“. . . Dad?”
“What?”
“Did you actually know Edna Matters?”
“Miss Matters and I were friends.”
“Friends?” His daughter’s inquiring eyebrow arched as sharply as a miniature Matterhorn.
He ran up and down the Bugatti’s gears while he pondered his reply. She would make a good reporter or a good detective; she was not afraid to ask hard questions.
“Before I met your mother.”
His fierce blue eyes took on a tinge of violet as he recalled trying to “save” Edna from blaming herself for not seeing something that would have somehow given her the power to stop her father and her sister from becoming monsters.
Bell downshifted to pass a New York State Police car.
After the siren faded behind him, he let go of the shifter to take his daughter’s hand and answered with the authority of a man who had known since the 1906 San Francisco Earthquake for whom his heart was spoken.
“I think you know how I feel about your mother.”
“You’re nuts for her.”
“From the day we met.”
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