Page 51 of The Night We Lost Him

“If you’re hoping for compensation, we will gladly replace the computer.”

Paul laughs. “I don’t want your money.”

“What do you want?”

“Well, right now, I want to say good night to you both, so I can hop on the subway and not keep my daughter waiting in the freezing cold.”

I shoot Sam a look. This is going the wrong way and it’s getting worse.

“I get it. We both get that. My brother is just concerned, we’re actually both a little concerned, that something bad may have happened to our father. And we’re having trouble getting answers from anyone about what was going on with him.” I pause. “And Grace, I really thought the world of Grace, and I think if anyone would have known what was happening with him, it might have been her.”

He softens, hearing that. “I get that. And that’s probably true.”

Then he gives me a small smile, something sad behind his eyes, letting me know he means it.

“Maybe you can just help us with one thing in particular, before you go,” I say. “Did Grace ever mention Cece Salinger’s interest in buying the company?”

He tries not to react, but I can see in his face that he is surprised by the question. “All roads lead to Cece, huh?”

“How do you mean?” I ask.

“That’s a longer conversation than I have time for,” he says. “But, yes, Grace mentioned that at some point. She mentioned Cece’s interest, but my understanding is that your father wasn’t interested. That was all settled a long time ago.”

He meets my eyes. And I can see that this longer conversation is one he has no intention of having—tonight or any time. So what else did Grace know about Cece? From how he’s looking at me, that suddenly feels like a question too.

“The truth is, I didn’t hold on to most of her work files, devices, the rest of it. I didn’t bring most of it with me from Pierrepont. It was easier not to have to face everything that reminded me of her.”

I look around the foyer—the living room beyond it. There are family photographs on the mantel: photographs of their daughter, Jenny, of Grace holding her when she was a baby, of Paul and Grace’s wedding. It doesn’t look, at first glance, like what he’s saying is true. But what do I know about what he feels like is true to him? Maybe this—this small number of photographs, whatever he has chosen to bring with him here—is just a fraction of it. A life together.

“I appreciate that your father’s death is disorienting,” he says. “It is for me too, truly, and I never even knew him all that well. But I doubt I even have the laptop. Like I told Tommy, Joe asked for most of her stuff shortly after the office sent it here, and I shipped it out to him—”

“Whoa,” Sam stops him. “You spoke to Tommy about this? When was that exactly?”

Paul looks back and forth between us. “I’m pretty sure that’s a conversation you need to have with your brother.”

Paul’s cell phone buzzes and JENNY comes up on his caller ID. His daughter. Grace’s daughter. He looks back at us.

“Here’s the thing,” he says. “Grace worked hard and so she didn’t talk much about her work when she was at home. Except to tell me two things. She cared about your father. She thought he was a good man despite whatever people said about him. She told me that.”

I look at him, taking that in.

“Problem is the other thing she told me was not to trust his kids.”

Then he walks back to the front door, holds it open, and waits for us to walk through it.

If You’re Going Down, Go All the Way Down…

“He definitely meant you guys, not me,” I say.

We are in the elevator, heading back to the lobby, Sam already on his phone, trying to reach Tommy.

“Yeah, ’cause that’s the point we should be focusing on…” he says. “Besides, Grace wouldn’t have said that. He was just trying to get rid of us.”

My instinct is that Sam is correct. But why was Paul so anxious to get rid of us? Was it just that he was late for his daughter—or was there something else he didn’t want to tell us?

I hear the beep come through Sam’s phone, connecting him to Tommy’s voicemail. “Hey, why are you talking to Paul Turner?” Sam says into the phone. “What the fuck is going on, Tommy?”

He clicks off, shaking his head.

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