She knew Andrea had the wrong idea about why she wanted to visit. Natalie’s text had been artfully vague: Could I stop by tonight? I need your help. Andrea would automatically think the help she sought was financial. She’d be eager for Natalie’s visit, thrilled that Natalie had finally humbled herself and was coming to petition her for a speck of her wealth. Andrea off her guard would be easier to handle than Andrea armed and ready—though this might end up being a conversation Andrea enjoyed, if it included discussing how their mother had lambasted Natalie in Dante’s presence.
Natalie picked up her phone. Did she want to update Gideon? When they’d parted after Chapman’s lunch, he’d told her he’d keep her updated on Felicia and had urged Natalie to let him know if he could do anything to help her. Did he want to help her—or did he want to keep her under observation, waiting for her to give herself away? Even though he knew Felicia’s accusations weren’t rational, that didn’t mean Natalie was trustworthy; she might be guilty of shady dealings with Dante.
He’d be more likely to trust her if she showed she trusted him. Natalie texted him: I’m visiting my sister this evening to ask what she knows about Dante.
Natalie slid her phone into her purse, packed up her things, and walked into the cool evening air. The sky was clear, and the night sky would be cloudless and star-filled. Less than a week ago, she’d sat on the pier with Camille, stargazing and listening to Camille’s worries about a stalker.
Don’t. Natalie walked faster and climbed into her car. She couldn’t bring Camille back to life. The only thing she could do was seek justice for her—and freedom from suspicion for herself.
Natalie’s house appeared grim and deserted in the twilight as she steered into her driveway. The days were getting shorter. She should put the lights on timers so both the interior and exterior of the house were illuminated when she got home.
She’d never worried about that before.
She pulled into the garage and hurried toward the door that led to the house. She tapped the button on the wall to close the garage door, but the door lowered only partway before the motor stopped and reversed.
She pivoted to see what had shifted into the path of the door. A man in a blue jacket was standing at the threshold, one leg planted forward far enough to trigger the electric eye.
Jonas Egan.
She grabbed the doorknob that led to the house, but it didn’t turn; she’d forgotten she’d started locking this door after Camille’s death. She shoved her hand into her purse, reaching for the keys she’d already stashed there.
“Wait,” Jonas said. He hadn’t moved farther into the garage.
Keys now in hand, Natalie eyed him, her apprehension dropping a little. “What are you doing here?”
“I want to talk to you.”
“This isn’t the place or the way.” She didn’t ask how he’d learned her address. It was unlisted, but she doubted a savvy snoop would have trouble locating it. He might even have followed her from work.
“It’s the only place I can talk to you, since you kicked my wife out of your office,” he said.
Since Jonas was keeping his distance, Natalie held off on rushing into the house. “I’m not free to discuss anything related to my interaction with clients, but please know I would never terminate therapy without ensuring that a client has access to the help he or she needs.”
“You ditched her because you’re scared of her.”
“That’s not true. You need to leave now. Tracking me to my home is inappropriate.”
“I’m not your client. You have no authority to tell me what’s inappropriate.”
“You’re trespassing. I’ll have the police tell you what’s inappropriate if you don’t get out of my garage.”
“You’d better not be playing games with Lacey. Did you ditch her so she’s not your client and you’re free to blab everything about her to the cops?”
“Any professional interaction I’ve had with clients, whether current or former, remains confidential.”
“You’d better not betray her.” Jonas still hadn’t moved toward her, and his voice wasn’t louder, but it was harsher. “If you say one word to the cops, I’ll sue you for so much money you’ll be broke for the rest of your life.”
“Mr. Egan, let me tell you what’s not confidential: you tracking me here and confronting me in a way meant to intimidate me. I understand you’re worried about your wife, but aggression and hostility won’t help her.”
Jonas lifted a foot and brought it forward, then drew it backward as though deciding whether or not to advance. “What did she say to you about the woman who died?”
