Page 122 of The Dollmaker

The registered letter was waiting for Sharp when he arrived home. It was from Roger’s attorney. Tearing it open with his thumb, he unlocked the front door and nudged it open with his foot. He flipped on lights, dropped his keys on the kitchen counter, and shrugged off his coat. The letter was simple, direct. He was Roger’s sole heir. What remained of the estate, namely the lake house, was his. “Shit. I don’t want this.”

He opened his refrigerator and pulled out a beer, twisting the top and taking a long pull. The doorbell rang. He set the beer aside and put his hand on his weapon, moving toward the door. A glance through the peephole. Tessa.

He closed his eyes, relieved and worried all at once. He snapped open the door. “What are you doing here?”

She held up a bag filled with Chinese food. “I brought food, which I’ll trade only if you tell me how it went today at Shield.” Smiling, she pushed past him and walked straight toward the kitchen, where she unpacked the cartons. “I want to know all about it.”

“It’s been a long day, Tessa. I’m not in the mood to talk.”

“Déjà vu. I’m not buying it,” she said, laughing.

His response had been the theme of their marriage. Her begging him to talk, him too spent to talk. Now she wasn’t begging. “Yeah.”

“Tell me about Shield, we’ll eat, and when we’re finished, I’ll clean up and leave. You were never good at eating when you were working.” She set her bag on the counter and slid off her jacket.

“You put protein bars in my jacket pocket. They tasted like cardboard.”

She unpacked the small white boxes along with a couple of sodas. “But it kept you going. Just like letting off a little steam and talking will do the same.”

He unfastened his cuffs and rolled up his sleeves. “Yeah.”

She unpacked plastic forks and handed him one. “The beef is still your favorite, right?”

He accepted the carton. “Yes.”

She unwrapped a fork. “Eat up.”

She settled on a bar stool and dug her fork into a bucket of vegetables. For a moment, he didn’t know what to say, so he ate.

Finally he said, “I just received a letter from Roger’s attorney. Roger left me his lake house.”

She jabbed her fork in the half-eaten dish and left it there. “Wow. That’s got to feel weird.”

“I don’t want the house.”

“Then sell it. Donate the money, if it makes you feel better. Set up a scholarship in Kara’s name. But before you do any of that, remember that you were all Roger had left, and he wanted you to have what was his.”

“Roger and I didn’t get along.”

“When it came to the big issues, you were more alike than different. When’s the last time you saw the house?” She rose and moved toward him, taking his white carton and setting it aside.

“Twelve years ago,” he said.

When he didn’t say more, she asked, “Are you at least going to see the house again? There could be items inside you want to keep.”

He looked at her, his gaze heavy with loss. “I don’t know.”

“I can go with you.”

“Why?”

“Moral support. I’m not working tomorrow.”

“You don’t have to do that.”

“There’s a lot I don’t have to do. But I do it anyway.”

He rose up from the bar stool. She set her food aside and turned toward him. He laid his hands on her hips, pausing, waiting for her to move away. She held her ground.

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