Grey nods, considering my theory. Misha runs a hand over his face, frustration evident. “Could have, would have.” He sighs. “God, I hate that we’re no closer.” He slumps back into the cushions, looking more defeated than I’ve ever seen him.
I understand his frustration all too well. We’ve been at this for hours already, and we haven’t made any progress in figuring out who hurt Amelia and stole her work.
The thought of someone hurting her makes my blood boil.
I clench my fists, my nails digging into my palms. The image of her lying there, so still and pale, is burned into my memory.
A shrill ring pierces the silence, making us all startle. My heart jumps as Grey quickly reaches for his phone, his brows furrowing when he sees who’s calling. “It’s Grandpa,” he murmurs to us before answering. “Hey.”
He switches the phone to speaker mode and sets it back on the desk.
“How are you boys holding up?” Grandpa’s voice crackles through the speaker.
“We were at a race at Ascot today,” Misha chimes in. “So many big hats, I tell you.”
I have to make sure to buy one of those as a Christmas present for him.
“Of course, they would enjoy such nonsense,” Grandpa retorts, and I can almost hear his eye roll.
I smile to myself.
Called it.
“How are you, Grandpa?” Grey asks.
“Good, I’m good. I found my notes about Amelia’s father, and I’m sorry it took so long, but I had to be sure it really was him I was thinking about. All those faces tend to blur after all these years.”
Grey’s interest piques instantly, and he sits up straighter. “No problem. What did you find?”
“Mr. Stanley had an equally charming father who told him he didn’t have to come home if he didn’t graduate summa cum laude,” Grandpa explains, his voice laced with both disgust and pity. “He tried to bribe me with money, but I thought it would be a good thing to give the boy private lessons so he could make it on his own. And while I did it, I wanted to instill some good values, but it seems like they didn’t stick long, given how he treats Amelia.”
“Looks like it,” Grey replies, the crease in his brow deepening. I watch him closely, seeing the cogs whirling in his mind. “Anything else?”
Grandpa sighs heavily through the line. “Not really, no, I’m sorry. I can just tell you that I wasn’t spending so much time with him because I thought he was such an amazing person.”
“Don’t worry, we never would have guessed as much,” Misha murmurs dryly, and I let out a quiet huff of laughter, appreciating the momentary lightness in the tense room.
“He probably wants to call you soon,” Grey mutters, cringing slightly, but Grandpa just laughs.
“I can talk to Mr. Stanley if it helps bring Amelia back. You will bring her back, right?” he asks, a reproach clear in his tone.
“We’ll try our best, Grandpa,” Misha murmurs.
“Is Morgan there?”I ask, knowing very well she’ll be worried, and I should let her know I’m still alive.
“No, she’s over at Amelia’s.”
“At Amelia’s?” Grey’s brows shoot up as he glances at me, clearly just as surprised.
“Why is she over at Amelia’s?” I ask, puzzled.
What does my sister know that I don’t?
“She’s feeding her fish,” Grandpa explains simply.
“Oh my God.” I can’t help but chuckle, fully aware that Morgandespisesfish.
It all goes back to that time when we were kids, and I slipped a tiny, wriggling fish from a pond right into her shirt. No fish were harmed in the making of this memory, but Morgan is still not ready to set foot in a seafood restaurant.
