A Tainted Finish: A Sydney McGrath Mystery Read Online Free PDF Page A

Her body pulsed in a slow gyration with sobbing. But with no relief from the crushing pull. She understood in a moment of despair that crying would not relieve the pain at all. She got out when the water began to run cold, feeling more light-headed than before. She wrapped a towel around herself just in time. The bright blue walls of the bathroom rapidly faded to darkness in the midst of twinkling stars. She frantically grabbed the side of the tile counter to ease herself onto the floor when she lost consciousness.
    She woke with the sensation of cool tile on her cheek. Then she felt a throbbing pain on her head above her right ear. She sat up slowly, using her arms to push her body from the floor. She felt the bump on her head with her fingers and brought them to her face. No blood. She stood up carefully – feeling only a little dizzy – and filled a glass of water. It was deliciously cool and almost instantly improved her fuzzy head. She drank another and another, sitting on the toilet, assessing what happened, feeling foolish.
    She wrapped herself in the thick white terrycloth bathrobe hanging on the back of the door that smelled like Clarence. She threw her long wet hair into a towel knotted on her head. She shuffled into the dark kitchen, lost in an eerie thought. Losing consciousness and falling onto the floor gave her a large knot on her head. But if you lost consciousness and fell into a tank of wine, what would happen? How would someone dislocate a finger? She had no time to ready herself for impact when she fell, but she was able to avoid hitting the counter. If Clarence had fallen during a heart attack he would have avoided the tank altogether. But what if the CO2 overcame him?
    She was so lost in thought that she was unaware that the kettle was already on. Steam spurted out of the pot and began to whistle. Olivier bounded into the dark kitchen and they both jumped, startling each other. He moved to turn on the light.
    “Good evening,” he said in polite formality. Again, she almost expected a bow. She stared unabashedly at him and he grew uncomfortable. He was remarkable. He had deep blackish eyes and black hair curling to his chin that looked wet in the kitchen light. His nose was high-bridged and straight above full lips. He looked larger than she remembered, more than six feet tall, but she had been feeling small all day.
    “Tea?” he asked her politely, retreating from her deliberate eyes. He brushed by her, smelling like sandalwood and lemongrass.
    “Yes,” she answered, wanting to help get mugs, but her feet felt like lead.
    He moved with cat-like grace and in a vaguely familiar way that disturbed her. She watched dumbly, transfixed. The bump on her head began to pound.
    “Chamomile?” he asked. She nodded as he filled the tea pot with loose-leaf from an ancient tin canister. He dragged the cast iron kettle off the stove with industrial scraping and filled the tea-pot. He found a creamer pot in the mug cabinet and filled it with half and half. He set the two mugs on the table, along with some sugar, honey, and the creamer dish. She watched him gather napkins. He finished with a flourishing gesture that resembled a bow. She smiled and sat down. Apparently, they were having tea together.
    “Clarence and I did this every night,” he said to her after he fixed her tea to her liking. Honey and cream.
    “High tea?” she asked, pretending to look baffled.
    “We discussed the winery operations. Yes, sometimes over tea.” His English was perfect tonight. He sat up straight and brushed his longish hair back behind an ear. She saw that it was wet. He had just showered.
    “Clarence discussed winery operations with you?” she asked, narrowing her eyes. “ You? ” She knew her uncle well enough to know that he was secretive and elusive when it came to winery operations. She watched Olivier stiffen and realized she had offended him yet again. Touchy ego, she thought to herself. Apparently the intimacy