I stepped around the corner, my rubber-soled shoes silent on the runner rug.
Daniel jumped back, his shoulder hitting the framed oil portrait of his grandfather. He quickly slipped a folded sheet of white paper behind his back, his fingers crushing the edge of the page into a tight crease.
“Is everything all right?” I asked.
“Just planning the autumn landscaping schedule with Mother,” Daniel said. He ran his hand through his hair, leaving a few strands standing up near his temple. “We were just finishing up.”
“I thought I heard you mention a mailing draft,” I said.
“You must have misheard,” Daniel said, his voice rising a register as he took a half-step backward toward the library door. “We were discussing the nursery bill for the new oak saplings along the driveway.”
Vivian did not look startled. She simply patted her hair and walked past me without a word, her perfume leaving a trail of heavy lavender in the corridor.
I looked at Daniel, who was still holding his hand behind his back, his knuckles white against the dark wood of the doorframe.
