“So, how did the meeting go tonight?” her mom asked. She took a sip and gave a small smile of pleasure. “This wine is quite good, by the way.”
“Thanks. Picked it up a few days ago.” Maggie took a drink too. The alcohol was finally starting to kick in, radiating a slow warmth through her limbs. Her knotted muscles in her back loosened up just a hair, and she drew in another small sip. “And the meeting went horribly, actually. Nothing happened.”
A part of her was tempted to tell her mom about Bethany and Robert, just to see what she thought of the situation. Maggie could really use some perspective on the whole thing—her initial instinct had been to call Andrew about it, something she’d suppressed quickly. But no doubt her mom didn’t want to think about her son having sex with her own dad’s girlfriend. It was just . . . far too much.
In fact, this whole case was getting to be too much in so many ways.
Maggie sighed and put her glass down on the table, rubbing her aching forehead. She was overwhelmed, tired, sad. The pressure was starting to take its toll. How much longer could she keep doing this?
“I’m sorry to hear it’s not going well,” her mom said, then slugged back a good portion of her wine. “I wish I could help somehow. I just . . . I don’t have any answers for you. Trust me, I’ve been racking my brain about it too. Wishing I could remember something, anything that would help.”
“Has Robert . . .” Maggie cleared her throat. “Has Robert come and asked you any questions or talked to you?”
Her mom sniffed, swallowing yet another gulp. Maggie stifled a surprised sound. She hadn’t seen her mom drink like this before coming back for the funeral—the glass was almost half gone now. But before the thought could take hold in her head and develop more, her mom replied in a slightly bitter tone, “Your brother talked to me a bit, but that was days ago. I never hear from him, actually. He’s too busy.”
They both knew what he was too busy doing—going out to the bar and drinking his paycheck away. And yet, her mom didn’t know the half of it.
“That boy is just like his grandfather in some ways,” she continued, taking a smaller sip this time. Her cheeks flushed a delicate pink, and her eyes became relaxed as her body unwound and her shoulders slumped slightly from her stiff position. Obviously the wine was kicking in for her too. “Stubborn and set in his ways. Won’t listen to anyone else, even if he’s wrong.”
Maggie blinked. Her mom didn’t bring up her grandpa a lot . . . was this a chance to talk about something that had been bothering Maggie for a long time? “Um, can I ask you something?” she broached tentatively.
Her mom nodded. She got up and opened a box of crackers, setting a pack on the cheese board.
As she reached into the fridge and grabbed a couple of hunks of cheese, Maggie screwed together her courage and said, “Do you ever regret how it all went down? With Grandpa, I mean? That you guys . . . well, that you ended up not talking anymore?” She knew her grandfather did—the letter he’d left her was evidence of that. Her heart clenched at the realization that she would never have a chance to tell him sorry, or goodbye. And despite her mother’s lingering anger at Maggie’s grandpa, Maggie would bet somewhere deep inside that she did too.
Her mom sliced gourmet cheese in complete silence, bringing the tray to the table, along with the half-empty bottle of wine. She refilled Maggie’s glass to the top; her hand was shaking just a bit. “Yes. And no. It’s complicated.”
Maggie nodded and snagged a piece of Gouda.
“Your grandfather . . .” Her mother sighed, nibbling on the tip of a cracker. “He didn’t agree with the way things were being handled about your sister. He had his own ideas on what we should do. But he didn’t know what was really going on. He only knew what he saw. And that was the tip of the iceberg.” She started to blink hard, and put the cracker down.
“What else was going on?” Maggie pressed. “What made it so awful that you guys chose to separate from Grandpa, rather than try to work it out?”
“I can’t . . .” She waved a delicate hand in the air, then tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. Her face crumpled and for a moment it looked like she was going to cry. “I can’t get into it right now. I’m sorry.”
Despite the fact that she and her mother had never been close, Maggie felt bad for upsetting her this much. It was painfully apparent her mom was extra stressed today, for whatever reason. “I didn’t mean to—” Maggie swallowed and pressed a hand on her thigh. “Do you miss him? Because I do. I think about him a lot.”
