Chương 13
Kevin’s expression changed.
I waited.
She looked at neither of us.
“After your father died, everyone was very attentive for about six months.”
Her thumb moved over the water-bottle label.
“Then people went back to their lives.”
Kevin opened his mouth.
She raised one hand.
“I am not blaming you.”
He closed it.
“Linda called.”
“She calls everyone.”
A tiny smile touched Patricia’s mouth.
“She does.”
The smile disappeared.
“The house was quiet.”
I thought of the Sutton house in Myers Park.
Four bedrooms.
Formal dining room.
A piano nobody played anymore.
My father’s study at the back, where afternoon sun always made the dust visible.
“I started going to lunches with people from the club.”
She shrugged.
“Widows, mostly.”
The word sounded foreign in her mouth even after four years.
“One of them introduced me to Evan.”
“Who?”
“Carolyn Mercer.”
I knew the name.
Not personally.
My mother had mentioned her enough times.
“Did Carolyn invest with him too?”
“Yes.”
“How much?”
“I don’t know.”
“Is she having problems?”
Patricia’s mouth tightened.
“She stopped returning my calls.”
Kevin and I looked at each other.
That was not good.
“When?”
“Two weeks ago.”
“And you didn’t think that mattered?”
“Her daughter is going through a divorce.”
“That may be true.”
“It is true.”
“Did Carolyn tell you that?”
“No.”
“Who did?”
“Someone at the club.”
Kevin leaned forward.
“Mom, when did you last see Evan in person?”
“June.”
“Where?”
“Lunch.”
“At his office?”
“No.”
“Where?”
“The Dunbar Club.”
I knew it.
Private.
Expensive.
A place designed to make every conversation feel legitimate.
“Did he ever have an office you visited?”
“Yes.”
“Where?”
“SouthPark.”
“Firm name?”
“Price Strategic.”
That sounded more normal.
Maybe too normal.
I pulled out my phone.
Patricia immediately stiffened.
“What are you doing?”
“Looking up the company.”
“No.”
I stopped.
“No?”
“I don’t want you searching him in front of me like he’s a criminal.”
Kevin stared at her.
“Mom.”
“I know how that sounds.”
“Do you?”
She looked at me.
“I need one night.”
“For what?”
“To speak to him.”
“Alone?”
“Yes.”
I shook my head.
“No.”
Her eyes hardened.
“You just said it was my money.”
“It is.”
“Then I will handle it.”
“You can.”
“Good.”
“But if you call him and accuse him before we preserve records, he may disappear.”
Patricia flinched.
The word disappear did what account had not.
It made the risk physical.
Real.
She looked toward the conference-room window.
Outside, the sky had begun to deepen toward evening.
Guests crossed the lawn carrying drinks.
Someone laughed near the terrace.
Life at Crestwater continued with insulting normalcy.
Kevin said, “What if we just gather everything tonight?”
Patricia looked at him.
“No calls?”
“Not unless you want to.”
She looked at me.
I nodded.
“Statements, emails, contracts, screenshots of the portal, wire instructions, tax documents, texts with Evan.”
“I don’t text him much.”
“Whatever exists.”
She looked down.
“And then?”
“Then we figure out what’s real.”
Her mouth tightened.
“And if it is real?”
“Then you get to tell us we overreacted.”
Kevin said, “Please do.”
That earned the smallest breath of laughter from her.
It vanished quickly.
I picked up my water.
My hand was shaking slightly.
I had not noticed until then.
Patricia noticed.
For once, she did not comment.
The conference-room door opened a few inches.
Lily’s face appeared in the gap.
“Mom?”
I stood immediately.
“What happened?”
“Nothing.”
She pushed the door wider.
“I’m hungry.”
Behind her, Joel said, “I tried telling her this family crisis had catering.”
Lily looked at Patricia.
“Grandma, are you still mad?”
Patricia stared at her.
“No.”
Lily considered this with ruthless skepticism.
“You look mad.”
“I’m tired.”
“That’s different.”
“Yes.”
Lily stepped into the room holding another pinecone.
“I saved you one.”
She handed it to Patricia.
My mother looked down at the pinecone in her palm as though she had been given an unfamiliar instrument.
“Thank you.”
“It’s the good one.”
Patricia swallowed.
“I can tell.”
Lily nodded, satisfied.
Then she turned to me.
“Can we eat now?”
I looked at Kevin.
He stood.
“Yes.”
We returned to the terrace together.
Nobody asked what had happened.
That was either courtesy or fear.
Probably both.
Thomas met my eyes once.
I gave him a slight shake of my head.
Later.
Dinner arrived in stages.
Trout for Kevin.
Chicken for Linda.
Pasta for the children.
I had ordered something with mushrooms and barely tasted it.
Patricia ate almost nothing.
Halfway through the meal, Marcus returned from his work call and immediately sensed the atmosphere.
“What did I miss?”
Joel said, “Define miss.”
Linda kicked him under the table.
Marcus looked at me.
Then at Patricia.
Then at Thomas passing near the terrace doors.
His eyes narrowed.
“Did somebody die?”
“No,” Kevin said.
Marcus sat down slowly.
“Great.”
A server placed bread beside him.
He took a piece.
“So why does everyone look like probate court?”
Nobody answered.
Lily leaned toward him.
“Grandma found out Mom owns the hotel.”
Marcus stopped chewing.
He looked at me.
Then at Patricia.
Then back at me.
“You own the hotel?”
“Yes.”
He swallowed.
“Well.”
He buttered his bread.
“That explains the good parking.”
And for the first time all evening, Patricia laughed without trying to control how it sounded.
Marcus had not meant it as mercy, but the laughter gave us some anyway.
For the next ten minutes, dinner behaved almost like dinner.
Linda complained that her trout had too many bones even though she had ordered chicken.
Joel asked whether ownership came with unlimited minibar privileges.
Davina’s children argued about whether the mountain outside was technically a mountain or “just a really committed hill.”
Lily ate three rolls and hid one in her napkin for later.
Patricia even finished half her wine.
No one mentioned Evan Price.
No one mentioned my father’s folder.
The ordinary conversation did not erase anything, but it gave the table somewhere to rest.
May you like
After dessert, Thomas approached quietly.
“The Willow Residence is ready.”
