Kate went with the fury. “You were expecting some other granddaughter to move in tonight?”
The room fell silent.
Her grandfather gaped. “Kitty? What are you doing here?”
“Aunt Lorna sent a telegram.”
He shook his head, befuddled.
“I told you,” snapped the violinist. “I put it on that junk pile of a desk of yours three days ago.”
“Well, then, that explains it.” Her grandfather’s dimples returned. “And here you are—a lovely surprise. Just a lovely—wonderful—marvelous surprise.” He crossed the room and pulled her into an awkward embrace that smelled of hair oil and stale laundry. He leaned back to see her better, clasping her shoulders. “I should have recognized that ginger hair. Goodness, look how big you are! You must be—what now? Fifteen?”
“Seventeen, Grandfather.”
“Oh, call me Ollie, everyone does. Seventeen, of course, born in ’21. I was never any good at math.” He released her shoulders, his smile starting to look a bit forced. “So, tell me, my dear—to what do I owe this delightful visit?”
He really didn’t know. “Aunt Lorna is getting married, and her new husband doesn’t want—” Kate darted a look at the three strangers in the room; it was none of their business. “I’m supposed to live with you now until I leave for college next fall. She sent the telegram.”
His alarm showed for a heartbeat before he schooled his face into the role of loving grandfather. “Well, that’s marvelous, isn’t it? Did you hear that, boys? Kitty has come to live with us.”
“I go by Kate now.”
“Kate, of course, that’s how you sign your letters. All grown up and come to live with me. Marvelous.”
“One big, happy family,” drawled Lemmy, the young man she’d thought was dead.
“You must meet my boarders. Over here, we have Reuben.” Her grandfather lifted a hand toward the green sofa.
The bald violinist gave her a scowling nod. His scarred cheek sagged slightly, giving him the gloomy look of a bulldog. About forty, she guessed.
Ollie added in an undertone, “You mustn’t mind his grumpy nature. He can’t help it.”
“Born on a Monday,” Reuben said darkly, as if that explained everything.
“And this is Lemmy—still breathing, I’m happy to say.” But her grandfather’s smile faltered as he nodded toward the young man on the fan-shaped sofa. “Lemmy’s only been with us for a few weeks, but we’re enjoying getting to know him, aren’t we, boys?”
The other two remained silent.
Lemmy snapped his chewing gum. “Can’t beat the rent. I might never leave.” He winked at the violinist, who glowered back.
“And lastly, but certainly not least—” Her grandfather’s voice dropped to a dramatic low. “We have our murderous villain … Hugo Quick.”
Kate tried to feel indifferent as she looked at the boy in the wingback chair, but she hadn’t forgotten the way he’d looked holding a knife. His eyes bored into her, the amusement gone now that he’d learned she was the girl from the headlines. “Welcome, Kate. Sorry I frightened you.” His voice had an underlayer of rasp in it. “Ollie was showing me how to retain some dignity in the role of homicidal maniac. I’m in a play that lacks nuance, with an idiot for a director.”
“Play,” the violinist Reuben scoffed. “Back-alley horror show, more like it. Stabbing pretty girls while a bunch of perverts watch from the audience. Buckets of fake blood.”
Hugo shrugged, still looking at Kate. “The role is less than ideal.” His dark hair was overgrown, bangs falling across his forehead.
“But a worthy start,” her grandfather declared. “A chance to practice your craft on a real stage. Some producer will be out for a night of debauchery and notice your excellent stabbing technique, and before you know it, your name will be on theater marquees across the country.” Ollie swept a hand. “Hugo Quick.”
A name as distinctive as his sinister features. Kate looked away. “You all live here?”
“Plus Aurelio,” her grandfather said. “Who will steal your heart the moment he smiles at you. Don’t say I didn’t warn you.”
Kate did a quick count. “Five of you living in this house?”
“Oh, plenty of space. Reuben and Lemmy share the big room upstairs, Aurelio has the small, and Hugo sleeps in the backyard.”
“Pool house,” Hugo elaborated in his low rasp. Whenever he spoke, the dog lifted its head.
Her grandfather spread his arms. “And that, my dear, is our cast of characters. I have more rooms than I need, and this sorry lot needs a roof over their heads, so it works out perfectly.”
Except for me, Kate thought. If there were an extra room upstairs, she couldn’t sleep mere feet away from a bunch of men. Couldn’t share their bathroom.
All at once, she felt the weight of the day. Waking up before dawn to get to the train on time. Hugging Aunt Lorna goodbye. The long, rumbling train ride. Finally arriving, only to find this strange old mansion with a killer in the kitchen. Calling the police and making a fool of herself.
She felt light-headed. If she didn’t sit soon, she would collapse. Or worse—burst into tears.
“Give her Aurelio’s room,” Lemmy said, working his chewing gum. “He can sleep on the sofa.”
“Oh, no—my room, of course,” her grandfather said quickly.
Kate’s good manners snapped. “I can’t sleep in this house. Surely you see that. I’ll have to stay in a hotel until I can reach Aunt Lorna.”
“Oh, yes, a hotel—of course. The Huntington is nearby. Lovely establishment.”
“You kidding me?” the bald violinist said. “You can’t afford the Huntington. Or any hotel.” He looked at Kate. “Can you?”
She opened her mouth … and closed it. She had some money in her purse, but it would disappear fast at a nice hotel, and she needed it for a train ticket out of here. “Not at the moment.”
Hugo rose from the wingback chair, the dog rising with him. “Take the pool house. It’s private.”
The fact that he was only half-dressed suddenly seemed more obvious, his sleeveless undershirt tight across his chest. His bare shoulders were nice, carved with lean muscle, with a splash of sunburn as if he’d been outside without a shirt today.
Heat rose in her face, and she looked away. She couldn’t sleep in his bed. “No, I’ll … I’ll sleep on the sofa. Tomorrow, I’ll figure something out. I have friends in San Francisco.”
But none she could live with. After Mr. Norton had insisted she move out, she’d made a list of friends who might take her in for a year—only three names, and the awkward rejections had stung. Aunt Lorna had finally made arrangements for Kate to live with old Mrs. Foster next door. Then, three days ago, Mrs. Foster had died, leaving only one option. A telegram had been sent, and Aunt Lorna had said everything was set.
Now, she saw that if her grandfather had seen the telegram, his answer would have been no. He wasn’t going to turn out four boarders—four friends—to accommodate a granddaughter who was a stranger.