The Shop of Shades and Secrets (Modern Gothic Romance 1)

 

by

Colleen Gleason

The Shop of Shades and Secrets

Colleen Gleason

Kindle Edition

© 2011 Colleen Gleason

All Rights Reserved.

Excerpt from
The Cards of Life and Death
© 2011 Colleen Gleason

The Shop of Shades and Secrets

(
Note to reader regarding included bonus material
:

Please note that bonus material appears at the end of this book. That bonus material will make this book appear several pages longer than it actually is. Bear that in mind as you approach the end and are anxiously trying to judge how much story is left!)

Prologue

The sky opened as if unzipped, letting loose a torrent of pelting rain.

From inside his shop, Nevio Valente peered through the dusty window and saw steam rising from a sidewalk and street that only moments before had been broiling under the hot Philadelphia sun.

Suddenly, in a flurry of movement, a woman burst into the shop, closed the old wooden door, and then stilled…turning to look up in wonder at the array of light.

Valente knew what the effect was on a newcomer to the shop. A dazzling array of lights: lamps, torchieres, sconces, lanterns, chandeliers…the soft glow of antique lights everywhere. It looked the same today as it had fifty years ago when he’d walked in.

The woman took a step further, still looking around her. He saw the way she took in the detail of the shop. Every piece of furniture displayed lamps. Chandeliers hung from the twenty-foot ceiling only feet above her head and a multitude of floor tochieres lined the narrow walkway through the shop like street lamps.

With all of the lamps, one would expect to be overwhelmed by a harsh brightness…but it wasn’t bright at all. The room, the shop, was cozy and well-lit with a mellowness that bespoke of the antiques located therein. Along with the metallic glint, the rosy glow of mahogany and smooth sheen of maple or walnut only added texture and interest to the eye.

“May I help you?” Valente closed his gnarled, arthritic fingers—ones that had done unspeakable damage over his
century of life
—tightly over his walking stick. He felt the grit in his voice and the angst along his spine as he shuffled forward.

Then he caught his first full look at her face. He froze, his old heart squeezing painfully.
Gretchen?

“I just came in to get out of the rain,” the young woman—much younger than Gretchen would be—admitted with a smile, pushing a mass of dripping curls away from her face. “I never imagined what a beautiful place you had here. It’s so…peaceful, and…elegant.”

He couldn’t speak. He just stood there, clutching his stick. The inside of his mouth dried tighter than the folds of skin that hung from his emaciated body.

It wasn’t Gretchen, no, of course it couldn’t be…but oh, she could be the twin of the woman he’d once loved. Her face, her demeanor, down to the narrow hands clutching the handles of a monstrous leather bag…all except for the thick curls that sprang from her head…

It was Gretchen, and yet it was not.

His time of reckoning was at hand.

Chapter One

“Fiona, there’s a call for you on line three.”

Fiona Murphy looked down at the mass of papers on her desk, her overflowing in-box, and then turned a glare onto the telephone. This was exactly the reason she hated office jobs—other than the eight-to-five, sit-at-a-desk part.

She flung the springy hair out of her eyes and over her shoulder and reached for the slim, black receiver. “This is Fiona Murphy,” she said, pushing her reading glasses back onto the bridge of her nose. It was vanity that made her squint most of the time when she looked at menus or the newspaper—whoever heard of a thirty-year-old needing reading glasses?—but when she was at work, and actually needed to see, she had no choice but to wear them.

“Ms. Murphy, this is Gideon Nath,” came a smooth, professional male voice. “Legal counsel for the late Nevio Valente.”

“The late Nevio Valente?” Fiona put down the sheaf of papers she’d been perusing and gave the caller her full attention
.

“I’m sorry if his death is a shock to you,” the voice went on crisply, “but—”

“I probably
would
be shocked if I knew who Nevio Valente is—
was
,” Fiona admitted wryly, pushing her slipping glasses back up again. “But since I don’t—”

“You don’t know him?” For the first time, the inflection of the voice changed from unruffled professionalism to show a hint of surprise.

“No, I’m afraid I don’t.”

“Never even heard his name?”

“N-no…well, the name sounds vaguely familiar. But he’s certainly not anyone I know. Knew.”

