I clench my teeth as I follow her into the den, where she runs a finger along my dusty fireplace mantel.
“You should have called before driving up all this way this morning.”
“Now, hush, Elizabeth. I’ll cut to the chase.”
I tighten my lips. Things between us have always been a bit cool. But she’s never spoken to me this sharply.
She narrows her red-rimmed eyes. Like me, she’s grieving. I’m sure losing Philip has almost broken her. But Mirabel likes secrets, not emotions. And that night of the accident hangs between us like a swinging scythe.
“Yourlaw-yercalled mine yesterday. Philip’s old friend HenryLawton’s been prodding around about a trust I have all set up for Heathcliff. I need to know what your game is.” She crosses her arms, gold bracelets clattering.
“Game?”
“Did Philip tell you anything that night?”
“He left a message that we needed to talk. It seems like there’s something I needed to know.”
She closes her eyes in relief.
“Are you going to tell me what it is?”
“It’s a trifle. It doesn’t matter.”
“Then why did you drive all the way here to talk about it?”
She glares, tapping her manicured nails on the mantel, her mouth firming into a tight line. She’s wishing for one of those cigarettes she doesn’t smoke.
“Look, Mirabel, I have to get to work...”
She marches toward me, pointing her finger. “You shouldstayoutof this, Elizabeth. Just be happy that I have a bit of money set aside for my grandson’s education.”
“Henry’s just protecting my son’s interests.”
“Nogames, Elizabeth.”
“I’m not the one playing games here.”
She scowls, picks up her purse and leaves, slamming the door hard behind her.
My fingers tremble as I brush Heathcliff’s hair and pour coffee into a thermos. She’s trying to rattle me, and it’s best to let Henry deal with her at this point.
After Mirabel’s unexpected visit, I realize Heathcliff missed the bus. I’m late dropping him off at school, and amid the scramble, I left my coffee thermos on the kitchen counter. I’m so shaken, I clench the steering wheel driving to work. My head pounds from lack of caffeine. And damn it, I stayed up too late readingBlood Oath.Chloe wasn’t lying—it really is the most marvelous trash reading.
The headache hits hard as I’m walking through the department. As I pass her desk, Sandra lets me know she left a few letters for me.
How bad can it be? No one wants to actually write letters anymore.
Unfortunately, a smallpackof envelopes lies at the foot of my office door.
Additionally, someone taped one torn, spiral-bound notebook sheet to my door. I tear off the sheet first.
Miss Wells, can I have extra credit? This Austen chick is like so tough.—B
Furious, I scoop up the letters and unlock my office door.
There’s four from Bill Rhodes. I only read the first one. Nothing else from him is worth reading.
We need the fucking humanities fall budget by 2:00 today. Your weird Amish experiment can’t keep you from doing your job.
