All this money, gone to waste. They could donate this building for community events or bulldoze it and use the land for low-income housing. Or anything. That’s the point. There are a million possibilities open with this much money, and the Bradburys have done none of them.
It stings to walk the halls, knowing that a single room is filled with shit that could have covered my college tuition.
The way everyone (including Emma) talks about Deacon, he was a dick of the highest order. But I have to give him the teensiest bit of credit— all the gilding and theatrics make for one hell of a home. Every time I step around a corner, I’m expecting to find his ghost, judging my outfit and complaining that I’m being too loud. It doesn’t take someone with my sister’s intellect to work out why Astrid and her kids distanced themselves from the rest of the family. It also really makes me want to meet Lincoln’s dad someday. I have a strong feeling I’d like him a lot.
Out of nowhere, a hand grabs my arm, pulling me into a room that’s either a large cupboard or a small den.
“Oh, good. Just the person I was looking for,” Judy says. Oh no.
A wall of shelves dominates the room, littered with boxes with their contents spilling out. There’s a heavy wooden table pushed to one side, the pieces of a large puzzle spread out on it, and in the corner closest to the windows is Art, in a bright paisley shirt, stuffed into a worn-out armchair that must be as old as he is.
I think I just found their secret hideout.
“I’ve been hoping to talk to you,” Judy says, pulling out the seat beside her at the table. Scattered on its surface are a sea of blue and white pieces surrounding a half-finished recreation of a cloudy sky over water. She probably looked for the most difficult one in the store.
I sit beside her and attempt a friendly smile, but really, my heart is thumping in my chest. Every time she sets her steely eyes on me, I feel like fish food.
“How are you liking it here so far?” she asks. It feels like a test.
“It’s lovely,” I lie.
Judy snorts a low laugh and turns around. “Did you hear that, Art? It’s been lovely.”
“About as lovely as a root canal,” he deadpans while trying to hide a smile.
“Okay,” I say, taking a gamble. “Maybe lovely is the wrong word. It’s been…”
Judy surprises me by suggesting, “Bleak?” and Art adds, “Vexing?”
Huh. I may have completely misjudged them. They are hiding away here among a life’s worth of odd purchases. Maybe they find this weekend as difficult as Lincoln does. It’s a good cubby too. I’m pretty sure that’s a piano hiding underneath a stack of newspapers.
How would Lincoln phrase it? “An adjustment.”
In a move that surprises me so much I have to hold on to the table so I don’t fall out of my chair, Judy laughs. It’s a short bark that becomes a sigh when she casts a look over at Art.
“This is the last year, Art. I swear it. I’m sick of dragging myself here for their elevator pitch guilt trip. It’s not my problem that they want to live in this hellhole. If they’re struggling for money so badly, just sell the damn place.”
Art hums. He’s hunched over a small red box that’s spilling wires out of its insides, and I can’t tell whether he’s trying to fix it or destroy it. “They wouldn’t be in this mess if they stopped cleaning up that boy’s messes.”
Art, you beautiful man, now you have my attention. “What kind of messes?” I ask. This could be what I need to help Lincoln.
Judy smirks as she scours the table for a puzzle piece, her nails short but perfectly manicured. “Enough to get cut off finally.”
Of course. That’s why he’s so hell-bent on getting Reed’s investment.
Art’s hands are paused mid-task as he stares at Judy with the same gleeful interest that’s bubbling in me. So much for my spy mission. I think I just hit the jackpot without even trying. “They finally grew a pair, huh? About time.”
He picks up a screwdriver and starts twisting something I can’t see. “Bribed that boy’s entire way through schooling, and they expected him to turn out any differently? Deacon would be rolling in his grave if he knew about the ten million Kyle sank last year. And then,” he says, waving the tool in the air, “they have the gall to accuse us of hiding some secret wealth from them and still expect us to play nice this weekend. Joe is livid.”
Wow, so Dick’s a dick. Color me shocked.
“Like father, like son,” Judy says shrewdly. “Dad never listened when I told him Richie learned it from him. Even after he discovered his money had bought them a collegiate wing in exchange for the president ignoring Kyle’s three sexual assault charges, he still refused to accept his part in it.”
Art locks eyes with her, a small smile playing on his lips. “Careful, we’re not supposed to know about that.”
Jesus. I need to find Lincoln.
Judy sets the last piece of the lighthouse in place and lets out a soft laugh. “Just like how I’m pretending not to notice that the Louis Kalff lamp is missing from behind you?”
