Chương 14
Marcus stood several feet away.
I said, “Your father used to worry about you.”
His face hardened.
“Don't.”
“I am not invoking him like a judge.”
“It sounds like you are.”
“He worried because you hated disappointing people.”
Marcus laughed once, bitterly.
“That's what we're talking about now?”
“Yes.”
“He spent half my childhood disappointed in me.”
“That is not true.”
“It felt true.”
I almost argued.
Then I stopped.
There had been years when Harold mistook criticism for instruction.
He loved Marcus fiercely and corrected him constantly.
Those two things had lived side by side without Harold noticing the damage.
“I didn't know you felt that way.”
Marcus shrugged.
“You didn't ask.”
The words hurt because they were partly fair.
I looked toward the water.
A breeze carried the smell of salt and sunscreen across the dunes.
“I am asking now.”
He sat on the opposite end of the swing.
The wood shifted between us.
“I always felt like there was one right way to do things with Dad.”
“He believed that.”
“And if I couldn't figure it out, he'd just do it himself.”
“He did that to me too.”
Marcus gave a short laugh.
“Yeah.”
For one quiet minute, we were not talking about fraud.
We were talking about Harold.
A dead man who had been loving, stubborn, funny, impatient, brave, and occasionally impossible.
Then the moment passed.
Marcus said, “Lauren made me feel useful.”
I turned toward him.
“At first.”
He rubbed his thumb along a crack in the swing arm.
“She hated paperwork.”
I almost laughed.
He saw it.
“I know.”
“Apparently she became motivated.”
“She told me she hated it.”
“Maybe she hated being caught.”
He nodded.
“She'd ask me to handle little things.”
“Bills?”
“Insurance calls.”
“Banking?”
“Sometimes.”
“And then?”
“She took over more after the condo problem started.”
“Why?”
“She said I was stressed.”
“Were you?”
“Yes.”
His voice softened.
“I've been barely holding things together for a while.”
I had not known.
That knowledge did not excuse him.
It rearranged the furniture of my anger.
“Why didn't you tell me?”
“Because you'd offer money.”
“I probably would have.”
“And I didn't want to be forty-one and taking money from my mother.”
“So instead you let your wife take my house.”
He winced.
“Fair.”
“No, it isn't fair.”
I rubbed my forehead.
“That's the problem.”
A sheriff's radio crackled near the driveway.
Deputy Reed returned.
“I need to speak with Marcus separately for a while.”
Marcus stood.
“Am I being arrested?”
“No.”
“Am I free to leave?”
“Yes, but I'd prefer you stay available.”
Marcus looked at me.
“Should I get a lawyer?”
Reed answered before I could.
“That is your decision, and you are entitled to seek legal advice.”
Marcus swallowed.
I said, “Get one.”
His eyebrows lifted.
“You think I need one?”
“I think you should stop making serious decisions because you're afraid someone might be disappointed.”
He looked at me for a long moment.
Then he nodded.
“Okay.”
Reed led him toward the side of the house.
I remained on the swing.
For the first time that morning, nobody was asking me questions.
I could hear a lawn mower several houses away.
Somewhere inside, a deputy opened and closed drawers.
My phone showed eleven thirty-seven.
I wondered whether Denise had cleaned my motel room yet and whether she would notice the coffee stain.
That seemed important for nearly ten seconds.
Then a gray SUV turned onto the street.
I recognized it immediately.
Lauren.
My whole body went rigid.
The vehicle slowed when she saw the sheriff's cars.
For one second, I thought she might keep driving.
Instead, she pulled into the driveway.
Deputy Reed noticed and started toward her before the engine stopped.
Lauren got out wearing white shorts, sandals, and sunglasses.
She carried a large tote bag over one shoulder.
Not fear.
Not panic.
At least not visibly.
She looked irritated.
“What is going on?”
Reed approached.
“Lauren Wells?”
“Yes.”
“Deputy Reed, Walton County Sheriff's Office.”
“I can see that.”
Her voice was sharp.
Then she saw me.
The irritation shifted.
“Patricia.”
I remained seated.
She turned back to Reed.
“Is she claiming we stole something?”
“No one is going to discuss allegations in the driveway without clarifying a few things.”
“I live here.”
I stood.
“No.”
Lauren looked at me.
I surprised myself with how calm my voice sounded.
“You were allowed to stay here.”
Her jaw tightened.
“Patricia, not now.”
“Yes.”
I walked to the porch rail.
“Now.”
Reed raised one hand.
“Mrs. Wells, let me manage the contact.”
I nodded and stopped.
Lauren took off her sunglasses.
“Where's Marcus?”
“Speaking with another deputy.”
“Why?”
“We need to ask him questions.”
“About what?”
Reed did not answer directly.
“Do you have identification with you?”
She hesitated.
“Yes.”
“May I see it?”
“Why?”
“To confirm who I'm speaking with.”
She pulled her wallet from the tote and handed him her driver's license.
Reed looked at it.
“Is this your current address?”
Lauren's eyes flicked toward me.
The license listed the condo address.
“Yes.”
“Have you ever changed your legal residence to this property?”
“No.”
I saw the answer register with him.
Not decisive.
Relevant.
He handed the license back.
“Do you have Patricia Wells's passport?”
Lauren stared at him.
“No.”
“Have you had possession of it recently?”
“No.”
“Have you seen it?”
“No.”
I could not remain silent.
“It disappeared from my locked desk.”
Lauren turned toward me.
“I have never been in your stupid locked drawer.”
There are moments when a person gives away more with an adjective than an entire confession.
Deputy Reed heard it too.
His expression did not change.
I said, “I didn't say which drawer.”
Lauren's face went still.
Then she recovered.
“You've complained about that desk for years.”
“No, I haven't.”
“You told me the lock sticks.”
I searched my memory.
Maybe I had.
Maybe once.
That was the danger now.
May you like
Every ordinary conversation had become evidence in my mind.
Reed stepped in.
