Part 7
“Both.”
Lena waited.
Arthur had never called merely to ask a question he already knew how she would answer.
“What did Grant do?” she said.
“Moved money.”
“How much?”
“Enough to call it moving instead of borrowing.”
“From where?”
“A family investment account.”
“Why?”
“He invested in a property development without authorization.”
“Did it fail?”
“Not yet.”
“That sounds worse.”
“It is.”
Lena closed her bedroom door so Simone would not hear.
“Did Camille know?”
“I don’t know.”
“You think she did.”
“I think young married people tell each other less than they claim and more than they admit.”
“Why are you telling me?”
“Because if she knew about the trust change, yesterday makes sense in a way I don’t like.”
“Delaying your signature?”
“I had already signed.”
“Then what would making you sleep accomplish?”
“The documents had not been delivered to the bank. Tom was bringing them yesterday afternoon.”
Lena sat on the edge of the bed.
“Could Grant stop them?”
“Not legally.”
“That wasn’t my question.”
Arthur coughed. The cough lasted long enough that she almost called Margaret.
When it passed, he said, “Grant has spent his life believing discomfort is an emergency someone else caused.”
“That sounds inherited.”
Arthur laughed once, then coughed again.
“Did Camille know the papers were coming?” Lena asked.
“Tom says he told no one.”
“Did Tom know why you changed the trust?”
“Yes.”
“And Grant called him before the police took the evidence.”
Silence.
“Arthur.”
“I heard you.”
“You should tell the detective.”
“I will.”
“When?”
“This morning.”
“Not after you decide how embarrassing it is?”
His breath changed. She had spoken too sharply.
Then he said, “That is why I called you.”
“No. You called because you want me to tell you that you are doing the right thing.”
“Are you?”
“I’m telling you to do it before breakfast.”
He was quiet for so long Lena checked the screen to see whether the call had ended.
“Lena,” he said, “I did not know Grant was taking money until last week.”
“All right.”
“I am not asking you to believe me.”
“That’s fortunate.”
“You think I knew.”
“I think people know pieces. Then they arrange the pieces so they don’t make a picture.”
Arthur made a tired sound.
“I’m sorry you were hurt.”
“You said that.”
“I am saying it again.”
“Repeating it doesn’t change the elbow.”
“No.”
“But tell the detective. That might change something.”
He promised he would.
After the call, Lena found Simone awake in the kitchen, eating cereal from a mixing bowl.
“How much did you hear?”
“Enough to know rich people call before sunrise because apparently boundaries are taxed.”
Lena told her about the trust.
Simone listened without interrupting.
When Lena finished, Simone said, “You cannot go back there alone.”
“I’m not going today.”
“Ever.”
“That’s dramatic.”
“You were shoved over a drugged drink yesterday.”
“Possibly drugged.”
Simone set down the spoon. “You correct language when you’re afraid of the conclusion.”
Lena stood at the sticky counter.
Outside, a sanitation truck lifted a dumpster and dropped it with a crash. Someone in the apartment below shouted. A dog began barking.
Life continued with no respect for significant mornings.
Lena said, “I need the conclusion to be true before I live inside it.”
The laboratory result came three days later.
The capsule contained a prescription sedative not prescribed to Arthur. Dr. Shaw explained that even a partial dose could have caused dangerous confusion, low blood pressure, or a fall when combined with Arthur’s existing medications. There was no evidence that Arthur had consumed it that morning.
Blood tests showed traces of the same drug at a low level.
Not from that morning.
From earlier.
Detective Keane called Lena at home and asked whether Camille had prepared Arthur’s drinks on other occasions.
“Sometimes,” Lena said.
“How often?”
“She and Grant stayed at the estate for nine nights while their house was being painted. She offered to help.”
“Did she take Mr. Wexler beverages?”
“Yes.”
“Did you observe her adding anything?”
“No.”
“Did he seem different afterward?”
Lena closed her eyes.
Two memories arrived at once.
Arthur asleep in the library at four in the afternoon, his reading glasses crooked across his face.
Arthur gripping the breakfast table the following morning, complaining that the room moved when he stood.
They had blamed recovery. Dr. Shaw adjusted his blood pressure medication. Margaret canceled a meeting in Boston. Camille ordered flowers.
“Twice,” Lena said. “He was unusually drowsy twice.”
“When?”
She went to the wall calendar beside her refrigerator. Her own notes were sparse, but she kept photographs of the household schedule on her phone. It took her twenty minutes to find the dates.
Both matched evenings when Camille had offered to bring Arthur his nutritional tonic.
Detective Keane thanked her.
“Have you located Daria Holt?” Lena asked.
“We located a person using that name. She sells wellness products online. She denies giving Mrs. Mercer any prescription medication.”
“Do you believe her?”
“I believe she understands the legal value of denying it.”
“That is not an answer.”
“It is the answer I have.”
The detective asked Lena not to contact Camille or Grant.
Lena said she had no intention of doing so.
Camille contacted her that afternoon.
The first message read: I’m sorry you were hurt.
The second arrived a minute later: I never meant for you to fall.
Then: Please let me explain what you saw.
Lena placed the phone face down.
It buzzed again.
You have always assumed the worst about me.
Another.
Grant’s life is being destroyed.
Lena turned the phone off.
At five, Simone arrived with her son, Noah, who was eight and displeased that his grandmother’s sling prevented her from playing basketball in the hallway. He examined it.
“Can people sign casts when they’re not casts?”
May you like
“They can sign anything if they have a pen.”
He wrote his name across the fabric in green marker, then drew what he said was a shark and what looked like a potato with teeth.
