“Oh, you remember me?”
“And your sister, MJ,” she said, adding a wink and leaning in to whisper, “We don’t get cases like yours very often.”
Cindy imagined that was true.
“Let me get Rich,” the woman said, slipping out from behind her desk.
They waited on a leather sofa until a door opened, and Richard Lowe appeared—a man in his late fifties with kind eyes, a trim beard, and the exact same conservative tie he’d worn the day she met him.
“Hello, Cindy,” he said warmly, shaking her hand first, then turning to Jack. “And we have met. Jack Kessler, right?”
He returned Richard’s warm handshake. “Yes, sir. Hope we’re not barging into your billable hours.”
The other man laughed and waved them into the offices. “It’s fine and always good to see you. Would either of you like coffee or water?”
“No, we’re good,” Cindy said, following him down a wide hallway that smelled faintly of lemon and hummed with busy people behind open doors. “We really just wanted five minutes of your time today.”
“Whatever you need.” He led them into his office, which was comfortably cluttered with paperwork and books, with a window that looked out at Main Street like a postcard view.
“So,” Richard said, gesturing for them to sit on two chairs in front of his desk while he took the large leather seat behind it. “How’s the renovation at Snowberry? Have you finished the Starling Room?”
“We have,” Cindy said. “And it’s beautiful.”
“We’re getting married there in less than two weeks.” Jack took her hand. “We’re going to have the inaugural event in that room.”
“Wow, congratulations! But…” He lifted a brow. “I guess I thought you were already married. Same name and all.”
“We were,” Cindy said.
“It’s our second time around,” Jack added, making the other man break into a huge smile. Cindy had long ago noticed that, universally, people loved a second-chance romance.
“Well, that’s terrific. So happy for you.”
They thanked him and, still holding Jack’s hand, Cindy leaned forward. “We’d actually love to invite Matt Walker, so…we were wondering if you’d heard from him lately.”
He folded his hands, a frown folding. “I’m afraid I haven’t heard from him since last…spring, was it? April or May. I can look up the client log.” He turned to his computer and tapped some keys to bring the monitor to life. “The trust paperwork was finalized, the funds dispersed, but I did check in with him…yes, it was May tenth and he was in…” He drew back. “My notes say he wanted to touch back to be certain that all the funds he’d given you were managed properly and the trust assured that you paid no taxes on the gift.”
So he was still thinking about MJ and Snowberry Lodge—that was encouraging. “Does he still have the same mailing address?” Cindy asked.
“A post office box, yes. And an email, though I can’t promise he checks it often. Would you like me to give it to you?”
“Yes, please.”
He scribbled the information on a notepad and tore off the page, sliding it across the desk. As she took the paper, she sighed heavily enough for Richard to give a sympathetic smile.
“I certainly sensed Matt was a man of his word,” the attorney said. “And if something happened to him, I would likely get some kind of notification.”
“So we shouldn’t worry, right?” Jack asked, squeezing her hand. “He did say he’d be back in a year.”
“I really can’t speak for him. I put him in touch with an accounting firm in Florida because he wanted to start the process of turning his winnings into a foundation to help others.” He gave another smile. “I don’t imagine someone who wants to share that much money with other people is a person you’d need to doubt.”
“I agree,” Cindy said, folding the paper and sliding it into her purse. “Thank you, Richard.”
“I wish I had more to offer,” he said. “But if I do hear something, I’ll reach out right away.”
“Thank you,” she said again, standing. “And Merry Christmas, Richard.”
“And to you both,” he said warmly. “Give my best to MJ.”
