Page 65 of Trick of Light
“What about Annabeth?”
“Not her. The other one. Sophie.”
Another shock traveled through him. His father had demanded that Barnaby keep the real identity of his mother to himself. Had he told Celine? Typical John Carmichael III, believing the rules never applied to him.
“So you know about Sophie.”
“Only recently. With John’s dementia, things started coming out that he used to keep to himself. Don’t blame him.” She punched in a code to the safe and the door sprang open. It was empty.
She whirled around. “What did you do with it?”
“With what?” He and Gabby exchanged a mystified glance. “What was in there?”
“Proof.” She scanned the rest of the room, the messy bed, the clothes still littered about. “I guess you wouldn’t have spent the night like that if you’d taken it.”
He’d had enough of her cryptic game. “Proof of what? Come on, Celine. What’s going on?”
“Proof that your father is no angel either,” she burst out. “He’s trying to break our prenup because of some bullshit about my legal issues. But he did much worse than me.”
Legal issues seemed like a strange way to refer to her conspiring against her husband, but whatever. “What did he do, other than the usual infidelity and ruthless business practices?”
“He helped cover up a murder. Your mother’s murder.”
28
Since Barnaby had suddenly lost the capacity for speech, Gabby took over for him. “How do you know this?”
“I put a few things together, from John and others. Carson said the relevant NDAs are in the safe here, but I don’t think he’s seen them. She died at the hospital down the street, you know. They said it was during childbirth, but that was just the cover story. It wasn’t natural causes. Your father paid to bury the whole thing. Why do you think there’s a Carmichael wing of that hospital?” She jabbed a finger toward Barnaby, as if he was the one responsible.
Barnaby’s face paled behind all that dark scruff. Celine was hitting her marks.
“You should ask John yourself. You never know when you’re going to catch him without his filter on.” She spun on her heel and marched to the front door. Bombshell delivered, damage done.
Gabby hurried after her onto the landing. “Who did it? Do you know?”
“How would I know that? It was all covered up. Whoever it was, John was trying to protect them. Protect a murderer. I just bet the lawyers won’t want that getting out.” The elevator doors opened and she stepped in. “Come to think of it, you should look into this for your podcast. Covering up a murder for thirty years, that’s some dirty rotten bastard shit. So there you go. My gift to you. Hot tip? Start with the hospital. And sorry if that gets you in trouble with your new boyfriend. Too bad, so very sad.”
After she was gone, Gabby waved her hand to dispel the too-strong scent of lily of the valley. It was too much on an empty stomach. She went back inside the condo to find Barnaby bracing his hands on the kitchen counter, staring down at an espresso machine, tension riding in every line of his body.
“You okay?” she asked gently.
“I’m not sure.”
She came up behind him and rubbed his back, those ridges of muscle alongside his spine as tight as guy wires. “She could just be saying any old thing to keep hold of her share of the money.”
“Yeah. But Tamara suggested something had happened to Sophie. She told me she never believed the official story.”
The kitchen fell silent except for the perking of the espresso machine. She couldn’t hear anything from outside; he hadn’t been kidding about that soundproofing.
Finally he lifted his head. “I heard Celine say you should do a podcast on it. Are you going to?”
From his neutral expression, she couldn’t tell what he wanted her to say. “I don’t know. I’ll talk to Heather about it. We have a lot going on right now.”
“It could be a good story for you guys. People love true crime, right? Especially when it involves rich people?”
“That’s true. But that doesn’t mean?—”
He straightened up. “I want you to do the story. If it’s true, I need to know.”
