Dig Two Graves, James Harper [e reader pdf best .TXT] 📗

‘Did he hire you?’

‘Uh-huh. He wants me to find your sister. I get the feeling he’s not the only one.’

She nodded, her shoes suddenly holding her interest, her voice barely more than a whisper.

‘We all miss her.’

‘When was the last time you saw her?’

She didn’t answer immediately, pulled the photograph out of her pocket instead.

‘About two weeks after that was taken.’

The words didn’t register at first. Then they did. Like a cattle prod.

‘That’s got to be thirty years ago.’

‘About that, yes.’

Before she could say more, they heard the sound of footsteps, hard leather soles on a polished wood floor, a quick, efficient pace, coming their way.

‘That’s Aldrich. Come with me.’

She took him through a sitting room the size of a football field and out onto a terrace at the back of the house. From there they went down some stone steps onto the velvety lawn, then followed a path around and out of sight of the back of the house to a deck at the edge of a small lake. They sat in a couple of lawn chairs overlooking the still water. There was only one thing it needed to make it perfect. He pretended to look around.

‘What?’ she said.

‘I was looking for the beer cooler.’

It got him a wistful smile, but no beer.

‘Sorry.’

It was as good a way as any to ease into the conversation about her sister who he’d met over a beer in the Jerusalem Tavern.

‘Tell me what happened to Arabella.’

‘There’s not a lot to tell. She disappeared thirty years ago. We haven’t seen or heard from her since. Until you turned up, we didn’t even know if she was alive or dead. So even if you can’t find her at least we can thank you for the knowledge that she’s alive.’

A surge of guilt went through him as he nodded his head in polite acceptance of her thanks, the image of a switchblade quivering in the Jerusalem’s wood floor in his mind.

‘Do you know why she disappeared?’

She shook her head. It was impossible to say whether it was an admission of ignorance or an expression of sadness at the way things work out—or don’t work out.

‘Did you ever try to find her before?’

‘Many times. But nothing ever came of it. That’s why Aldrich doesn’t like you. He thinks you’re just another shyster trying to con a rich old man out of his money.’ She gave a broad sweep of her arm, took in the grounds and the house behind them. ‘As you can see, there’s plenty of it. And my father is dying.’

She didn’t say from what, and he didn’t ask. It was enough to have seen how the old man’s flesh had wasted away from his body until there was nothing left but bones, the way it had shriveled on his face, his yellowing teeth seeming large and out of proportion as a result.

He said now what he’d held back in Carlson’s bedroom.

‘He wants to see his long-lost daughter before he goes.’

‘Yes. But that’s not all.’

Sitting where they were in a green oasis in the middle of Boston, having walked the corridors of the aircraft-hangar-sized house after the chauffeur picked him up in a Bentley limousine, it wasn’t difficult to figure out what she was talking about.

The root of all evil.

‘His inheritance. Who does it go to?’

‘Arabella.’

‘All of it?’

‘All of it.’

‘What about you?’

She shook her head again, no bitterness on her face to accompany the gesture, only a gentle acceptance.

The seemingly unprovoked attack that he’d inadvertently thwarted the day before suddenly became less meaningless. Somebody stood to gain a lot from Bella’s premature death.

‘What if Arabella was already dead?’

‘Then it goes to my son, Merritt.’

‘Not to you?’

‘No.’ She smiled suddenly, sat upright in her chair. ‘I can see you’re almost bursting to ask what I did to get cut out.’

‘It crossed my mind.’

She stood up, walked to the edge of the deck to look out over the still water. He went to stand beside her, struck by the fact that money doesn’t take away your problems, it just changes them. She got the photograph out of her pocket again, the significance of it, the reason for her reaction, now clear.

‘It’s ancient history. And not very exciting, either. It’s not like I ran away with a married man and brought everlasting shame on the family reputation. My father is ninety. He was born in 1930. A different world than the one we live in now. He may as well have been born on another planet. And he’s very traditional. People of his generation and from his social background believe in primogeniture, the absolute right of the firstborn to inherit everything. A son is best, of course, but we don’t always get what we want.’

‘What if the firstborn is already dead?’

‘Then it would normally go to the second child.’

‘You.’

‘Yes, me.’

‘But not in this case.’

She drew air deep into her lungs, held it, let it out slowly. She looked as if all her cares and worries went with it.

‘Like I said, it’s ancient history. My father never liked my husband.’ She caught him glancing at her ring finger, shook her head. ‘He died a long time ago. I never remarried. By then we had Merritt. My father treated him like the son he never had and Merritt responded to him like he was the father who was no longer around. It couldn’t have worked out better as far as my father was concerned, especially as he loathed my husband. His only regret was that he had to share Merritt’s attentions with his paternal grandfather.’

Evan would have liked to ask about the reasons for the animosity, to explore the circumstances of her husband’s death. It would have to wait. Blair was still talking.

‘My father would have chopped off his right arm rather than buck tradition and cut Arabella out of the will, even if she was female. But he decided that if it didn’t go to her, then it might as well go to the only male heir in