Mrs. Arliss was witty. Mrs. Arliss was delightful. But mostly, Mrs. Arliss was rich. And now, Mrs. Arliss is dead, and her friends and relations—gathered to shed a tear, knock back a post-funeral sherry, and determine what loot they have inherited—are horrified to discover that things are not exactly as they might have wished. Only two people seem to have cared more for Mrs. Arliss than for her house and her bank account and her exquisite collection of 18th-century miniatures. One is her girlish secretary, the very model of a flustered ingnue. The other is Virginia Freer, who had in many ways been a second Arliss daughter. They should be free to mourn, but Virginia has a problem. The miniatures? They're missing. And all clues point to Virginia's ex-husband, Felix, who is charming, and affectionate, and a double-dipped scoundrel.
Mrs. Arliss was witty. Mrs. Arliss was delightful. But mostly, Mrs. Arliss was rich. And now, Mrs. Arliss is dead, and her friends and relations—gathered to shed a tear, knock back a post-funeral sherry, and determine what loot they have inherited—are horrified to discover that things are not exactly as they might have wished. Only two people seem to have cared more for Mrs. Arliss than for her house and her bank account and her exquisite collection of 18th-century miniatures. One is her girlish secretary, the very model of a flustered ingnue. The other is Virginia Freer, who had in many ways been a second Arliss daughter. They should be free to mourn, but Virginia has a problem. The miniatures? They're missing. And all clues point to Virginia's ex-husband, Felix, who is charming, and affectionate, and a double-dipped scoundrel.
