Chương 6
“I don’t remember.”
Daniel said, “Margaret.”
She looked at him sharply.
“I do not remember the milliliters six months later.”
“Was it one milliliter?”
“I said I don’t remember.”
“Two?”
“Stop.”
Claire said, “Why does Dad’s letter mention his death being called natural?”
Margaret stood.
“Because four days before he died, he accused me of trying to sedate him so I could take the house.”
Silence.
Daniel stared at her.
Claire said, “What?”
Margaret’s hands were shaking now.
“He had discovered that the deed was still in your name.”
“Still?”
“He thought he had changed it years ago.”
Daniel stood.
“No.”
Margaret looked at him.
“What?”
“You told me he remembered the transfer.”
“He remembered pieces.”
“Arthur asked me to confirm the deed three weeks before he died.”
Margaret’s face drained.
Claire looked from one to the other.
“So he knew.”
Daniel nodded.
“He knew.”
Margaret sat down again.
For a while, the only sound was the clock.
Then Claire said, “You said he accused you of drugging him for the house.”
Margaret’s eyes filled.
She did not cry.
She merely looked furious at the fact that they had.
“Yes.”
“And?”
“And I told him the house wasn’t mine.”
“You knew?”
“Of course I knew.”
“You told me it was yours.”
“I told you I had a life estate.”
Claire frowned.
“No, you didn’t.”
Margaret stared at her.
Then she looked toward Daniel.
He opened another folder.
Arthur’s deed had transferred the property to Claire while reserving a life estate for himself.
Nothing for Margaret.
Upon Arthur’s death, Claire became the owner outright.
Margaret had no ownership interest.
No legal right to remain indefinitely.
Claire felt something inside her shift.
“This is why you lied.”
Margaret said nothing.
“You were afraid I’d make you leave.”
“I was afraid you would decide what happened to my home before your father’s body was cold.”
“It has been six months.”
“Yes.”
“You tried to sell it.”
“I tried to find out whether it could be sold.”
“You signed a listing agreement.”
Margaret blinked.
Claire watched the answer form and fail.
“My friend found it,” Claire said. “The broker withdrew when the title search came back.”
“I needed options.”
“You needed money?”
Margaret looked away.
That was new.
Daniel asked, “How much?”
Margaret’s jaw tightened.
“None of your business.”
“It becomes relevant if you attempted to encumber Claire’s property.”
“I did not encumber anything.”
“How much debt?”
“Daniel.”
“How much?”
Margaret stood abruptly.
“Three hundred and eighty thousand dollars.”
Claire stared.
“What?”
Margaret laughed once, ashamed and angry.
“There. Is that sufficiently humiliating?”
“How?”
“Your father’s care.”
“Hospice was covered.”
“Not all of it. Private nursing. Equipment. Home modifications. A specialist in New York. Flights when he refused commercial travel. Staff salaries when he stopped paying attention to accounts. Property taxes. Insurance. Repairs. The foundation stopped reimbursing household expenses after he became ill.”
Daniel frowned.
“Arthur had liquid assets.”
“Arthur controlled liquid assets.”
“He could have paid.”
“He believed every large payment was evidence someone was stealing from him.”
Claire remembered the last Christmas.
Arthur had become obsessed with a landscaping invoice.
He had spent forty minutes explaining mulch charges.
At the time, Claire thought illness had made him petty.
Maybe illness had made him afraid.
Maybe he had always been afraid and wealth had disguised it as control.
“You borrowed money?” Claire asked.
Margaret nodded.
“Against what?”
“My investment account. Then a personal line of credit.”
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
Margaret looked at her as though the answer were obvious.
“Because you would have offered to help.”
“Yes.”
“And your father would have known.”
Claire sat back.
“So you protected his pride by going into debt?”
“I protected his peace.”
“Those aren’t the same.”
“No,” Margaret said. “They rarely are.”
Daniel opened another document.
“Arthur’s estate had sufficient funds to reimburse you.”
Margaret laughed.
“You denied my claim.”
“Because you submitted no receipts.”
“I submitted eighty-seven pages.”
“You submitted credit card statements with mixed personal and household expenses.”
“I was taking care of a dying man, Daniel, not running procurement for the Pentagon.”
“And now we know why procedure exists.”
“Oh, go to hell.”
Claire looked between them.
For the first time, the conflict stopped looking like murderer and victim.
It began looking like something messier.
People with incomplete information.
Money.
Fear.
Pride.
A dying man trying to control what would happen after he was gone.
A widow trying to remain in a house she never owned.
A daughter who had stayed away long enough for everyone else to become experts in her father.
But the letter remained in Claire’s hand.
If Margaret told you my death was natural, call Daniel Hayes.
“What happened after you gave him the medication?” Claire asked.
Margaret closed her eyes.
“He calmed down.”
“For how long?”
“Maybe an hour.”
“And then?”
“He slept.”
“When did he die?”
“A little after one.”
“Was the nurse there?”
“No.”
“Why not?”
“She had another patient. She told me to call if his condition changed.”
“Did it?”
“Yes.”
“Did you call?”
Margaret hesitated.
Claire felt the answer before hearing it.
“No.”
Daniel’s head lifted.
“Why?”
Margaret rubbed both hands over her face.
“Because he had made me promise not to.”
Claire’s stomach turned.
“Dad told you not to call hospice?”
“He said no more people. No ambulance. No hospital. No strangers. He wanted to die in his bed.”
“That does not mean no nurse.”
“I know.”
“Then why?”
“Because I was exhausted.”
The sentence came out almost inaudibly.
Margaret looked at Claire.
“I was exhausted and angry and scared, and for one terrible hour I wanted him to stop asking me to decide things.”
Claire said nothing.
May you like
“He would wake and ask for medicine, then accuse me of overmedicating him. He would ask me to call someone, then panic when I picked up the phone. He would tell me not to leave, then demand privacy. Every choice felt like proof against me.”
Her voice remained controlled, but the control looked expensive.
