Santiago Sol Read Online Free PDF Page A

detail in the design, so carefully crafted she could almost make out individual strands of hair in the fox’s tail. Still, it was just a fancy stick, not the crown jewels.
    What she thought about the object didn’t change her commitment to Eva’s assignment, though. She would return the walking stick to the Sandoval patriarch. Just as soon as she found him. She tucked the object into the back corner of the closet, hung the party dress on a hanger, and shoved her suitcase in front of them both.
    Thoughts of Eva occupied Tansy’s mind while she brushed her teeth. The woman’s story, fraught with love and deception and joy and grief, seemed more poignant now that Tansy was in Chile where so much of the tale had unfolded.
    She turned back the matelassé coverlet, down comforter, and top sheet and slid under the covers with a sigh. Compared to her apartment at home, with her cheap sheets and her secondhand bedspread, the aparthotel was pure luxury. She would enjoy her stay in Santiago, however long it lasted.
    Dawn hovered outside when she awoke refreshed but nervous. She half-expected Sebastian to forget about her. She dressed in a black knit skirt that fell to her ankles, a white tank, a faded denim jacket with the sleeves rolled almost to her elbows, an armful of silver bangles, and a pair of silver hoop earrings. Pewter-colored flats completed the outfit.
    Before she left she checked her messages, but Eva’s attorney hadn’t responded yet. Tansy frowned. She’d have to tell Sebastian she would pay him back as soon as her new traveler’s checks arrived. She collected her messenger bag and tucked her room key inside. Her pulse increased as the elevator carried her downstairs, and she held her breath when the door opened.
    Sebastian leaned against the front desk and chatted amiably with the clerk on duty. Their combined male laughter carried through the lobby. Her companion for the day wore another dark suit, this one in a different cut than the one he’d worn on the plane. Underneath the jacket, instead of a button-up shirt and tie, a crew neck knit shirt in French blue stretched across his chest.
    He smiled when he saw her, then gripped her hands and leaned down, kissing both her cheeks. She stepped back, startled, and brushed her now damp palms over her skirt. She knew from Eva’s vibrant descriptions that it was a perfectly commonplace way to greet someone in Chile, but the sudden intimacy still came as a surprise.
    “You look lovely.” He smelled like sandalwood and leather.
    “Thank you. I wasn’t sure what to wear.”
    “The weather is nice now. In another month or so it will be hot and everyone will be complaining,” he replied, leading the way outside and down the sidewalk.
    “Not so different from Colorado, then,” she said. “We complain about the cold and snow more than the heat, though.” She was taking two steps for every one of his, and he slowed his pace.
    “Café Melba is nearby. It’s a popular place for expats, and the best place in Las Condes for breakfast.”
    “Expats?”
    “Expatriates. Some are here on business, some have relocated long-term. Like Hemingway did in France.” They walked side-by-side for several blocks.
    Graceful palms swayed overhead, a strange contrast to the snow-capped peaks in the distance. Deciduous trees lined both sides of the street, their leaves rustling. An incongruous mix of architectural styles, from glassed-in skyscrapers to gothic towers, rose around them. Uniformed maids walked tiny dogs on leashes, and expensive cars rested on grassy plots in front of well-kept buildings.
    The air was redolent with the fragrance of flowers, coffee, and bread, the tang of cigarette smoke and heavily applied cologne, underlaid by the acrid stench of exhaust and the occasional whiff of garbage set out for pick-up, reminders that she was in a city of several million people. She sniffed and sneezed. Then sneezed again.
    Sebastian produced a snowy handkerchief from his