggest smile I’d ever seen that didn’t belong to a child.
    “You must be Meg. My father just told me about you.” He reached out his hand.
    “You must be Vancent.” His hair was a sandy brown, on the longish side, but not as long as Salvatore’s.
    “Call me Van. You can drop the ‘cent.’ My mother named me after sixty hours of hard labor.” He clasped my hand and, instead of shaking it, brought it to his lips. “It’s a pleasure. I’m here to help Mr. Arnold clean up from the storm.”
    “Salvatore said you help out. Do you live around here?”
    “Right now I’m staying with my father. Taking time out to refocus.”
    “Focus on what?”
    He followed me inside the house. “Okay. I’ll be honest.