TWENTY-NINE

SUSAN HAD NEVER EXPECTED TO FIND HERSELF A GUEST IN A home as prestigious as Woodwinds. She had a lovely home of her own and she had friends with homes even larger and more elegant, but Woodwinds was extraordinary. She loved houses and was thrilled to be here-despite the company.

The dinner Shannon had cooked last night was delicious and, amazingly enough, the entire family had enjoyed it seated in the dining room with the twins nearby happily hanging in their mechanical swings. Chrissy and Stephen had finally finished opening their gifts as Susan and Jed enjoyed an after-dinner brandy while examining the many advances in baby equipment, toys, and clothing since their own children were young. After walking the dogs, everyone went to bed early. Susan had slept well. If the twins cried, she hadn’t heard them. When Jed had snored, she had ignored him.

At seven this morning, Donald Baines called and asked her to meet him at his mother’s home. He claimed to need her help with something there. Not the most detailed explanation, but it was an invitation she couldn’t resist.

So she found herself, a couple hours later, walking up wide and deep marble steps to the forged iron doors of Woodwinds. If there was a bell, it was hidden in the pattern of waves, fish, shells, stars, and moons decorating the entrance. Feeling a bit like a fool, she knocked on the metal, but the resulting sound couldn’t possibly alert anyone to her presence.

Despite this, Donald appeared almost immediately, smiling like the most genial host. “Susan, I’m so glad you could make it.” He held out his hands and she had no choice but to offer hers in return.

“I’m glad to be here. I’ve always been curious about this house,” she said. “It’s practically a legend in this part of Connecticut.”

He smiled. “It is, isn’t it? Mother and I have always loved it and I know how much you enjoy looking around homes like this one, so…” He held the door and waved Susan into the foyer.

Her mouth fell open. It was a mouth-dropping space. A mosaic marble floor abutted marble slab walls that connected to a frescoed dome three stories overhead. The only place she had ever seen that was even slightly similar to this was the Capitol building in Washington, D.C. “I had heard about this but, to tell the truth, it’s more amazing than I imagined.”

“It’s been in Architectural Digest twice, House and Garden three times, and the New York Times six times. As well as Elle Décor and a few other publications.”

“Wow.” She had no idea what else to say.

Her brief reaction seemed to be all that was needed. “Would you like to see the rest of it?”

“Sure, I’d love to.” She wondered what was going on. If he had invited her here as a prospective buyer, he was going to be disappointed. Jed had a good job and they were financially comfortable, but there was no way they could afford a home like this one even if they were in the market for a new place, which they weren’t. And if Donald had invited her here to talk about the murders, he was certainly going about it in an extraordinarily roundabout manner.

On the other hand, what an opportunity-a private tour of Woodwinds by its new owner.

Donald happily pointed out the frescoes on the dome and the mosaic on the floor. “Shells, fish, and waves fashioned from Italian tiles beneath our feet and stars, planets, and clouds above us painted on the roof by one of the premier artists of the time.”

“Incredible,” Susan said honestly.

“But once you leave the foyer, the musical themes begin,” Donald continued.

Their shoes clattered on the hard surface as Susan followed her host across the foyer and down a few steps into another, larger room.

“This is the living room,” he explained, barely slowing down as their feet sank into dense wool carpets laid across walnut parquet floors.

Susan had only a few minutes to note the rich apricot-linen upholstered couches set up beneath massive abstract oil paintings and the fireplace fashioned from what appeared to be real jade over which hung a dozen or so brass and woodwind instruments before they were in another room. This, apparently, was the famous music room. The enormous room dwarfed the twin Steinway grand pianos that stood in the middle of the floor. Many different exotic woods had been fashioned into musical notations and then inlaid in the chestnut floor. A treble clef had been painted all around the room near the ceiling and, Susan assumed, someone sitting at one of the pianos could play the tune permanently on display there by spinning in a circle.

“Do you play?” Susan asked.

Donald looked at her for a moment as though he didn’t understand the question.

“The piano.” She pointed. “Do you play the piano?”

“Good Lord, no. I’ve never had time for that sort of thing. I believe Mother planned to hire pianists when she entertained.”

Susan decided not to ask if he had similar plans. Donald was walking out of the room. She scurried after him and found herself in a large sunroom shaped like a crescent, floor-to-ceiling windows on all outside walls. The room was furnished with white-painted antique wicker. Cushions were covered with pink-and-white striped cotton. Old, rambling geraniums dotted the room placed on mismatched plant stands and tables. The effect was feminine and charming. Susan would have been happy to bring a favorite book, stretch out on one of the wicker chaise lounges, and spend the afternoon.

But apparently Donald felt that more than two minutes spent in any room was about a minute too much. He spun on his heel and headed back in the direction they had come, turning when they arrived in the foyer and starting off in another direction.

The dining room and kitchen were on this side of the house and Susan did everything but grab her host and wrestle him to the floor in her attempt to spend some time examining these rooms. The formal dining room was large enough to seat sixteen around the chestnut table placed there. The kitchen was equally large and twice as fascinating.

It appeared to have been furnished the year the house was built and, except for updating a few appliances and adding two microwave ovens, it had changed little since that time. Brick-colored sheet linoleum covered the floor and a well-worn butcher block took the place of more modern countertops. Gleaming white-and-black tiles covered the walls. Milk glass lamps hanging from the ceiling provided illumination and curtains fashioned from black-and-white check kettle cloth covered the windows. Susan loved it, but a quick glance was all she was allowed before she was whisked away again for the rest of Donald’s tour.

They hurried back to the foyer and up the circular stairway to the bedrooms. It wasn’t until they had dashed through the fourth bedroom and connecting bath at record speed that Susan realized Donald was looking for something-or someone. The first hint that it might be the latter came when she realized he was spending as much time looking out the windows as glancing through the rooms. And he seemed unusually interested in showing her the size of the various closets.

“Beautiful pool,” Susan commented, walking up to Donald and looking out the window down onto a large patio. “Guitar shaped?”

“Violin shaped,” he corrected her. “Now the bedrooms on the other side of the hallway look out over the Sound.”

Susan followed him as he dashed across the wide hallway and straight to the window.

The view was magnificent. The Sound was calm and almost navy blue in the morning light. Spring was coming and patches of pale chartreuse green dotted the land to the east. “ Long Island?” Susan nodded to the thin strip of green.

“Perry,” Donald replied, glancing up at the scene before them before returning his attention to the driveway in front of the house.