The Secret of Kolney Hatch Read Free Page A

Petal panels adorned the bottom of the skirt, accompanied by a rhinestone buckle that hugged her slim, youthful silhouette. Beige t-strap heels hugged her feet, and her skin—soft and creamy, but with a noticeable pink flush—matched her rose embroidered close-fitted felt cloche hat that covered her bobbed, auburn hair.
    “Paul, come in!” Claire said as she ushered him through the front door and into a large hallway.
    Paul removed his hat and embraced Claire in an endearing hug. Despite his quick beating heart, Paul was his usual, composed self.
     “You look great,” Paul said casually. “But I’m surprised to see you. Richard said you’d be out for the day.”
    “Well, I had planned to go to the scent shop,” Claire said amusingly, “But I think it may be dangerous for a woman to go out alone after what’s happened.”
    “The murderer would be drawn to you like a lion to raw meat,” Paul said wryly, offering her a small smile.
    “I thought you might say something like that,” Claire said with a laugh.
     She slipped her arm around Paul’s and led him further into the front hallway.
    The layout of Richard’s home was different from Paul’s, and the contents were certainly more affluent. The Bakers had been in the medical field since the 15 th  century when apothecaries were considered practitioners. And they were prudent spenders; they’d saved much of their money and passed it down from generation to generation. This custom left Richard with a bounteous amount of wealth, but Paul often teased that Richard must not be a Baker because Paul saw nothing  sensible about his spending habits.
    Oak flooring and the fanciest Persian rugs matched throughout the home, from the runner on the stairwell to the hall carpets. Each rug reflected similar shades of red and gold and accented the wooden floors with their wild medallion designs.
    Paul peeked into the drawing room; the closed door to the custom-built study meant Richard was most likely engrossed in his latest manuscript. So as not to disturb Richard just yet, Paul headed further into the front hall to look at the paintings that hung on the wall.
    Suddenly Paul’s insides writhed as he thought of the women’s conversation on the train.
    “Are you alright Paul?” Claire asked as she gently touched his arm.
    “Yes,” Paul said calmly, returning the tender touch. Then he pointed to one of the paintings on the wall. “New addition?”
    Encased in a smooth wooden frame was the painting of a beautiful mountainous landscape surrounding a quaint stone cottage. Impressive green hillsides and mountains surrounded the charming bungalow while a cow grazed in a luscious green pasture.
    “My uncle painted it,” she said proudly.
    Paul’s fingers gently grazed the canvas, which felt grainy like a cat’s tongue. The colors were vibrant and detailed, and the vivid blue harebells projecting from the painting sent a wave of nostalgia throughout Paul’s body.
    “My mother loved harebells,” Paul said looking at Claire with gentle eyes and a reserved smile. “And lavender. She used to say flowers could brighten any dark day.”  
    He looked longingly at the painting and wished he could inhale, one last time, that fresh, earthy smell his mother always came home with after working all day at the florist.
    “I can’t imagine how hard the news of this murder’s been for you,” Claire said quietly. “I’m sure you’ve been drawing up all kinds of horrid memories.”
    Paul turned to face Claire, and a long moment of silence passed as they stared affectionately into each other’s eyes. Claire blushed as she broke the silence.
    “He’s waiting for you,” she said as she turned her head away from Paul now, refusing to meet his eyes.
    Paul nodded to her but said nothing, and then he quietly   entered Richard’s small, well-lit drawing room. It looked different than it had the last time he’d visited. The walls were now pink-rose, the curtains warm brown. Two