Chương 5
“You cannot open the envelope when the police return it,” she said.
“I assumed you would open it.”
“Not alone.”
“Who else?”
“An independent trust lawyer. Possibly the other trustees. We need a record of who receives it and in what condition.”
“Do you know what it contains?”
“I know what it may contain.”
“That is not the same thing.”
“No.”
He looked at her. “Did my mother tell you?”
Margaret put on her glasses. “Your mother told me many things. Most of them were instructions. Some were complaints.”
“About Celeste?”
“About you.”
Adrian gave a dry laugh that surprised both of them.
The house had settled into its nighttime sounds. Pipes clicked behind the walls. A vacuum cleaner started somewhere near the dining hall, stopped, then started again. The staff had been told to leave the room untouched until the police completed their photographs, but someone had forgotten and begun the usual work.
Adrian sat on the lower stair.
He had not sat there since he was a child. His father used to stand at the top landing when addressing employees, forcing everyone to look upward. Adrian’s mother had hated the performance and later converted the landing into a reading alcove so no one could use it that way again.
Margaret sat beside him, though her knees made a quiet complaint.
“You sent me trust summaries,” Adrian said.
“I sent you the full documents.”
“I read the summaries.”
“I know.”
“Was there an amendment involving the estate?”
“There are several.”
“One that could affect the sale?”
“Yes.”
He turned toward her.
Margaret removed her glasses again, but this time she did not clean them. “The Vale Family Conservation Trust has approval rights over any transfer of the main house and the southern acreage. Your mother strengthened those rights before she died.”
“Why wasn’t that in the term-sheet review?”
“It was.”
“No.”
“It was in the memorandum my office sent in August.”
“I read that memorandum.”
“You read the first four pages. Your assistant’s system shows the attachment was closed after six minutes.”
Adrian looked away.
Margaret continued, not unkindly. “You replied, ‘Work with Celeste on anything technical.’”
He could see the email without remembering writing it. That was how much of the last year had passed: words left his account, decisions returned with his name on them, and Celeste stood beside him saying the difficult parts were handled.
“Did she know?” he asked.
“She was copied.”
The vacuum cleaner stopped again.
Adrian stared at the empty entrance hall. “Then why steal a duplicate?”
“To keep you from reading the personal letter, perhaps. To create delay. To prevent the trustees from asking why the original had been concealed. I don’t know.”
“My mother wrote to me?”
“She sealed a letter with the executed duplicate. She instructed us to keep our filed copy separate.”
“Why?”
“Because she did not trust grief.”
He frowned.
Margaret rested her hands on her knees. “Not yours specifically. Grief in general. Though with your mother, general observations tended to have a target.”
“What did the letter say?”
“I never read it.”
“You witnessed the envelope?”
“I witnessed her seal it.”
“And you left it in the morning room.”
“She insisted.”
“That was careless.”
“Yes.”
He expected her to defend herself.
She did not.
The simplicity of her answer unsettled him.
“Why didn’t you insist on taking it?” he asked.
“Because she was eighty-four, furious, and still my client.”
“You should have protected her from a bad decision.”
Margaret looked at him. “That is an interesting position for you to take tonight.”
He pressed both palms against his face.
For several minutes, neither spoke.
At three fifteen, Bernard brought coffee in ordinary kitchen mugs because the formal service had been locked in the dining hall. One mug carried the faded logo of a plumbing company. Adrian received that one.
“My apologies,” Bernard said.
“For the mug?”
“For many things.”
Adrian tasted the coffee. It was terrible.
“Did you know Celeste had a key to my mother’s desk?”
“No.”
“Did anyone?”
“Mrs. Marrow requested access to the office safe last Tuesday. She said she needed the inventory book for the engagement dinner.”
“Who opened it?”
“I did.”
“Was she alone?”
“For approximately forty seconds while I answered the house telephone.”
“What was the call?”
Bernard’s face changed.
“What?” Adrian asked.
“No one spoke. I assumed it was a fault in the line.”
Margaret leaned forward. “Did Celeste use her phone while you were gone?”
“I did not see.”
“Were the keys inventoried afterward?”
“No.”
Adrian placed the mug on the stair beside him. “Why not?”
Bernard straightened.
The old man’s dignity entered the space before his answer. “Because she was to become your wife.”
Adrian closed his eyes.
That sentence explained the entire failure more clearly than any security report could.
By morning, snow had covered the steps and softened the tire marks in the drive. The estate appeared untouched from the outside.
Adrian had slept for forty minutes in a chair in his study. He woke with a crease across one cheek and the taste of Bernard’s coffee still in his mouth. For several seconds, he believed the dinner had gone as planned. He saw Celeste beneath the chandeliers, her hand in his, the guests lifting glasses.
Then he noticed his jacket on the floor.
The sleeve was stretched where Iris had held it.
He changed clothes but wore the same jacket.
At eight, he walked to the Hale cottage.
The path had been cleared only as far as the service road. He continued through ankle-deep snow, passing the greenhouse roofs and the narrow brick building that housed the estate carpentry shop. Daniel’s truck stood outside the cottage with its doors unlocked. A child’s mitten lay on the hood.
Adrian knocked.
Daniel opened the door but did not invite him in.
“I came to ask about the children.”
“They’re asleep.”
“Both?”
“Iris is pretending.”
May you like
From inside the cottage, a floorboard creaked.
Adrian lowered his voice. “May I speak with you?”
