Page 13 of Connecting Rooms
The old black-and-white photo was grainy and blurred, but there was no hiding the fact that Madeline Villantry had been a beautiful woman in her younger days. She stood beside her husband, the late Raymond C. Villantry Sr., who was holding forth from a lectern in front of the library.
Amy wrinkled her nose. “He looks like a politician.”
“Yeah. Junior is a dead ringer for his old man, isn’t he?”
“Yes.” Amy frowned at the photo. “I’ll bet that was not a happy marriage.”
Owen glanced at her in surprise. “What makes you say that?”
“I’m not sure. Something about the expression on Madeline Villantry’s face. Poised. Gracious. Aloof. Dutiful. Anything but happy.”
“I think you’re trying to read a little too much into a thirty-year-old photo.”
“Maybe.” Amy shrugged. “Not that it matters to us. Aunt Bernice said that Raymond C. Villantry Sr. died three years ago.”
“And young Raymond Junior took over the company. Wonder how he likes being called Junior.”
“Between you and me, he doesn’t look any nicer than his father.”
“I don’t think that being nice is a job requirement for running a company the size of Villantry.” Owen took advantage of the situation to lean in just a little closer.
He caught a whiff of the flowery fragrance of Amy’s hair and inhaled deeply. Along with it came a more intriguing scent. Warm, female, and deliciously spicy. He did not think he would ever be able to get enough of it. Of her.
“Owen,” Amy hissed.
“Sorry, I was just trying to get a better look at the picture.”
“Never mind that. Look.”
“At what?”
“Arthur Crabshaw. He just walked into the library. See? Over there by the magazine rack.”
Owen straightened reluctantly and turned to look at the racks. Sure enough, Crabshaw was leafing through a new copy ofNewsweek. “So what?”
“What’s he doing here?”
“Reading a magazine?”
“That isn’t funny. Owen, he told us that he was going to play golf this morning.” Amy scowled impatiently. “It’s not raining, so why did he cancel his game?”
“Why don’t we ask him?”
“Don’t be silly. He’s up to something. I know it. I told you there was something shifty about that man.”
“Amy, the first rule in the investigation business is not to jump to conclusions. Crabshaw simply dropped into the library to scan a few magazines. Don’t make a federal case out of it.”
“He’s leaving the magazine rack. Don’t let him see you.”
“Why not?”
“Because we want to keep an eye on him. We need to find out where he’s going.”
“I think he’s headed for the men’s room,” Owen said.
“Oh.”
Owen rested one arm over the back of the hard wooden library chair and watched Arthur Crabshaw disappear into the men’s restroom. Amy looked severely disappointed.