Conflict of Interest (The McClouds of Mississippi) Read Free Page B

Gideon’s housekeeper lived in New York; Adrienne could use someone this scrupulous, she thought, recalling her own string of less-than-dedicated domestic workers.
    Sitting back on her heels, she looked at Isabelle again. The child had been peering under tables and behind the television cabinet to no avail. Adrienne could hear doors opening and closing forcefully in another part of the house, probably the kitchen, the slams accompanied by a low mutter that was very likely a string of unintelligible curses. Gideon wasn’t having any better luck with his own search, obviously.
    Remembering what he’d said, Adrienne spoke to Isabelle. “You’ve only been here a few hours?”
    The child nodded. “Nanna brought me.”
    “And you haven’t been anywhere else since?”

    Isabelle shook her head. “I’ve been right here.”
    “You had your owl when you got here?”
    Another nod.
    “Okay.” Adrienne stood. “Tell me everything you’ve done since you arrived.”
    Isabelle puckered her face in thought. “I watched TV, and I drew pictures in Gideon’s office.”
    “He said he would look in the office.”
    The child sniffed. “He already did. He looked all over it.”
    “What did you do after you drew pictures?”
    “I had dinner. Gideon made spaghetti. I spilled some on my clothes,” she added, her lip quivering again, “so Gideon told me to change into my pajamas.”
    “You changed in a bedroom?”
    “No. In the bathroom, because I had to wash spaghetti off my face and hands.”
    “Where did you put the clothes you had on before?”
    “In the hamper.”
    Adrienne held out her hand. “Show me.”
    Slipping her little fingers into Adrienne’s, Isabelle led her down a short hallway to a small bathroom papered in a muted plaid and fitted with oak cabinets and a marble sink and tub. White globe lights framed the beveled mirror over the sink, and a wicker hamper stood beneath a print of ducks in flight at sunrise.
    Isabelle opened the hinged lid of the hamper and pointed at the brightly colored knits tumbled in the bottom. “Those are mine.”
    Adrienne reached in to pick up the spaghetti-sauce-splashed shirt and slacks. Two brown plastic eyes stared up at her from the bottom of the hamper. “Is this a friend of yours?” she asked with a faint smile, holding the toy up for Isabelle’s inspection.

    The child’s face brightened with a broad, dimpled smile. “Hedwig!”
    Adrienne watched as Isabelle hugged the stuffed owl tightly, and then she said, “We’d better go tell your brother we found it.”
    “He’ll be glad. I think he was getting sort of mad. It’s hard to tell with Gideon, though.”
    Adrienne couldn’t help chuckling. “Is it?”
    “Mmm-hmm.” As naturally as if they’d known each other for a long time, she reached up to take Adrienne’s hand again as they moved into the hallway. “I don’t think Gideon’s used to being around kids.”
    Adrienne was intrigued by Isabelle’s mannerisms. She was such a tiny little thing, yet her self-possession seemed years ahead of her age. Adrienne suspected she’d spent a great deal of time with adults. “You don’t think he’s used to kids? Don’t you know?”
    “I haven’t known him very long,” Isabelle confided, then pulled Adrienne into an airy kitchen, where Gideon was peering into an oven.
    The little girl seemed to find the sight amusing. “Hedwig’s not in the oven, Gideon. He’s right here.”
    Closing the oven door, Gideon turned to stare at the child who had transformed from tearful to cheery. “Where was it?”
    “We found him in the clothes hamper. She, um, what’s your name?” Isabelle suddenly thought to ask Adrienne.
    “I’m Adrienne Corley.”
    Isabelle nodded gravely and turned back to Gideon. “Miss Corley found him.”
    Gideon released a pent-up breath. “Good. Now why don’t you and Hagar go watch TV or something while Ms. Corley and I talk a few minutes?”

    “It’s not Hagar, it’s Hedwig,” Adrienne