One memory in particular still stood out as a favorite. Maggie had been around ten, with Cassandra nine and Robert eleven. They’d stayed a week at their grandpa’s massive mansion during the summer. For the first couple of days, Robert had laid around on the family room couch, feet kicked up on the armrest, and whined about how bored he was.
Their grandpa had finally smacked Robert’s feet off the couch, saying, “If you’re bored, it’s because you’re lazy. There’s plenty to do around here.” Then he’d eyed Cassandra and Maggie and told all three kids to follow him.
He’d led them up three flights of winding stairs into the attic, a place none of them had been before. Cassandra had gripped Maggie’s hand in excitement so hard that Maggie was sure her sister was going to break it.
Up in the enormous attic were chests, at least two dozen, filled with outfits, shoes, books, old toys . . . stuff he had been storing away. He’d told them to find something to entertain themselves and then left.
The three of them had stayed in that large, dusty attic until the sun went down, only leaving for bathroom breaks and quick meals. The chests were a treasure trove of funny, weird, antiquated things that held their interest. Even Robert, who was normally disdainful of most everything, had been engaged, trying on hats and pretending to smoke a huge wooden pipe.
They’d plundered numerous treasures from there every day for the rest of their visit.
It was one of the only times Maggie could remember that she and her siblings had connected—without TV or video games or anything else but their imaginations. They’d needed that week together.
“There isn’t a day that goes by that I don’t think about my dad,” her mom finally said, shaking Maggie out of her reverie. She rubbed her eyes, blinking hard. “And every day I wonder, did I handle it right? Any of this, really?” There was a defeatist tone in her voice that Maggie hadn’t heard before. She was being surprisingly open right now. Was it the wine, or did she just need to get it all off her chest? “Your father and I struggled with the decision to cut your grandfather out of our lives. At the time, we’d felt it was best.”
Speaking of, where was her dad? Maggie had hardly seen him around. “Is Dad working late?”
Her mom snorted. “Your father practically lives at the bank.” Her words had a sharp point to them. It was apparent this was a sore spot in their relationship—and possibly the reason for her edginess today. Her father had been a bit of a workaholic when Maggie had lived at home. Apparently things had just gotten worse over the years.
Maggie’s heart gave a sick thud. “Did . . .” She paused. Her mom rarely shared emotions like this, and she didn’t want to scare her off. For whatever reason, the fences were down between them tonight, and some deep-down part of her ached for answers from her mom. “Did the stuff with Cassandra impact your relationship with him? Is this why you guys don’t spend a lot of time together?”
Her mom’s lips thinned, and she took a big drink of her wine, then slid the bottom of the glass back and forth along the smooth surface of the table. Wine sloshed up the sides of the goblet. “Our problems started before then. But Cassandra’s disappearance . . . well, it certainly didn’t help anything.”
So much sadness and heartache all around. Would Maggie ever escape it? She could feel the deep, resonant pain rolling off her mom in waves. The same pain that washed through her—about Cassandra, her grandpa, the near-estrangement with Robert . . . and with Andrew.
>
She missed him. And she couldn’t lie to herself about it, in spite of her still-bruised feelings about their past, about Joel’s number. Crazy how she couldn’t get him out of her mind for too long. How her deep desire despite her doubts was to run to him, to let his arms wrap around her and him kiss away her pain.
Was he thinking of her too? She hadn’t imagined their connection—she knew that much. But she knew she wouldn’t hear from him until she approached him. Something she wasn’t quite ready to do.
That damned trust thing again.
The side door opened. “I’m home,” her father said, stepping into the kitchen. A briefcase was in one hand, the other arm bearing his coat. His eyes fell on Maggie, and he gave an easy smile. “Hey, kiddo. Haven’t seen you around in a while.”
