Page 34 of Fire and Bones
Like its exterior, the home’s interior featured beaucoup black and white. Lots of gleaming stone and tile. Granite? Marble? Limestone? Porcelain?
The furnishings looked like imaginings straight out of the minds of Gehry or van der Rohe. Many of the sofas, chairs, and stools were oddly shaped, making me question the level of comfort they provided. The upholstered pieces were done in animal prints or fine-grained leather. The side and end tables were mostly chrome and acrylic.
The wall art was tastefully indecipherable, with each painting contributing just the right splash of color. The area rugs were precisely calibrated to coordinate with the highlighted pigments on each.
Intricate metal figures and delicate ceramic sculptures topped many of the pieces we passed. I kept a safe distance. Originals or not, I had no desire to send one of Doyle’s treasures crashing to its death.
My room was up a short flight of stairs. Opening the door, which was an incredibly beautiful ebony wood, Doyle turned and said, “This one’s yours.”
“Thanks.”
“The only thing that needs explaining is the security system. There’s a button in the small recess beside the bed. A panic button. Hit that and a patrol unit is on its way.”
I must have shown surprise.
“The buttons are all over the house. You may have noticed one beside the sink in the kitchen?”
I hadn’t.
“The police don’t call to verify before showing up?” I asked.
“Nope. I chose the option that law enforcement respond ASAP and enter the premises without asking permission. I know the system is a bit over-the-top. It was my contractor’s idea. He was a former cop and sexy as hell.”
“Got it.”
“I’ve ordered a light supper. Have a shower. Come down when you’re ready. No rush.”
“I don’t want you to go to any—”
“It’s absolutely no trouble.” Flapping a dismissive hand.
“How’d that turn out?” I asked as she was disappearing into the hall.
“What?”
“The contractor?”
“He married his boyfriend the second week into construction. Let me know if you need anything.”
The only thing I felt I might need was a map.
The room was the size of a Vegas casino and took up the entire rear portion of the home on that level. The back wall was glass, the area rugs faux zebra, the bedspread a pattern of intertwined twigs that created a dizzying 3D trompe l’oeil effect.
Open cubes sat to either side of a simple black headboard, their interiors emitting a soft electric glow. A complicated steel-and-bronze lamp occupied the top of each.
A long tripod desk paralleled the wall to the right of the door, black like the headboard. The leather and chrome seat snugged below it could have given Thacker’s ergonomic throne stiff competition.
The only touch of whimsy was a swoopy, high-backed armchair covered with curly white fur deep enough to house small mammals. Icelandic sheepskin? Tibetan lamb?
That was it for furnishings. Except for the long-haired pelt, everything simple and sleek. Not a ruffle or flounce in sight.
Disappearing closets formed the room’s eastern wall. Not wanting to waste time figuring out how to work them, I set my bag on the floor, dug clean undies and a tee and jeans from it, and beelined toward a door opposite.
The bath stayed true to the minimalist vibe. Subtly patterned gray stone floor, probably marble. Two double sinks. Polished nickel fixtures. Profoundly fluffy white towels and mats.
The freestanding glass shower was big enough to accommodate the bathing of thoroughbreds. Shedding my smelly clothes, I stepped in and twisted two of the motherboard’s multitude of levers toward what I hoped was a reasonably hot setting.
Lucky choice. Warm drops rained down on my head while a trio of spigots sprayed my neck, chest, and southern parts.