At First Light(Dr. Evan Wilding #1)(47)

At the very center of the house, like a glittering jewel nestled in a velvet box, lay a two-story library, which the original builder had modeled as a scaled-down version of the Morgan Library in New York City. More than a hundred shelves, generous display cabinets for his archaeological collection, and a fireplace he could stand in should he ever feel the urge to contemplate life as kindling. Lots of comfortable sofas and chairs, including a padded window seat that overlooked the back garden.

Of everything in the house, the library—and its collection—was his pride and joy.

A professor’s salary wouldn’t have made the lease possible. It was the fees from consulting that paid for it. With the house and car taken care of, Evan had enough to pay the bills and see to his regular charities. And to allow himself the occasional treasure—an illuminated Armenian gospel book, perhaps, or an early Iron Age amphora.

As he drove through the gates, a gust of wind slapped the car, slapping him equally out of his reverie. He cranked up the windshield wipers until they lashed back and forth; then he sped up the long drive toward the distant lights. He smiled as the house came into view, the windows offering a warm glow from the lamps he’d set on timers. He wanted to see Ginny. And tonight was young Jo’s piano lesson, always a highlight of the week. The two of them would share a light dinner, very light for him, and after she left, he’d make himself a post-meal cocktail—or three—and get to work on the profile of the man he’d come to think of as the Viking Poet.

Whoever this killer was, he promised to be a formidable foe. Addie had been right—this was one of the strange ones.

His specialty.

The garage sensed the Jaguar’s approach and opened obligingly, revealing the battered pickup truck he drove when he and Ginny went hunting. Rain washed in with the car, along with a bad case of nerves, and Evan admitted to a certain relief when he shut off the engine and the garage door lowered behind him, automatically resetting the alarm.

In the mudroom, he shed his raincoat, his suit jacket, his shoes and socks, and the rain-soaked pants. He padded down the hall into the kitchen in his underwear and shirtsleeves.

Ginny called to him in her high voice and rustled her feathers as he flipped on the kitchen lights and peered in.

“My beautiful lady,” he said. “How did you do today?”

She squeaked, happy to see him.

“I’ll be right back. A man can’t have his dignity without his pants.”

Once he’d slipped into sweatpants and a turtleneck sweater, Evan pulled a plastic container from a drawer in the immense refrigerator and returned to Ginny’s room to feed her tidbits of rabbit procured during one of their hunts. She flew to his gloved hand to devour her meal, and he walked about the house with her for a bit so that they could enjoy each other’s company. Once she seemed satisfied, he resettled her on the perch so she could watch him as he started dinner.

He told the virtual assistant to play a Chopin nocturne—it selected “No. 21 in C-minor”—then set about making omelets. He wasn’t hungry after the burger at Ragnar?k. But his neighbor’s daughter, Jo, would arrive soon, and she always ate every bit of food he set out. As if her parents didn’t feed her enough. Jo was a bottomless pit.

On a wooden board, he sliced onions, mushrooms, and mild red peppers, then sautéed them in a saucepan on the Wolf gas stove. He cracked six eggs into a glass bowl, added salt and pepper, and whipped them to a froth. It was a mistake, in his opinion, to add cream. It only diluted the flavor of the eggs. He placed two large pats of butter in a pan over medium-low heat, then sliced thick pieces of French-style country bread and placed them on a baking sheet to go in the oven.

He was just sliding the omelets onto plates when the wall-mounted screen—installed by the owner for reasons of her own—lit up and showed him a BMW at the gate, followed a few minutes later by Jo at the front door. She wore a pink rain jacket and matching hat and looked like she was humming to herself as she waved her parents off and then punched in the security code. He pulled the bread from the oven as she walked into the room in her stockinged feet, having shed her wet things near the door.

“It smells awesome in here,” she said and dashed through the kitchen toward Ginny.

“Easy!” Evan cried.

The hawk fluttered for a moment before resettling as Jo came to a halt.

“Remember what I said about approaching her slowly,” Evan said. “She doesn’t like to be startled any more than the rest of us.”

“I know. I’m sorry. Can I give her something?”

“She’s eaten. But after dinner, we’ll spend a little time with her before your lesson.”

Her face fell. “My mom says I need to be done early tonight. I have a history test tomorrow. I’m sorry, Ginny. But”—she turned back to Evan with a wide smile—“I’ve been practicing my whistles. Pretty soon, I’ll be able to call her as well as you.”

“That’s good. Maybe you can go out with us this weekend.”

“That’d be . . . what is it you say?”

“Brilliant.”

“Brilliant. I wish I didn’t have a test tomorrow.”

“We’d best get down to business, then,” Evan said. “Grab the marmalade from the fridge, please.”

Once everything was on the table, Jo perched on a chair across the table from him, and for a few minutes, they contented themselves with the food. Evan enjoyed watching the girl eat. She was as skinny as a rail, as the saying went. Jo herself joked that she had to run around in the rain to get wet. Her parents had told Evan that Jo’s thinness was the only remaining trace of a childhood illness that had nearly killed her and from which she was now completely cured.