And why had Father put her and her brother on the opposite sides of the house? It was almost impossible to find a farther room from Severine’s old bedroom than her brother’s. Had that been deliberate?
She remembered her mother’s murmurs about the idiocy of such rooms for Severine, a child.
“She should be in the nursery,” Mother had said and Father had just laughed. “Not for our girl.”
Severine set the sandwich and coffee down outside of her brother’s room and unlocked the door with the master key. She wasn’t even surprised to see he’d locked his room.
“He’s not very neat, is he?” Mr. Brand asked, taking a seat in front of her brother’s desk.
Severine, however, was focused on the picture of their mother over the fire. “Is that odd? I feel like…it’s odd.”
Mr. Brand looked up, cleared his throat, and then blushed as he said, “I keep a picture of my mother in my office.”
“Mmm.” Severine turned and examined the room. It was nice. Luxurious even, with thick carpets, heavy furniture, and wide windows, but it was also a standard guest room.
That, Severine felt certain, had been purposeful. Why had her father done such a thing? What had been happening in Andre’s life that Father treated him the same as Mr. Brand or other non-family members?
“What does your room look like, Mr. Brand?” Severine asked, crossing to the window and looking out. Her brother’s room looked down on the drive. There were no poor views from the house, but this was certainly the worst of them. She could see her auto from this place. Had he shot at them from here?
But…how had he been able to see them in the dark?
“Idiot,” she muttered. The head lamps of the Rolls-Royce were how they were spotted.
Mr. Brand hadn’t heard her self-recriminations, so his answer was about the room. “Rather like this one. Though mine is at the back of the house. Has quite a nice view of the rose garden. Your father knew I liked roses. My mother keeps them. During the war, we talked about it once.”
“Very thoughtful,” Severine replied, disturbed by the disparity of how her father treated Andre versus Mr. Brand.
She returned to the room and crossed to her brother’s closet. It was stuffed full with suits and hats, sporting gear and shoes. She was surprised at the excess. “Where does Andre live when he’s not here?”
Mr. Brand glanced at her. “He doesn’t live anywhere else. Clive and Erik have rooms in the city. Your brother will stay in your grandmother’s home on the occasions when he returns to New Orleans, but he’s never fully absented himself from this house since your parents’ death.”
Severine hadn’t expected that answer. This show piece was far from anything that a young man would want. There were no speakeasies or night clubs near here. No places to go dancing or court women. There were a few families, but mostly it would be him, in the house, with the servants and family.
“He didn’t live here then, though,” Severine murmured. “I remember him coming with the guests.”
“Yes,” Mr. Brand agreed.
Severine opened hat boxes and went through her brother’s pockets, but there was nothing more than train stubs and loose change. She sighed and left his closet and found Mr. Brand frowning deeply.
“What is it?”
Mr. Brand harrumphed and then cleared his throat, “A letter from a lawyer about your father’s estate.”
Severine wasn’t surprised. “To clarify he would get the money if something happened to me.”
“And how to go about challenging me for guardianship of you.”
Severine turned again. “My father must have hated Andre.”
Mr. Brand glanced up in surprise and demanded, “How can you tell?”
“No free and clear money, no guardianship of me, even this room. I want to know why Father disliked Andre so.”
Mr. Brand avoided Severine’s gaze and again she asked, “Do you know why?”
“He was a pansy. He was irresponsible. He was a spendthrift. He dabbled in vices your father found disgusting. He was entitled and spoiled and too much like your mother.”
“Father didn’t love her.”
The statement was just thrown out there like a poison dart, to land where it may.
“He loved her, I think,” Mr. Brand countered gently. “He just also despised her at times. Their relationship wasn’t easy and was often made more difficult by her son.”
Severine took a deep breath in. “It’s the poison that spreads. The jealous son feeling his mother has been stolen away. The new man of the house unimpressed with the son. So much importance given to time and money and too little to being kind. Now here we are, so much later, and the hatred continues.”
Severine crossed to the window seat and opened it, finding a rifle. She wasn’t even surprised to see it there. The long sight on it. The shadow of herself against the car. Lukas’s brat coming to take his home away again.
“Mr. Brand,” Severine said, gesturing to the window seat. “He’s not even trying.”
Mr. Brand took the letters from her brother’s desk and folded them neatly into his billfold and then crossed to her. He took in the rifle, the view from the window, and cursed.
“It seems you were right.”
“Do you think he also killed Mama and Father?” Her throat was dry and thick with horror at the idea. Had he shot his mother? Their mother? Had he gunned down pretty Flora and then turned another gun, a different one, on Lukas?
Perhaps Father hadn’t thrown his body on Mama. Perhaps he’d just landed on her, and the accident of gravity had added to Severine’s nightmare?
“It is possible,” Mr. Brand replied, using that careful tone again. The one that seemed to see her as a twelve-year-old again.
“But Father had so many enemies.”
Mr. Brand gently touched her arm, but he was honest with her when he said,