A fresh pinch of guilt hit her. A couple of minutes ago she’d felt frustrated on behalf of her mom because of his absence. But was she any better than him, really? Running, running, running away from everything. Her dad was running from her mom—that much was apparent. Probably had been for years now, working late hours and whatever. Maggie suddenly saw her mother’s emotional anguish in a new light. She wasn’t the only one at fault here, and her father’s continued absence inflamed their situation to the point where they were barely even talking to each other now.
Was their relationship beyond repair?
Maggie needed to take a good, hard look at herself too. She had started running from Andrew . . . and now she didn’t know how to handle this aching loss in her heart because of it. Were she and Andrew finished before they’d even had a chance to begin?
A sinking sadness filled her chest.
“Sorry, Dad. I’ve been busy with work and stuff,” she finally said in response, giving a sad frown.
He snagged a piece of cheese. He still hadn’t looked at her mom since he’d entered the house. Tension crackled between the two of them as her mother looked down at the table.
“We were talking about Grandpa. I asked her if she missed him,” Maggie continued, wanting to see how her dad would react.
Her mom stiffened. Her dad’s gaze finally went to her, then glanced at her wineglass. Disapproval carved deep into his brow with a frown.
“There’s stuff you don’t understand about all of that,” he declared to Maggie, dropping his suitcase and coat onto a chair and heading to the fridge. He grabbed a bottle of sparkling water, cracked off the top and took a swig. “Anyway, I’ve been meaning to ask you what’s going on with the case. Your brother and I talked a little earlier, but I was hoping to check on your progress.”
The temptation was there to ask how her brother was doing in his research, but knowing her dad, he wouldn’t share. So Maggie gave him the same highlighted version she’d given her mother before, leaving out the Robert/Bethany affair and her own tangled web with Andrew. She wrapped up by saying, “I think one of my witnesses has more information he hasn’t shared yet. I want to talk to him again.”
Her mom sniffed. “If he didn’t share with you the first time, why would he open up to you now?”
Her father’s jaw tightened for just a moment, and he leaned back against the kitchen counter, one hand resting on the smooth granite surface. He slid a dismissive glance at her mother, then turned his attention to Maggie. “Well, I think that’s a great idea. There might have been a good reason why he didn’t talk before. I bet you can get him to talk if he knows anything.”
“Thanks, Dad,” she said with a small smile.
Her mom refilled her glass with the rest of the wine, then took a drink. “I just don’t see how anyone is going to win this . . . competition. Sounds to me like no one’s making progress. No one knows anything. No one’s sharing anything.”
She was partly right, but Maggie couldn’t give in to that hopeless pessimism her mother clung to. “I don’t really have any other options,” she said, trying to keep the frustrated edge from her voice. “Nothing else is panning out in the case. I haven’t uncovered anything that the police didn’t already know. Or that you guys know either,” she added. “Um, have . . . you guys seen the evidence box?”
Her mother shot a startled look at Maggie’s father. His gaze dropped to his water bottle. She swallowed and took a silent sip of her wine.
Maggie’s stomach sank. They knew—about Cassandra having sex with more than one person. How that must have agonized them endlessly. Maggie’s heart hurt for them.
“Did they run DNA tests for any of the guys who had shown up at the party?” she pressed. Perhaps there was something she could pursue there, or have them pursue on their daughter’s behalf. “My PI had the police run the evidence against the criminal database, but there were no matches so far. And the odds aren’t looking good for it either.”
Her mom blinked, her throat working. Tears flooded her eyes.
“No, they didn’t,” he said, his voice gruff. He took a swig of water. “I wanted them to, had begged for it, but there wasn’t probable cause to obtain DNA samples from any of the attendees.”
This conversation had gone from awkward to agonizing in mere minutes. Maggie’s throat tightened as she realized how devastated and frustrated her parents must have been for so many years. Not knowing if Cassandra’s sex had been consensual. Who she’d been with and if any of those guys had known something that could help the case.
