Andrea's brow creased in deep thought, a nagging suspicion that the man she married had become a stranger to her growing stronger by the day. She walked determinedly to her phone and punched in a number.
The phone emitted two short rings before being answered by a deep, resonant voice, "Good morning, Ma'am Andrea."
"Morning, Runnel," Andrea replied crisply. "I need you to investigate when and from whom my husband learned to draw," she commanded, issuing a clear directive to the person on the other end of the line.
A brief exchange followed before Andrea ended the call, sinking into her bed, lost in contemplation of the many ways Valentine Anderson had changed over the years.
Shaking off her reverie, Andrea briskly readied herself for work. Over breakfast, she casually asked her houseke
