Bound by Blood

Chapter 8

Tall and slender, with wheat-blonde hair and pale skin, the roadster's occupant looked like a fashion designer's concept of modern aristocracy. He wore an expensive-looking cream-colored suit with a blue embroidered silk vest and matching tie.

His features held a cold elegance, with high cheekbones, a patrician nose, and expressive, cupid's bow lips. His eyes were a surprisingly dark blue, fringed by long, pale lashes. His face seemed ageless as a marble statue, but I guessed he might be thirty-five to forty.

Stepping off the street, he stood on the sidewalk and looked up at the house as though studying it. In his hand he carried a slender briefcase. Suddenly it clicked—the expensive car, the suit, the case—he must be the insurance inspector.

"Hi," I called as I approached. "I'm Ari, the homeowner's nephew. Are you here to see the damage?"

He turned towards me and I had the impression of being swiftly and ruthlessly appraised. Self-consciously, I forced myself not to give in to the impulse to hunch my shoulders, instead shoving my hands in my pockets and keeping my spine straight.

"You could say that," he answered. His voice was smooth, with a faint trace of an accent I couldn't quite place.

"Oh, er, okay. I'll show you around." I led the way up the short path to the house, extremely conscious of his presence at my back. On the porch I pointed out the broken window, a few shards of glass still littering the frame. "This is how the guy broke in," I said. "The other main damage is over here on the door."

I opened it to show him the cracked frame and he studied it without interest. Movement to the left caught my eye, and I turned to see Valerie Owens on her own porch, peering over the railing at me with a look of disturbing intensity. I waved.

"Hi, Mrs. Owens. I'm just having the insurance inspector look over the damage." I hoped that would waylay any inquiries regarding repairs.

Rather than reply, she continued to stare with an odd, blank look. My tall companion regarded her with an unfriendly expression, his brows drawing together sharply and the corners of his mouth dipping in a slight frown.

"Who is that?" he asked.

"Just my neighbor," I muttered. "She has an unhealthy interest in the historical authenticity of my house."

"I see," he commented, continuing to return her stare. Finally, Valerie jerked back as if to avoid something aimed at her head, and with a final glare in my direction, turned and walked slowly to her door and went inside.

"Huh. That was odd," I said. "Well, odder than usual. Shall we go in?" I held open the door and the blonde man stepped through.

He paused in the foyer, gaze sweeping restlessly over the shelves and the display cases, towards the doors leading to the parlor, and then to the stairs.

"Fortunately most of the damage was structural," I said. "A lot of stuff got thrown around, but besides a few trinkets we didn't lose much."

He moved slowly around the room, pausing to run a hand along the velvet rope I usually hung across the bottom of the stairs to keep out visitors during tours.

"Um, what exactly do you need to see?" I asked. "I have an inventory list taken prior to the break-in. Would that help?"

He continued his leisurely exploration. After a moment he said, "Tell me about this break-in."

I wondered if perhaps part of his job was to determine if I was attempting some kind of fraud. I leaned against a display case and told him the most accurate version I could without mentioning Pete or weird artifacts. When I finished, he finally looked up and met my eyes, his midnight blue gaze seeming to look right through me.