to call me.” The lawyer gave his number, then hung up.
After a long, still moment, Justin hung up, too, and found the secretary watching him sympathetically. “I’m sorry about your aunt,” she murmured, then explained. “When I told Mr. Markham you were in a meeting, he told me why he was calling.”
“Thanks.”
“Can I do anything for you?”
His first impulse was to refuse. On second thought, he asked, “Could you get me round-trip reservations to Grand Springs, Colorado? I need to get in by noon Friday and leave late Saturday night.”
“I’ll take care of it.”
He didn’t return to the meeting but went to his office instead. He’d been sitting there, numbly staring out at the city, for some time when his supervisor knocked at the door, then came in.
George Wallace had been with the ATF since Justin was a kid. He’d sought a job in law enforcement because he figured carrying a gun and a badge might stop the endless teasing his name subjected him to, or so he claimed. He knew more about explosives and the people who tended to use them than all the other agents on their squad combined, and he wasn’t at all shy about sharing his knowledge.
He sat down in front of Justin’s desk. “The secretary told me about your aunt. I’m sorry.”
Justin acknowledged him with a nod.
“You need some time off?”
“Just a day. The funeral’s Friday afternoon, the reading of the will Saturday. I’ll come back that night.”
“You can take a couple extra days.”
“There’s no need to.” Golda had told him many times that she was leaving the bulk of her estate to him, but he couldn’t do anything with it until the will had been probated. That would give him at least a few weeks to consider it.
“Were you close to her?”
“She was my dad’s sister, older by about eighteen years. She helped raise him. After my folks split up, she helped raise me, too. I didn’t see her as often as I should have, but I liked her. I liked her a lot.”
“Why don’t you go on home? You must have people to notify.”
There was his mother in London, who would be too busy playing hostess to her latest husband the earl to feel much more than a twinge of regret. His father, living in Paris with his latest spouse—a twenty-something poster girl for eating disorders—probably wouldn’t even feel a twinge. He might have better luck with his father’s two older brothers, their wives and children, though he wouldn’t swear to it. With little chance of being included in Golda’s will, there was little chance they would care she was dead.
The Reeds were nothing if not greedy, he thought with a cynical smile.
Fiona would care. Whether she profited or not, she would be sorry that Golda was gone. She would miss her, and know life was poorer without the old lady in it.
“Justin?”
He gave George a weak smile. “Yeah, I need to call the family. It’s already evening in London and Paris. If I don’t get my mother and father before they go out, I may not get them.”
“Go on home. Take tomorrow off if you need it. And if you want a few extra days when you get there…”
“Thanks.” As his boss left, Justin packed the papers he wanted to take home in his briefcase, then signed out. By the time he got to the apartment he called home, the news had sunk in, and he was feeling less dazed and more regretful. He should have been a better nephew, should have made more of an effort to keep in touch with Golda. He never should have let fear compromise the one healthy lifelong relationship he had.
But it was too late for regrets now.
When he reached his mother in London, she was dressing for a party. She said all the right words, but, as usual, they lacked sincerity. And she wondered why her marriages never lasted.
It was 10:00 p.m. in Paris and his father, surprisingly, was in. He said the right words, too, but when Justin asked if he would return for the funeral, he sounded genuinely perplexed. “It’s a hell of a long flight to Colorado, and what would be the point?”
“I don’t know, Dad. What would be the point of showing up for your only sister’s funeral? Maybe showing that you cared about her? That you respected her? That at least you were grateful for everything she’d done for you?”
“What did she do for me?”
Justin bit back an obscenity. “Forget I even asked. I’ve got to go—”
“Don’t you want to say hello to Monique? Talk about respect… Calling halfway across the world, then hanging up without even saying hello to your stepmother is a fine way to show your respect for her.”
“Give her my best. I’ll talk to you soon.” Justin hung up before his father could say anything else, before he could blurt out what he really wanted to say—that Monique wasn’t even old enough for him to lust after, so she for damn sure wasn’t old enough to be his stepmother. That he felt little respect for her and none for his father. That with Golda gone, so was the Reed family’s last chance at decency, generosity and humanity.
Without Golda, the entire rest of the family was nothing but a bunch of coldhearted, self-absorbed bastards.
Himself included.
Next he talked to his uncles and five of his six cousins, leaving a message for the last one. There might have been one or two genuine I’m sorrys in their responses, but he couldn’t say for sure.
After the last call, he took a beer from the refrigerator and went to stand at the balcony door. As the sky darkened and lights came on across the city, he lifted the bottle in a salute to the west. “The family’s gonna let you down again, Aunt Golda. But that doesn’t surprise you, does it? We always disappointed you while you were alive. Why should it be any different now that you’re dead?”
Unexpectedly his throat tightened with more emotion than he’d felt in years. “I’m sorry, Aunt Golda,” he murmured as his eyes grew damp. “I loved you…and I’m so damned sorry.”
“He’s coming back.”
Fiona Lake looked up from the table she was polishing to meet her mother’s gaze. Delores looked both regretful and triumphant. The triumph came from her success in finding the answer to the question that had haunted them both since learning of Golda’s death two days ago. Her regret came from the answer itself.
So Justin was coming to Golda’s funeral.
He had every right to be there. He was her nephew, and she’d loved him like a son. It was only fitting that he honor her one last time by being present for her funeral. If he hadn’t come, Fiona would have hated him for it.
Oh, but she didn’t want to see him!
“How did you find out?” Fiona asked as if it wasn’t important.
“I asked Roger Markham. He was
