Page 45 of Drawing Home
“It’s no trouble,” he said.
She barely heard him. “I’m not going to send her to work with you tomorrow. This is beyond what you should have to be responsible for.”
“Emma, stop worrying about me. Go talk to her.”
Emma, shaking, hugged herself. “I can’t talk to her. I’m too upset. We’re just going to end up shouting at each other.”
“You should at least go up and have the final word. Make sure she knows this is unacceptable.”
Emma looked at him. “You’re right. I have to ground her.” Maybe the day off tomorrow was a blessing in disguise. “I have to go to this committee meeting around eleven. Is there any way you can be here until I get back?”
“Not a problem. It’s slow at the museum midweek. And I’m behind on my crossword puzzles. I haven’t finished one since Memorial Day.”
Emma smiled at him gratefully. “If Celia were here, she’d straighten everything out.”
“Yes, she would. She’d have that child turned around in no time.”
“Oh, Angus. Is this my fault? Am I dropping the ball?”
“Looking back at myself at fourteen?” He whistled. “This child is like an angel.”
“I don’t believe it.”
He smiled and pulled a pizza from the freezer. “I guess you’ll have to take my word for it. Now go up there and put the fear of God in that girl.”
“Angus, the only person full of fear right now is me. And I don’t see that changing anytime soon.”
Bea walked to the edge of Windsong’s private dock, surrounded by the clicking and humming of nocturnal insects in the nearby grass.
Whenever she spent time away from Manhattan, she was amazed by all the stars that were visible. Places that were just moderately impressive in the daytime could turn quite majestic at night. She grudgingly felt this about the harbor as she stood at the edge of the bay under the dazzling constellations above.
But the natural beauty of the town was still not enough to give her one ounce of understanding of what Henry had done. In all the years since he’d left Manhattan, she’d never given up hope that he would tire of country living and return. But her disapproval over his move and his decision to stop painting paled in comparison to the distress she felt over what he’d done with his estate.
The day of searching through town had yielded nothing useful. She was so disheartened, she retreated back to the house for a nap before she even checked the library. As for Kyle, he seemed to do little more with his afternoon than work on his tan. He showed up at dinnertime with nonsensical chatter about boats.
“Do you expect to find Henry’s drawings at the marina?” she had asked him.
Perhaps she should have just let him leave when he’d decided to quit. He was now a lame-duck assistant.
Her phone rang, and she recognized the incoming number: her lawyer’s office. “You’re burning the midnight oil, Richard. I hope you’re calling with some good news.”
“Bea, did you plant that story in Page Six?” he said.
“I did not plant anything. I answered a reporter’s questions honestly.”
“I wish you’d left the firm’s name out of it. Our phone hasn’t stopped ringing. And Bea, frankly, it appears Wyatt’s will is legitimate. There is no evidence he wasn’t of sound mind. And even if he wasn’t, you don’t have the legal standing to contest the will.”
“Of course I have a right to contest it!”
“It’s not a matter of right, it’s a matter of legality. You’re not family, you were never married to Wyatt, and there’s no indication that you were the beneficiary of his estate in any prior will.”
Bea felt herself begin to shake. “After decades on retainer, this is what you bring me? You’re not even worthy of Page Six!” She hung up the phone, resisting the impulse to toss it into the bay.
Her attorney was willing to give up because of technicalities? She supposed when you billed by the hour, your thinking became rather small. Luckily for her, she’d never been constrained by ordinary work or ordinary thinking.
It was tempting to wonder if Henry had suffered from some form of dementia over the past year or so. But Bea hated when an older person did something out of character or upsetting and everyone just chalked it up to that person losing his mind. It was lazy and condescending thinking. No, Bea would not stoop to that assumption. It might give her a basis for pushing forward with legal action, but deep down, she didn’t believe it. And more than wanting the house, she wanted the truth about her oldest friend—the person who had given her the most important thing in her life: her career. In her heart, she knew there was a reason for what Henry had done with his work at the end of his life. And there was maybe even a reason for this business with the house. Now, that didn’t mean it was right. That didn’t mean she wouldn’t fight it tooth and nail in court. But she needed to understand it.
Somewhere along the way, she had missed something. And she would find out what it was.