“I can’t confirm I’ve even spoken with your wife. If I have, anything we discussed is confidential. Think about what you’re asking. You threatened to sue me if I violate confidentiality, and now you’re asking me to violate confidentiality.”
“I’m her husband!” He took the step forward. “I’m trying to take care of her. That’s different.”
Natalie shoved her key into the lock. “It’s not different.”
“If you messed with her mind, you won’t get away with it. She said you claimed Camille Moretti was a friend of yours. Is that true?”
“You need to leave.” Natalie twisted the key. “Now.”
“If you think you can play—”
Footsteps thumped on the driveway. Jonas spun around.
“Hey.” Gideon strode toward the garage, a grocery bag in his hand. “Sorry, didn’t mean to interrupt. I have something to drop off for Natalie.” He stopped next to Jonas and held out his hand.
“Gideon Radcliffe.” Even from several yards away, Natalie could see his smile was as soft as a steel beam bent into a curve. “Who are you?”
Jonas ignored him. “If you hurt her in any way, you’ll answer to me,” he said to Natalie. He stalked toward the street. Gideon stayed at the front of the garage, watching him retreat. Not until Jonas had driven away did Gideon face Natalie.
“Thank you,” she said. “Good timing.”
Gideon walked into the garage. He was wearing running shorts, a sweaty T-shirt, and Nikes. “I was out for a run when I got your text. I decided to stop by to bring you this.” He opened the grocery sack and removed a bag of chocolate-covered blueberries. “For the drive to your sister’s house.”
“That’s very thoughtful.” She took the candy. “Thank you.”
“Full disclosure,” he said. “I was on the other side of the street when you got home, and I saw that guy pull over and head toward you. He didn’t look friendly, so I went ninja and approached from the side so he wouldn’t see me. I overheard a chunk of your conversation, overheard it on purpose, I mean. Eavesdropped. I hope that doesn’t offend you. If it does, I apologize.”
“It doesn’t offend me. I’m glad you showed up, because I was ready to bolt into the house and call 911.”
“Is that Jonas Egan? The guy who found Camille’s body?”
“Yes.” For an instant, Natalie was bewildered that he could identify Jonas, then realized he’d been named in the news reports—and Natalie had addressed him by name during their conversation.
“I’m not going to ask you what his deal is,” Gideon said. “I picked up enough to understand that it’s a complicated situation for you. But there are no complications for me, so heads up: I’m calling our cop friends and telling them I saw Jonas Egan show up at your house and he was angry and aggressive. So, yeah, I’m confessing to snooping, and I’m confessing in advance for interfering, but your friend is dead, and my stepmother has a possible murder charge hanging over her, and I just witnessed a guy with connections to the case getting hostile with you. I’m not keeping my mouth shut.”
“I understand.” Natalie restrained the impulse to add a heartfelt thank you. She’d known she needed to report Jonas’s behavior but was glad to have Gideon start the process without her having to pick through an ethical snarl. “Would you like to come in?”
Gideon grinned and tugged
the hem of his damp shirt. “You don’t want me inside your house right now. They almost evacuated the grocery store when I showed up. But if you’re worried that guy might come back, I’ll lurk in your garage.”
“Thank you,” she said. “No, he won’t come back tonight. He said what he had to say.”
“What time do you leave for your sister’s place?”
“In about an hour.”
“Good luck,” Gideon said. “I hope it’s helpful.”
“It’ll be excruciating,” Natalie said. “But as long as it’s helpful, too, I can cope with it. I’ll call you tomorrow and report.”
“Sounds good. Talk to you then.”
Natalie watched him jog away, belatedly pondering the words she’d spoken. Why had she promised to report on the meeting?
Because Gideon was an ally. Because she trusted him.
Because she ached to have him trust her.
Chapter 24
“How are you doing?” Andrea swooped through her doorway and embraced Natalie on the front porch as though unable to wait until Natalie had entered the house. Natalie hugged her back, debating if she wanted to hope that Andrea’s fervor indicated sincere sympathy. No. Natalie had nailed together too many rickety hopes already; she wasn’t in the mood to fantasize about an improved relationship with her sister.
