Found Money - James Grippando [16]
“Now?”
“Yes.”
She smiled nervously. “But the guests.”
“They can wait, Mom. This is important.”
She blinked nervously, then laid down the carving knife beside the plate of bite-size beef. “All right. We can talk in the master.”
Ryan followed her down the hall. The door flew open as they reached the master suite. An old man came out, zipping his fly.
“Sorry,” he said sheepishly. “Damn prostate, you know.” He hurried away.
They entered together. Ryan closed the door, shutting out the noise. Like his own old bedroom, the master was a veritable time capsule, complete with the old sculptured wall-to-wall carpeting and cabbage rose wallpaper. The bed was the old four-poster style, so high off the floor it required a step-stool to get into it. He and his sister Sarah used to hide beneath it as kids. Dad would pretend he couldn’t find them, even though their giggling was loud enough to wake up the neighbors. Ryan shook off the memories and checked the master bathroom, making sure they were alone. His mother sat in the armchair in the corner beside the bureau. Ryan leaned against the bedpost.
“What’s on your mind, Ryan?”
“Dad told me something the night before he died. Something pretty disturbing.”
Her voice cracked. “Oh?”
He started to pace. “Look, there’s really no delicate way to put this, so let me just ask you. Did you know anything about some kind of blackmail Dad might have been involved in?”
“Blackmail?”
“Yes, blackmail. Two million dollars, cash.” Ryan checked her reaction, searching for surprise. He saw none.
“Yes, I knew.”
He suddenly stopped pacing, stunned. “You knew what?”
She sighed. It was as if she were expecting this conversation, but that didn’t mean she had to enjoy it. “I knew about the money. And I knew about the blackmail.”
“You actually let him do it?”
“It’s not that simple, Ryan.”
His voice grew louder. “I’m all ears, Mom. Tell me.”
“There’s no need for that tone.”
“I’m sorry. It’s just that we haven’t exactly lived like millionaires. Now Dad’s dead, I find out he was a blackmailer, and there’s two million dollars in the attic. Who in the heck was he blackmailing?”
“That I don’t know.”
“What do you mean, you don’t know?”
“He never told me. He didn’t want me to know. That way, if anything ever went wrong, I could honestly tell the police I didn’t know anything. I had nothing to do with it.”
“But you were happy to reap the benefits.”
“No, I wasn’t. That’s why the money’s still in the attic. To me, it was tainted. I would never let your father spend a penny of it. Your father and I had some doozy fights over this. I even threatened to leave him.”
“Why didn’t you?”
She looked at him curiously, as if the question were stupid. “I loved him. And he told me the man deserved to be blackmailed.”
“You believed him?”
“Yes.”
“So that’s it? Dad says the guy deserved it, so you let him keep the money. But you wouldn’t let him spend it. That’s crazy.”
She folded her arms, suddenly defensive. “We reached a compromise. I didn’t feel comfortable spending the money, but your father thought you and your sister might feel differently. So we agreed that he would keep it hidden until he died. Then we’d leave it up to you and Sarah to decide whether you wanted to keep it, leave it, burn it—whatever you decide. It’s yours. If you can spend it in good conscience, you have your father’s blessing.”
Ryan stepped to the window, looking out to the backyard. Uncle Kevin was organizing a game of horseshoes. He spoke quietly with his back to his mother. “What am I supposed to say?”
“It’s your call—yours and Sarah’s.”
He turned and faced her, showing no emotion. “Guess it’s time I had a little talk with my big sister.”
8
The Crock-Pot discovery had Amy in high gear. Just to be safe, she didn’t want to use the law firm’s computers or phones for the follow-up on Jeanette Duffy. A run through her standard Internet search engines on her home computer,