The Cinderella Hour Read Free

sudden sharpness in
Leigh’s voice, the edginess that signaled her irritability was about to flare.
    Leigh wanted to hear about Mr. and Mrs. Trey Larken now .
Snow knew, without understanding why, that Leigh’s choice of Quail Ridge as
their new home—and the site of her new business—was because of the wealthy
families who lived here.
    Mrs. Evans cheerfully complied. The marriage of Edwin Larken
III and Marielle DuMonde was a happy topic. The two were ideally suited. Marielle’s
pedigree was a perfect match for his, and they loved each other “to boot”—so
much so that they worked side by side every day.
    The Larkens didn’t need to work. There was “oodles” of Larken
and DuMonde money. But both Trey and Marielle came from old wealth, with its
work-ethic tradition, and there was Larken & Son to manage. The auction
house founded by Edwin Larken was a worthy rival to Bonhams & Butterfield
in San Francisco and to Christie’s and Sotheby’s in New York. Chicago might be
viewed as the “second city” by some. But to those in the know, it was top-notch
in every way.
    Edwin, himself a firstborn son, made a decree following the
birth of his own first—and male—child. Larken & Son would exist only as
long as there was a firstborn son to inherit it. It might have been the gambler
in Edwin making such a proclamation. Or maybe it was a macho challenge to
future Larken men. I had a firstborn son, can you do it, too?
    Mrs. Evans didn’t hide her disapproval of such a mandate. As
a nurse, she was familiar with procreation and knew for a fact that whether the
baby was male or female had nothing to do with the prowess of the father.
    “Procreation” and “prowess” were unfamiliar to Snow. She
would have to look them up. But it was obvious how silly Mrs. Evans considered
Edwin Larken’s decree to be—especially since Vivian was so bright she would be able
to run the auction house just as effectively as any man.
    “Probably better. I doubt it will happen, though. From
all accounts, Trey’s unlikely to break with tradition and hand the reins of
Larken & Son to his daughter. I suppose that’s for the best. Vivian can
become whatever she wants to be. But the notion that just because she’s a
daughter, not a—oh, for heaven’s sake!” Mrs. Evans exclaimed as she caught a
glimpse of a boy on the street outside. He was walking into the wind, staring
the iciness straight in the eye, his long black hair whipping his face. “What’s
Lucas Kilcannon doing here? And whereis he going?”
    The answer to her second question was obvious. He was heading
for the forested ravine.
    “That ravine isn’t safe,” she said. “He could get lost or
injured and never be found. Why on earth would he want to go there anyway?”
    The why remained a mystery. The wanting didn’t. His gait sent
a message—a warning, really—to stay away. The warning was so unmistakable that
Mrs. Evans, who clearly felt the urge to rush to the door and invite him in for
cookies and tea, didn’t move.
    Nor did Snow, who felt a similar urge. But she asked, “Who is
he?”
    “My across-the-street neighbor,” Mrs. Evans replied. “Not
that I really know him or his father.”
    Her expression indicated there was quite a bit more to say.
Her frown suggested she was debating what, if anything, she should reveal.
    “Doesn’t he go to your school?”
    “ Your school, Snow. Yes. Luke’s in sixth grade at
Pinewood Elementary.”
    “What does his father do?” Snow asked.
    It was a desperate question, a way to find out whatever she
could before Leigh got the conversation back on track. She knew that Leigh,
pleased with Mrs. Evans’s revelations about the lives and loves of Quail Ridge’s
wealthiest residents, was annoyed by the detour to the boy outside. But Mrs.
Evans’s answer placated Leigh, for the Larken name reappeared.
    When Larken High’s swim team needed a new coach, Trey Larken,
who was school-board president at the time and had himself