Andrea released her. “Come in. Austin is putting Charlotte to bed, so we have privacy.” She escorted Natalie to the living room and offered her a platter holding miniature lemon tarts. “These are delicious. Try one.”
“Thank you.” Natalie took a tart.
Andrea didn’t take one. She sat on the couch next to Natalie. “New bakery in town. Outrageous prices but worth it. Have the police learned anything about Camille’s death?”
“Not that I know of.”
“You must be so lonely in Ohneka now. Come to Birch Falls. We’ll help you find an affordable place. I’m sure there are nutcases here who could use your services.” She smoothed her highlighted hair behind both ears, a gesture meant to show off new earrings—gold hoops paved with rubies.
Natalie neither complimented the earrings nor took the bait of Andrea’s crass remark about “nutcases.” “I have no plans to move at this time. How are Austin and Charlotte?”
“Very well, thank you! Motherhood gets so crazy sometimes, and my house ends up a wreck—it took the cleaning service four hours yesterday, and there were three of them! But I love being home with Charlotte, and with Lindy coming in to nanny a few hours each day, that gives me a breather. Austin is jealous, stuck at his office.”
“I’m glad you’re enjoying it. Charlotte is a sweetheart. I’m sorry I missed seeing her.”
“You’ll have to come before her bedtime next time. I thought about keeping her up late for you, but I didn’t know how stressed you’d be and didn’t want her picking up on your stress and being cranky.” Andrea rested her hand on Natalie’s arm. “What can I do for you? Is it student loans? I know you’re buried in them.”
“I’m not buried.”
“I’m happy to help. I can send you home with a check tonight. Not for all of it, of course, but we can get started.”
“I didn’t come to ask you for money. I came to ask you about Dante Moretti.”
Andrea frowned and drew her hand away. “Why do you think I’d know anything about him?”
“You were living with Mom at the time he was working with her on her will. You accompanied her to her meetings with him. You gave me extensive descriptions of how handsome and witty he was.”
“You’re single! I would have introduced you, but Mom didn’t want you around. If I hadn’t been engaged to Austin, I would have been interested myself. I had no idea he was dating Camille. Why would you ask me about him? You knew him yourself after he married her.”
“I didn’t know him very well even then. I’m interested in your impressions of him at the time he was serving as Mom’s lawyer.”
“Oh, Natalie.” Andrea patted Natalie’s shoulder, then reached to take a lemon tart. “He didn’t persuade her to cut you out of the will. You know that. It was all her.”
“Let me explain why I’m asking. The night she died, Camille told me she’d started to clean out Dante’s old filing cabinet. She found a letter addressed to me. She was going to give it to me but died before she could.”
A chunk of crust and lemon curd broke off the tart in Andrea’s hand and landed on her blouse. She set the broken tart on the coffee table and grabbed a napkin. “A letter addressed to you?”
“Yes. The envelope was work stationery.”
Andrea scrubbed at the stain on her shirt, though clearly a napkin wasn’t going to expunge the stickiness. “Did you hire him as your lawyer for something? I didn’t think you could afford him.”
“I never had a business connection with him.”
Andrea took another napkin and wiped each manicured nail. “Isn’t the letter still in Camille’s house?”
“No. The police couldn’t find it.”
Andrea plucked a crumb off the couch. “It must have been trash, then. Camille realized what it was and threw it away.”
“Trash?”
“Junk mail. Like a fund-raising request for whatever charity he supported.”
“Why would Dante have kept a fund-raising letter for me in his filing cabinet instead of delivering it? Why would he approach me for fund-raising at all?”
“Because you’re Camille’s friend. He probably sent letters to all their associates but stashed yours there and forgot to give it to you, or realized you didn’t have money to donate. Why are you obsessing about a letter? What does it matter what it said? He’s dead.”
