Chương 9
Maya opened the checkbook again.
The account number was printed at the bottom of the deposit slip carbon.
The last four digits were 1847.
Nobody said anything.
Upstairs, a toilet flushed.
Water moved through the pipes over their heads.
Evan placed the business card carefully beside the checkbook.
“So Harlan had the last four digits of Dad’s account.”
Maya looked toward the basement stairs.
“Or Dad wrote them down for him.”
Eleanor rose.
“Do not confront him again tonight.”
Maya almost did exactly that because Eleanor had told her not to.
Instead she picked up the gray lockbox.
It was heavier than before, though nothing inside had changed.
“Where are you taking that?”
“With me.”
“This is Richard’s house.”
Maya looked at the trust documents in her hand.
“That question appears to be under review.”
Evan laughed despite himself.
Then his face collapsed into exhaustion.
They went upstairs together.
The cake still sat unopened on the counter.
Denise was at the kitchen table eating a piece.
She froze with the fork halfway to her mouth.
“No one was doing anything with it.”
Evan stared at her plate.
“You cut Maya’s birthday cake during a potential felony.”
“I was stress-eating.”
“That is not a legal defense.”
Maya set the lockbox on the table.
“Give me a piece.”
Denise blinked.
“Seriously?”
“Yes.”
“Corner or middle?”
“Corner.”
Denise cut one.
The frosting was too sweet.
Maya ate three bites standing up while Eleanor wrapped the rest of the cake in plastic and Evan checked the front door twice.
Nobody mentioned Richard.
When Maya finally carried the lockbox to her car, the street was quiet except for a sprinkler ticking somewhere in the dark.
She put the box on the passenger seat and fastened the seat belt around it because the thought of Caroline’s papers sliding onto the floor during a hard stop bothered her more than it should have.
Her phone buzzed before she started the engine.
A text from an unknown number appeared.
Maya Bennett?
She stared at it.
A second message followed.
This is Harlan Pike.
Please do not give Caleb Ross any original documents until you and I speak.
Maya read the messages twice before locking the car doors.
Her thumb hovered over the keyboard.
She typed, Why?
Then deleted it.
She typed, How did you get my number?
That disappeared too.
A third message arrived.
There are facts Caleb does not know.
Maya looked through the windshield at her father’s house.
The upstairs bedroom light came on behind the curtains.
Richard’s silhouette crossed once and vanished.
She called Harlan.
He answered before the second ring.
“Maya.”
“You seem pretty confident I’d call.”
“I hoped you would.”
“How did you get my number?”
A pause.
“Your father.”
“Tonight?”
“No.”
“When?”
“Some time ago.”
Maya tightened the seat belt around the lockbox without meaning to.
“What facts doesn’t Caleb know?”
“I’d rather discuss that in person.”
“Then you shouldn’t have texted me at ten thirty at night.”
“It’s important.”
“So is sleep.”
“I doubt either of us is getting much.”
His voice was softer than she expected.
Not warm.
Careful.
The kind of careful that made every word feel reviewed before release.
Maya said, “Did you send Northline my father’s bank information?”
“No.”
“Did you know the deposit went there?”
Another pause.
“Yes.”
“When?”
“After Richard told me.”
“Everybody finds out after Dad tells them.”
“Maya—”
“Did my mother sign that amendment?”
The silence changed.
Not longer, exactly.
He breathed into it.
“Yes.”
“Were you there?”
“No.”
“Then you don’t know.”
“I know because she sent it to me.”
“From where?”
“Her hospital room.”
Maya stared at the dark dashboard.
Her mother had hated texting from the hospital because the autocorrect on her old phone made her furious.
Caroline once sent Maya a message that read, The surgeon is very contraceptive, and refused to admit it was funny.
“How?”
“Email.”
“Forward it to me.”
“I can’t.”
“Why?”
“Because that account no longer exists.”
“You don’t have the email?”
“I have records of communications, but not the original message in a form I would ask you to rely on.”
That answer sounded practiced enough to have worn a suit.
“Convenient.”
“I understand why it sounds that way.”
“Good.”
“I also understand why Eleanor believes Caroline couldn’t have signed anything that day.”
Maya’s fingers stopped on the lockbox latch.
“I didn’t tell you Grandma was there.”
“No.”
“Dad did?”
“Years ago.”
“Years ago, Dad told you Grandma was in Mom’s hospital room on one specific Thursday?”
“No.”
“Then how did you know what she believes?”
Harlan exhaled.
“I spoke to Richard twenty minutes ago.”
Maya looked at the house again.
The bedroom light was still on.
“He went upstairs to call you.”
“I assume so.”
“And you immediately texted me.”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“Because Richard is frightened, and frightened people simplify.”
“That is an interesting sentence from his lawyer.”
“I haven’t represented your father in years.”
“What are you to him now?”
“Someone he calls when he’s frightened.”
“That sounds cheaper than a lawyer.”
“It hasn’t been.”
Maya almost smiled.
She disliked that he had managed it.
Harlan said, “Do not let Caleb take possession of the originals.”
“Why?”
“Because you don’t know who Caleb represents.”
“He told me he represents Northline.”
“He represents Northline now.”
The emphasis was slight.
Maya heard it anyway.
“What does that mean?”
“Ask him whether he ever represented your mother.”
The bedroom curtain moved upstairs.
Maya lowered herself instinctively in the driver’s seat, then felt ridiculous and sat upright again.
“You could just tell me.”
“I could.”
“But you won’t.”
“Not over the phone.”
“Then we’re done.”
“Maya.”
She waited.
“Photograph everything before you give anything to anyone.”
That, at least, sounded sensible.
“Good night, Harlan.”
“Ask Caleb.”
She ended the call.
For several seconds she sat without moving.
Then the porch light came on.
Richard stepped outside in sweatpants and an old college sweatshirt.
He saw her through the windshield and stopped.
May you like
Maya started the engine.
Richard came down the walk.
