Chương 16
"I wasn't going to kidnap him."
"Good beginning."
I almost laughed.
Almost.
Martin continued.
"Naomi, I also need your permission to provide the financial materials and the voicemail to a criminal attorney I work with."
"Why?"
"Because if the forged signatures and transfers are what they appear to be, this may move beyond civil litigation."
The words settled differently than everything else.
Criminal.
Not family.
Not complicated.
Not management.
Criminal.
"Do it."
"All right."
He paused.
"And I am going to ask the police department whether the crash investigation is closed."
My stomach tightened.
"Why?"
"Because if it is still technically open, we need to be careful how we approach anything related to Mercer."
I looked at Claire.
She was watching me closely.
"Do you think he caused the crash?"
"I do not know."
"That isn't what I asked."
Martin was silent.
Then he said, "I think we have enough unanswered questions that guessing would be irresponsible."
That was as close as he would come.
"Fine."
After we hung up, Jared paced to the window.
"I need air."
Claire said, "Use the porch."
He looked at her.
"I'm not a prisoner."
"No, but your instincts are terrible."
He gave her a tired look.
"Also fair."
He stepped outside.
Through the window, I watched him sit on the porch step and put his head in his hands.
For the first time, I saw something of myself in him.
Not enough to forgive him.
Enough to recognize him.
Claire started gathering papers into stacks.
"You're organizing my crime scene?"
"I'm preventing coffee damage."
I looked at the mug near Johnny's letter.
"Good call."
She moved it farther away.
I picked up the photograph of Mom and Mercer.
"Do you think she knew?"
Claire stopped.
"Knew what?"
"That Johnny would be on that road."
Her face changed.
"Naomi."
"I know."
"No, listen to me."
"I know what Martin said."
"Then hear it."
I set the photograph down.
Claire sat across from me.
"Your mother has done enough without us inventing more."
"I'm not inventing."
"You are asking a question."
"Questions are allowed."
"Yes."
She leaned forward.
"But grief likes answers better than truth."
I stared at her.
She looked away.
"That sounded annoyingly wise."
"It did."
"I hate it."
"Me too."
We sat there until a lawn mower started somewhere behind the house.
The sound was absurdly cheerful.
I noticed a crumb from Claire's cinnamon pastry near my elbow and brushed it onto the floor.
Then I got up and swept it.
Claire watched me.
"What?"
"Nothing."
"I'm allowed to sweep."
"Apparently."
"I don't know what else to do."
Her face softened.
"I know."
The broom bristles scraped over the tile.
I swept under the table.
Then under Gemma's chair.
Except it wasn't Gemma's chair anymore.
It was just a chair.
That realization hit so quickly that I dropped the broom.
Claire stood.
I put both hands over my face.
"No."
She stopped.
"I don't want to cry."
"Okay."
"I am so tired of crying."
"Okay."
"I don't want anybody touching me."
She stayed where she was.
The tears came anyway.
Quietly at first.
Then badly.
I leaned against the counter and cried for my daughter, not the trust, not the money, not the investigator, not my mother.
Just Gemma.
Her stupid backpack.
Her missing front tooth.
The way she said cinnamon as "simmon" until she was five and then became furious when anyone reminded her.
Claire stood three feet away and let me fall apart without trying to improve it.
When it passed, I washed my face at the sink.
My eyes looked swollen in the dark reflection of the window.
"Very glamorous," I whispered.
Claire heard me.
"What?"
"Something Johnny used to say."
She nodded.
She did not ask.
The front door opened.
Jared stepped inside.
He looked at me and immediately looked away.
"My phone is exploding."
"Mom?"
"Mostly."
"Don't answer."
"I'm not."
He held the screen out.
Twenty-three missed calls.
Nine texts.
One from Dad.
I'm going to Martin Keller.
I stared at it.
"Does Mom know?"
"Probably."
"Did you tell him?"
"No."
Another text arrived while we watched.
From Mom.
Where is your father?
Jared turned the phone facedown.
"That's new."
"What?"
"She doesn't know where he is."
Claire said, "Good."
I looked at her.
She shrugged.
"Sorry."
"No, you're not."
"No."
An hour later, Martin called again.
Dad was with him.
He had arrived alone.
"He wants to make a statement."
I sat at the table.
"What kind?"
"A sworn written statement first."
"About the money?"
"Everything he says he knows."
My pulse quickened.
"And Mercer?"
"That too."
"Is he cooperating?"
"At the moment."
"At the moment?"
Martin exhaled.
"He is frightened."
"Of Mom?"
"Partly."
"What else?"
"Prison."
Jared looked at me.
Martin continued.
"Richard says he signed documents he knew were false."
I closed my eyes.
"What happens to him?"
"I don't know."
"Could he be charged?"
"Yes."
"Will he?"
"I don't know."
I hated myself for caring.
I cared anyway.
"Does he know that?"
"Yes."
"And he's talking?"
"Yes."
I looked at Johnny's letter.
Maybe Dad had finally reached the cost of silence.
"Did he say what Mercer did?"
"Some."
My body went rigid.
"What?"
"Richard says Susan asked Mercer to follow Johnny."
"Only follow?"
"At first."
"At first?"
There was a pause.
"She later asked Mercer to intimidate him."
Claire stood straighter.
"How?"
"Richard claims he doesn't know."
"Do you believe him?"
"I think he is telling more truth than he was this morning."
That wasn't an answer.
It was probably the only one available.
"Did Mercer touch Johnny?"
"We don't know."
"Threaten him directly?"
"Richard doesn't know."
"What does he know?"
"That Susan paid Mercer twelve thousand five hundred dollars through Marwick."
"We knew that."
"Richard says there was a second payment."
I gripped the phone.
"How much?"
"Twenty-five thousand."
Rebecca hadn't found that one.
"From where?"
"Cashier's check purchased through another entity."
"When?"
"The day before the accident."
May you like
Jared swore.
Claire closed her eyes.