“This is Fiona Murphy, of 4520 West Pine, Manayunk?”

She rolled her eyes. “Yes, this is Fiona Murphy and that is my address. You
did
call
me
,” she reminded him with levity in her voice, looking back down at her desk just as an advertising exec dropped a stack of bulging manila files into her in-box. Ugh.

More reviews, more purchase approvals, more filing. Yet another reason she hated office jobs—that and the fact that she had to play office politics and actually smile at the woman who heaped more work on her desk.

Mr. Nath continued. “Yes, well, it’s odd that you don’t know one of the wealthiest men in Philadelphia, who happened to name you in his will.” The voice sounded clipped, perhaps even offended, at her humor.

“What are you talking about?” Fiona didn’t react in time, and the glasses slipped from her nose and clunked onto the desk.

There was a sigh on the other end of the line that implied this phone call was taking too much of his time. “Ms. Murphy, perhaps you’d better come around to my office so we can discuss this in detail. I—”

Then it hit her. “This is a joke, isn’t it?” She started laughing. Which of her friends had engineered this one? Dylan?

“Ms. Murphy, much as I wish it were, believe me, it is
not
a joke.” The voice became even chillier and more pompous—which had the opposite effect on Fiona as he no doubt intended. She tried to suppress the laughter, but the man sounded like an automaton whose program had gone awry. She could picture him, sitting at a massive oaken desk, his own wire-rimmed glasses firmly entrenched on the bridge of his nose, just beneath thick, hairy brows with a few wiry grey hairs springing out like little spider legs. His glasses wouldn’t dare slip.

“I think it would be best for you to come to my office so that we can discuss this in a more…succinct manner. Tomorrow at eleven?”

She almost said yes, but the imp that always got her into trouble decided to be contrary. “No, I’m sorry, that won’t work for my schedule.” She made her voice match his in coolness. Unfortunately, hers came out sounding more nasal than smooth. She choked back a giggle.

“Does Thursday at three-thirty work for you?” His voice was uber-polite and calm, and she could almost imagine him clenching his teeth.

“Yes, I do believe that would work for me. See you then,” she said gaily, and hung up the phone.

~*~

On Thursday, Fiona parked her VW bug at her favorite lot on South Street at three-fifteen, judging that the walk to Nath, Nath & Powell would be no more than ten minutes through the tree-lined streets of Society Hill. The day was warm, as was to be expected in Philadelphia in September, but a cool breeze from the Delaware River lifted the leaves that were just turning gold and red.

The office was in a brick rowhouse situated along a line of similar buildings, all with ornate iron gates protecting the doorways. The gates at Nath, Nath & Powell were open, however, leading into a small alcove with a rounded-top door. Fiona rang the bell and, while she waited, took in the details of the entryway: the brick walk, the pots of brick-red impatiens that grew even in the cave-like alcove, the huge round knocker on the metal door.

A buzz indicated that the door had been unlocked and she opened it, stepping into a narrow reception area. The receptionist, a middle-aged woman with bleached blond hair cut like Jane Lynch, looked up with a smile. “Good afternoon. May I help you?”

“Yes, I’m Fiona Murphy to see Gideon Nath.”

“Yes, one moment.” As she picked up the telephone, she looked up and asked, “Could I get you anything? Coffee? Tea? Soda?”

“No thanks…unless you have herbal tea?” Fiona took a seat on a large chair, arranging her flowing skirt neatly.

“Ms. Murphy is here for Mr. Nath,” the receptionist was explaining into the phone. When she hung up, she rose. “I’m sorry, we don’t have any herbal tea. Sparkling water, perhaps?”

Fiona nodded. “That would be perfect.”

Another blond woman appeared, this one younger and taller, with an abundance of hair piled neatly at the back of her head. “Ms. Murphy, if you’ll follow me.”

The receptionist smiled. “I’ll bring your drink back momentarily.”

Just as Fiona had expected, Gideon Nath’s desk was indeed large, oak, and forbidding. He rose from behind it as she was gestured into the room and nodded to a chair placed in front of the desk. “Have a seat, please, Ms. Murphy.”