”“Hey, I'm not afraid,” she retorted, placing her hands on her hips.I sighed again. “I smelt it,” I said simply.She let her hands fall to he... side. “Okay, maybe I felt a little scared for a second, but she made it sound like the ‘victims’…” She did air quotes for emphasis. “Weren't murderers themselves. At least, when she first mentioned it.”When I still wouldn’t look at her, she slowly walked up and stood close enough so that her knees were touching mine. I focused on her silk-covered thighs. “He would spend hours locked in this room, talking to them and playing with them.”“Playing with them?” Maureen’s voice had been shocked. “How?”But her aunt had never answered the question, instead abruptly changing the conversation to the oils.Now Maureen stood in front of the statues and wondered.Her eyes flickered to Henry VIII. “Did my grandfather play with you, Henry,” she murmured out loud, then laughed at her foolishness. “Or you?” Her eyes went back to Anne Boleyn and the smile faded. More

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