“I’m sorry,” she managed to say, reaching out to pat her mom’s arm. Her frustrations with both of her parents swept away. They weren’t perfect, but she could keep from aggravating the problems by not judging either of them. They had to work it out in whatever way they saw fit. “I know this is hard for you. I know you want to leave all this pain behind.”
Her mother stood, blinking angry tears. Her hands shook as she pressed them on her belly. “I told you I think about my father every day. I do. And I miss him. But I also hate him for making me relive my worst nightmare.”
Maggie nodded. While she didn’t agree with her mom wanting to bury the past, it had to be horrible, having both her husband and father pushing, always pushing their opinions on her. “I’m sorry,” she simply said. And she meant it.
She hadn’t understood her mother much before tonight. Though they still had a long way to go, she felt like their talk had started to repair the damage.
The wind went out of her mother’s sails, and her face lost its anger. Perhaps having an empathetic ear, someone not judging her, sapped a bit of the bitterness from her heart. She took in a slow, deep breath. “I’m going to bed,” she said quietly.
Maggie and her dad watched her mom ascend the stairs, back straight, head held high. Silence settled back over the kitchen as Maggie sipped her wine.
He released a heavy sigh, rubbing a hand across the back of his neck. His face seemed to have aged a decade within the last few minutes. “I’m sorry you had to get caught up in the middle of that. Obviously this is an old fight between us.”
“I feel bad that you two are still suffering because of it,” Maggie said.
He nodded then gathered his stuff and left the kitchen, heading into the family room.
Maggie sat at the table, nibbling on another piece of cheese. Her instinct was to run back to Florida, escape all of this tension and slip back into her recliner, into the peace and quiet of her small home. The money wasn’t worth all of this pain. But that would leave a tangled mess all around, with Andrew, with her parents. And now that she had connected with her mom this way, she couldn’t just run off.
Her parents needed their resolution. If only to get the pressure of the case off their relationship so they could focus on repairing their damaged marriage.
She fiddled with the end of her hair. Her fingers itched to reach into her pocket and dig out her cell phone. To call Andrew and get his advice. He was level-headed, calm, self-assured. His sensibility was a balm to her aching heart.
But she couldn’t shove away that small part of her that worried he’d lied about Joel. While she’d withheld information from him in the b
eginning, she’d never flat-out lied, especially once they’d had sex. A slim difference, but one all the same. Was she wrong for holding on to that fear, or was she smart?
Maggie cleaned up the kitchen and made her way upstairs. She stared at the walls for a long time before finally succumbing to sleep. But not before remembering how comfortable, how warm and safe she’d felt in Andrew’s arms.
Chapter 22
“No, I expect to have it done this week,” Maggie told Kelly, her client Mr. Lawrence’s secretary, holding the cell between her ears as she furiously pounded out an email to Kelly’s boss. She shifted on her bed and balanced her laptop on her thighs.
Kelly breathed an audible sigh of relief. “Thank God, because he’s been hounding me about this. Okay, I need to go update Mr. Lawrence on the situation. I’ll let him know an email is forthcoming. Thanks again.”
They hung up, and Maggie drew in a deep breath. Truth was, she was a bit behind on her work. She’d been so stressed about this stuff with Cassandra and Andrew and her parents that she’d had a hard time focusing for more than an hour or two on the website. But a couple of solid days of work would get her right on track.
Midmorning sun poured in through the open blinds, lighting the screen even more. She finished her email, promising in the closer to have it done by Friday at the latest, then hit send and closed her laptop. She peered out the window. While some leaves clung tenaciously to the surrounding trees on her parents’ estate, most were bare, their naked branches fluttering in the strong breeze.
A hard pounding on the downstairs door made Maggie pause. She hustled downstairs, peering through the peephole in the side door. Instantly her heart rate kicked up, and she swallowed.
Andrew. What was he doing here?
Despite her mental argument last night over what to do about him, she hadn’t come to any good conclusions. So she’d spent the morning distracting herself with work. Now all that suppressed emotion flooded to the surface, and her hands shook in nervousness.
The Inheritance Part IV Page 3