Part 6
Evelyn stood. “She can use mine.”
Her pale satin clutch was large enough for a phone and perhaps one almond.
“No,” Lily said. “Thank you.”
Evelyn looked relieved not to lose it.
The deputy asked Adrian to accompany her to the drive so she could copy the messages. He glanced toward the carriage house, visible beyond the trees.
“I need to get my things before she changes the locks.”
Eleanor said, “I would never interfere with an investigation.”
Adrian’s jaw tightened.
Lily picked up the brass keys. “The carriage house is part of Bellweather.”
Claire gave her a warning look.
Lily ignored it. “You can stay tonight.”
Eleanor turned slowly. “You do not know the terms of his employment.”
“No.”
“You do not know whether the apartment is tied to that employment.”
“No.”
“You do not know him.”
“No,” Lily said. “But I know you.”
Adrian looked at her with an expression that made her regret the line. It had sounded cleaner than it felt. She was not rescuing him. She had no idea whether she had the legal authority to let him remain, whether the utilities were active, or whether he had somewhere safer to go.
Claire said, “We will review the occupancy agreement before making promises.”
Lily nodded. “All right.”
Eleanor’s small victorious smile returned, damaged but recognizable. “The new mistress of Bellweather has lasted almost four minutes.”
Lily closed her hand around the keys. “Longer than your plan.”
That silenced the table.
The line did not feel good afterward. It felt like borrowing Eleanor’s knife and discovering it fit her hand.
By six that evening, the white roses had been removed, the rental chairs stacked, and the last catering van had gone down the drive. The house retained the sour, sweet smell of extinguished candles and lemon glaze.
Lily sat on the lower step of the grand staircase in her black dress, barefoot, with Claire’s legal folder beside her. Her heels stood under the console table as neatly as if they belonged to someone who still knew where she was going.
Claire had changed from her suit jacket into a white blouse with the sleeves rolled once. She stood in the front hall making calls, pacing between the umbrella stand and the portrait of Graham’s grandfather.
“No,” she said into her phone. “Do not release a statement tonight. Confirm receipt and say the trustees are reviewing the matter.”
She listened.
“No. Do not use the phrase family dispute.”
Another pause.
“Because it is legally inaccurate and sounds worse.”
Lily watched dust drift in the light beneath the chandelier.
Graham had hated the chandelier. He called it the crystal octopus. Eleanor had restored it at considerable expense after their twentieth anniversary, then increased the wattage until every imperfection in the ceiling became visible.
Claire ended the call.
“Who was that?” Lily asked.
“The foundation’s communications consultant.”
“There’s a communications consultant?”
“There is now.”
“Who pays for that?”
Claire sat beside her on the step. “That is a complicated question.”
“So me.”
“Not necessarily.”
“Which means maybe.”
“Yes.”
Lily leaned her head against the banister. The polished wood was cool against her temple. “I don’t want a communications consultant.”
“Neither does anyone until their name appears beside the word scandal.”
“Has it?”
“Not yet.”
Claire’s phone vibrated again. She silenced it.
From the rear of the house came the clatter of a metal pipe. Adrian was in the carriage-house apartment with Deputy Alvarez supervising while he photographed his possessions. He had refused Claire’s offer to put him in a hotel.
“I’m not leaving my record collection with her,” he had said.
It was the first thing about him Lily had learned that did not involve Eleanor.
Claire removed Lily’s wallet and phone from the legal folder and set them on the step. The pharmacy receipt fell out after them.
Lily picked it up.
“You should call your father before Eleanor does,” Claire said.
“She doesn’t have his number.”
“She has a family office.”
Lily folded the receipt along the existing crease. “He’ll ask whether the house has mold.”
“Does it?”
“In the north attic.”
“Then he will feel vindicated.”
“He usually does.”
Claire waited.
Lily unlocked her phone. There were fourteen missed calls, most from numbers she did not recognize. Two were from her supervisor at the restoration firm. One was from her father.
She called him first.
He answered after half a ring. “What did you do?”
Lily closed her eyes. “Hi, Dad.”
“A woman from some newspaper asked whether you manipulated an old man.”
Claire looked at the ceiling.
“What newspaper?”
“I don’t know. She talked fast.”
“Did you say anything?”
“I asked how she got my number.”
“What did she say?”
“She said public records.”
“That doesn’t answer the question.”
“I told her that.”
Despite herself, Lily smiled.
Her father’s voice sharpened. “Lily.”
“I didn’t manipulate anyone.”
“Did you get a house?”
She looked across the foyer toward the open doorway of the library. Graham’s reading lamp was still on a timer. It had come alive at dusk, illuminating an empty leather chair.
“Yes.”
There was silence.
Then her father said, “Is it the big one?”
“Yes.”
“The one with the stone lions?”
“They’re griffins.”
“Whatever. The ugly ones.”
“They’re not ugly.”
“They have wings and teeth.”
“That’s generally the idea.”
Claire watched her, eyebrows raised.
Her father did not laugh. “Why did he give you a house?”
“I don’t know.”
“You know something.”
“He wanted it preserved.”
“He could have given it to a museum.”
“He tried. They wouldn’t take the operating costs.”
“So he found someone with less sense.”
“That was part of it.”
“Don’t joke.”
Lily rubbed her bare foot against the stair runner. “I told him no.”
“And?”
“He signed the deed.”
“That doesn’t make you keep it.”
“No.”
“Are you keeping it?”
She looked at the brass keys on the step between herself and Claire.
May you like
“I don’t know.”
Her father breathed through his nose. She could picture him at the kitchen table in his small townhouse, reading glasses low on his face, the television muted because he believed mute buttons preserved concentration.
