There had obviously been a fire. Smoke stains ran up the walls, and shreds of fabric were all that remained from the draperies—which, ironically, exposed the view. These were the bay windows to the front of the house. On the floors below, they were covered with vines and roses, but here the vista was unobstructed, a clear picture of the roofs of Saint Ives Cross and the church on the hill. “The views are absolutely amazing.” “Yeah.” “Where was the fire? We are . . .” I turned my head, narrowed my eyes. “Two floors above the dining room and parlor, right?” “Right. Floor below is where the fire
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