“Among the contents of his filing cabinet, in a drawer Camille hadn’t sorted, the police found something else with my name written on it in Dante’s handwriting. A manila envelope containing over sixteen thousand dollars in cash.”
“Sixteen thousand dollars!”
Natalie had expected this news to shock Andrea but not to the point that she looked like she’d stepped on a downed power line. “Yes.”
“You’re making this up.”
She hadn’t expected to be called a liar either. “Why would I make it up?”
“To make yourself feel special? To feed some guilty fantasy about your friend’s husband?” Andrea’s tone was so caustic that it sounded to Natalie like lousy acting more than genuine derision.
“I’m telling you what the police told me,” Natalie said. “I can give you the detective’s number if you’d like to speak with him. Do you have any idea why Mom’s lawyer would have a stack of cash labeled for me?”
“How would I know? Maybe he was crazy. You’re the shrink; you tell me. Some kind of money psychosis.”
“Money psychosis? I don’t think so.” Natalie scrutinized Andrea. Her cheeks had turned blood-crimson. “Why does this upset you so much?”
“I’m not upset. I’m irritated that you’re asking ridiculous questions. The money must have been from Camille. She felt bad that you were hurting for cash and Mom cut you out, so she was saving it for you. A surprise.”
“It wasn’t from Camille. It was Dante’s handwriting, and Camille wouldn’t plan some over-the-top pity donation when she knew I was fine financially.”
“Maybe Dante would though.” Andrea took another lemon tart but didn’t eat it. “You said you didn’t know him very well.”
“And he didn’t know me very well. I’m asking you to brainstorm with me. Let’s go back to your interaction with him. You were there when Mom discussed her will.”
“What does that have to do with it? I thought you wanted my help, not to waste my evening.”
“I do want your help. Think about those discussions. My name must have come up. What was Dante’s reaction when it did? Did he ever say anything about me?”
“I don’t remember any reaction at all. Do you hope he had a crush on you? Now that Camille’s dead, do you want to dream Dante loved you, not her?
”
“If you’re concerned about wasting time, stop making accusations you know aren’t true,” Natalie said.
“I don’t know what you want.” Andrea slapped the now-cracked tart onto a napkin and wiped her palm. “How would I know anything about secret money?”
“Did you know Dante was having financial struggles at the time Mom was writing her will?”
“No. How would I know his business?”
“I thought you might have heard rumors.”
“I didn’t. Why would I care?”
Why was Andrea so defensive? So much for thinking she might relish talking about Dante and the will. “I’m sorry this topic is bothering you, but it’s important. Can you please think back and try to remember if Dante ever said or did anything that might hint at why—”
“He didn’t. Why would he? Why would we have discussed you? Mom had already made up her mind, and it took her three seconds to say ‘My other daughter isn’t an heir.’ Can’t you deal with that yet?”
The more insulting Andrea got, the more interested Natalie got. Andrea was being deliberately vicious, working to make the subject so hurtful that Natalie would drop it.
“Do you know if there were other lawyers in the firm who were close to Dante—colleagues he might have confided in?” Natalie asked.
“How would I know?”
“Are you afraid the sixteen thousand dollars was from Mom? That she entrusted it to Dante to give to me later?”
Andrea leaped to her feet, dropping the marred tart on her immaculate carpet. “Why would I care? That’s a few pennies compared to what she gave me.”
“If you didn’t care, you’d rationally explore this with me, not get angry and rude. Is being 99.999 percent the winner not enough for you?”
“Don’t you dare analyze me.”
“I’m not—”
“She didn’t leave you anything. She despised you. She would have burned every dollar she owned before she’d have given it to you. I’m done with this visit. I didn’t invite you here so you could make up fairy-tales about money stashes.”
Natalie didn’t react. Andrea bent and clawed crushed pastry bits into a napkin. Sweat circles were forming under the arms of her silk blouse.
Not a Word Page 24