by Nancy Bush
They all turned to look at him.
Lyle stared at the bones and gems as if in a daze. “Junior told me. He never knew what happened, but he heard his father, Criss, say it enough times to his mother: ‘I won’t let you leave. I won’t let you leave.’ It always made him wonder that maybe she didn’t run off.”
Dallas said, “Better take some pictures. Chronicle it,” and Lyle pulled out his cell phone and clicked off a number of shots.
They all headed back downstairs and paused to look at the girls and Maddy and Lisa.
“Do you think Jerome Wolfe knew about this?” Kate wondered. “Or suspected?”
Lucy looked at her sister-in-law. “Maybe,” she said. “Maybe his great-grandfather knew something more than anyone else and Jerome was just waiting for a chance to gain control.”
“Glad that didn’t happen,” Kate said fervently, and they all chorused their agreement, even Lyle, who looked a little sheepish about his part in pushing for the sale of Stonehenge.
Layla’s phone dinged out a text. She sucked in a breath. “Here we go!” she declared.
“Naomi?” Lucy asked.
“She’s on the way to the hospital.”
“Do you need a ride?” Dallas asked.
“I do,” she fretted.
“Can I go, too?” Lucy begged.
Evie dropped what she was doing and stood up. “Aunt Layla’s having her baby?”
“Yes, in a manner of speaking,” Lucy said.
“I want you to come,” said Layla.
Kate stepped in. “Lyle and I will take care of the girls, the jewels, and Edwina. Go on. Bring that Crissman baby home. . . .”