Rizzoli & Isles 8-Book Set

mounted on a stone terrace like an ancient temple partially felled by the ages.
    “Where do you get the water out here for all these plantings?” asked Frost. His gaze suddenly whipped around as they passed a fragmented head of a marble colossus, its remaining eye staring up from a resting place on the lawn. “Hey, do you think that thing’s real?”
    “People this rich don’t have to settle for fakes. You can bet that Lord Carnivore guy—”
    “You mean Carnarvon?”
    “You can bet he decorated his home with real stuff.”
    “There are rules against that now. You can’t just snatch things out of other countries and bring them home.”
    “Rules are for you and me, Frost. Not for people like
them.
”
    “Yeah, well, people like the Roses aren’t going to be too happy once they figure out why we’re asking these questions. I give them about five minutes before they throw us out.”
    “Then this will be the nicest damn place we’ll ever get thrown out of.”
    They pulled up beneath a stone portico, where a man already stood waiting for them. This was not one of the hired help, thought Jane; this must be Kimball Rose himself. Though he had to be in his seventies, he stood tall and ramrod-straight, with a handsome mane of silver hair. He was dressed casually, in khaki trousers and a golf shirt, but Jane doubted he’d picked up that deep tan simply whiling away his retirement on the links. The vast collection of statuary and marble columns on the hillside told her this man had far more compelling hobbies than hitting golf balls.
    She stepped out of the car into air so dry, she blinked in the parching wind. Kimball didn’t seem at all affected by the heat, and the handshake he gave her was cool and crisp.
    “Thank you for seeing us on such short notice,” said Jane.
    “I said yes only ’cause it’s a sure way to end these damn fool questions. There’s nothing here for you to chase after, Detective.”
    “Then this shouldn’t take long. We only have a few things to ask you and your wife.”
    “My wife can’t talk to you. She’s sick and I won’t have you upsetting her.”
    “It’s just about your son.”
    “She can’t handle
any
questions about Bradley. She’s been fightin’ lymphocytic leukemia for more’n ten years now, and the littlest upset could tip her right over.”
    “Talking about Bradley would upset her that much?”
    “He’s our only boy, and she’s attached to him. Last thing she needs to hear is that the police are treating him like a suspect.”
    “We never said he was a suspect, sir.”
    “No?” Kimball met her gaze with a look that was both direct and confrontational. “Then what’re you doing here?”
    “Bradley was acquainted with Ms. Edgerton. We’re just touching all the bases.”
    “You’ve come a long way just to touch
this
base.” He turned to the front door. “Come in, let’s get it over with. But I’ll tell you now you’re wasting your time.”
    After the heat outside, Jane welcomed the chance to cool off in an air-conditioned house, but the Rose residence was startlingly frigid and made to seem even less welcoming by the marble tiles and the cavernous entrance hall. Jane looked up at the huge beams that supported the vaulted ceiling. Though a stained-glass window let in squares of multicolored light, wood paneling and hanging tap estries seemed to absorb all brightness, throwing the house into gloom. This was not a home, she thought; this was a museum, meant to show off the acquisitions of a man addicted to collecting treasures. In the entrance hall, suits of armor stood like soldiers at attention. Mounted on the walls were battle-axes and swords, and a decorated banner hung overhead—the Rose family crest, no doubt. Did every man dream of being a nobleman? She wondered which symbols should be displayed on the Rizzoli family crest. A beer can and a TV, maybe.
    Kimball led them out of the grand hall, and as they stepped into the next room, it was as if they’d passed from one millennium into another. A fountain trickled in a courtyard tiled with brilliant mosaics. Daylight shone down through a vast skylight, spilling onto marble statues of nymphs and satyrs at play near the fountain’s edge. Jane wanted to linger, to take a closer look at the mosaics, but Kimball was already moving on, into yet another room.
    It was Kimball’s library, and as they stepped in, both Jane and Frost stared up in wonder. Everywhere they looked were