Page 41 of Drawing Home
“Yes, how can I help you?”
“I’m Micki Leder from theObserver,” she said. “I’m writing an article about the battle over Henry Wyatt’s estate.”
One spoiled, pushy woman complaining wasn’t exactly a battle. Still, every night Emma sifted through the mail, half expecting a legal notice from Bea’s attorneys. So far, nothing had happened. She wondered how long she would have to wait for the other shoe to drop.
But she said none of this, knowing better than to get pulled into trying to tell her side of the story.
“I have no comment,” she said.
The house phone rang.
“Emma, it’s Jack. Come to the office for a minute?”
Emma said nothing further to the reporter; she just slipped out the door behind the front desk.
Chris, a serious look on his face, walked out of Jack’s office.
“You were right,” Emma said.
“Yeah, I know. Apparently, she’s not the only one sniffing around.”
“Really?”
Chris nodded his head toward the back room. “Talk to Jack.”
Inside, Jack was unpacking a crate of the cigars they displayed and sold in the glass case under the front desk.
“Emma, I need you to please set these in the case on your way out,” he said, handing her a box of San Lotano Churchills.
“My way out?”
He nodded, opened a box of Ashton Très Mystiques, and unwrapped one for himself.
“I got reporters at the bar, reporters calling on my cell phone. I can ignore them, but as long as you’re standing in the middle of the lobby, they’re going to show up.”
Her stomach knotted.
“Oh my God. Jack, I’m so sorry. I just don’t understand why people care.”
“I’m hoping this will be old news soon.”
Emma nodded, trying to quell her panic. In over a dozen years of employment, she had never had so much as one sick day. Leaving in the middle of her shift felt like a failure. Losing a workday tomorrow was unthinkable. Paid, unpaid—it didn’t matter. This was just not a good road to go down.
“I understand today, but I really think beyond that would be overkill.”
Jack tapped a pen against his desk. “Cheryl Meister told me she invited you to her fund-raiser committee meeting tomorrow.”
Emma had forgotten all about that.
“You should go, help out. It’s a good cause.”
Emma swallowed hard. Okay, so she guessed that was that. He didn’t want her at the hotel. “Okay,” she said. “But just so you know, I’m not talking to the press, and there’s no story here. It’s going to be fine.”
He looked at her with his direct, sharp blue eyes. “I hope you’re right.”
Chapter Nineteen
Bea and Kyle divided up the town and set out separately on their hunt for Henry’s drawings. Her first stop: the Sag Harbor Historical Society at 174 Main Street.
