Eyes narrowed, Trey leaned against the counter. “That happened to Sonya. She mentioned it last night.”
“Yeah? Maybe it’s a Poole thing.”
“Maybe. And maybe it means she’s not the only one who can find the rings. Wherever the hell they are.”
“Or—maybe again—take a walk through that magic mirror. Wherever the hell that is.”
“Have you talked to any of the cousins about this?”
“They’re not interested. Collin didn’t leave them the manor for good reason. They’d have sold it in a heartbeat.”
“But not you.”
“No. I don’t know what the hell I’d do with it, and there’s another reason he left it to Sonya. But it’s been in the family for more than two centuries. That shit matters. The business matters, same reason, and that they get. Even if it’s only, or at least mostly, for the income.”
“But not you,” Trey said again.
“Hey, I’ve got nothing against making money. We play to our strengths, and that works. Clarice may not know how to build a dinghy, but she’s got an eagle eye on the business of the business. Connor could sell sand to a man wandering the desert. Mike could build if he wanted, but he’s best at design. Cathy and Cole, they’re both settled in Europe, got family there, and handle that end of things.
“And Hugh,” Owen added, speaking of his younger brother, “he’s grateful for the share Collin left him, and he’d do whatever I asked him to do. But what he wants is to live in New York, wear fancy suits, and work in finance. He’s good at it.
“Do you figure the women are coming down before lunch?”
“Sonya’s up. She wanted to check something in her office first. I don’t know about Cleo.” Trey looked in the bowl. “French toast?”
“It’s Sunday.” Owen got out two skillets. “Somebody else is doing the dishes. How many slices do you want?”
“I can smell the bacon. Are you making eggs, too?”
“It’s Sunday.”
“Then two.”
When Sonya walked in, Owen added more soaked slices of bread to the skillet. Then poured beaten eggs into the other.
“You meant a serious breakfast.”
“It’s Sunday. How many do you want?”
“Just one, thanks.”
“That’s sad, but your choice.”
By the time he’d piled everything on one big platter, Cleo joined them. He shot her a look.
“Do you wake up looking like that?”
She just smiled. “Now, that’s a Sunday breakfast.”
“I made extra in case you decided to show up.”
“It’s Sunday,” she said, and made Trey laugh.
As they ate, Sonya turned to Owen. “So, Trey tells me you build doghouses.”
“Not really. A couple.”
“You did that duplex for Lucy.”
“A few,” Owen corrected.
“Yoda really needs his own house. I mean like right now, he has guests. Maybe they all want to hang out, watch some ESPN. Or Paw Patrol.”
Owen scooped up some eggs, eyed her as she smiled at him.
“What’ll it take?”
“Don’t know. Haven’t thought about it. Right off, you need a design, dimensions.”
“It just so happens.” She popped up, retrieved the sketchbook she’d brought in with her. “I have that.”
“Did you get this going?” he asked Trey.
“Inadvertently.”
Owen continued to eat as he studied Sonya’s sketches. Ones she’d carefully drawn to scale.
“Mansard roof, a turret, arched windows.”
“It needs to honor the Victorian style of the manor. It’s Yoda’s manor.”
“Uh-huh. Interior, tray ceiling, with a fan, heated floor. A freaking trundle bed.”
“For sleepovers.”
“An electric fireplace.”
“Between that—I found a really small one—and the heated floors, it would be warm in the winter. What do you think?”
“She wants a boat.” He pointed his fork at Cleo. “And we already made the deal. But I can think about it. If I do, you’re slave labor,” he told Trey.
“No problem. Speaking of dogs, I’ll let them in, feed them.”
“I’ll handle the dishes.” Cleo rose. “I suppose we need to get started. Why don’t we take the downstairs?”
Within the hour, they were deep into it, removing more dustcovers, hunting through the warren of rooms. When she uncovered a big rolltop desk, Sonya searched through drawers and pigeonholes.