LITMIR.BIZ

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Orchid’s presence, I’d felt a bit like a parent or a jailer. She’d talked on and on about Logan, like a girl with her first crush. Any attempt I made to change the subject was met with resistance. I swear she invented ways to bring him back into the conversation. I couldn’t shake her from talking about him, so in the end I just let her go on for the better part of an hour. I learned that Logan was genius smart, that he was handsome enough to be a model, or maybe an actor, and that he was patient as a saint as he’d taught Orchid how to operate Game Boy—and oh, goodness, she’d gotten so good at it! Those little buttons were so small, but dearest Logan had showed her the menu screen. She just loved that it was called a menu.

      At this point she’d actually clapped her hands and chortled. Honestly, all the praise for dearest Logan was gaggy enough to make me want to puke. I kept an interested look on my face by sheer willpower.

      Finally, as she ran down, I said to her, “Jazz is worried that no one’s looking out for your best interests.”

      “Come on, girl. Tell the truth. They’re all worried about the money.”

      “Jazz just wants to make sure you get what you want, not what they want.”

      “You make it sound like a war.”

      “I don’t know what it is,” I told her. “But I think everyone would agree that you should meet with an estate lawyer.”

      “Like Mr. Neusmeyer?” She smoothed her skirt.

      I instantly felt my insides contract. Of all the lawyers in the state of Oregon—and believe me, they’re thick on the ground—she had to contact Neusmeyer? I’d had a run-in with the man a few months prior. In a bid to gain information, I’d pretended to be someone else—someone other than an investigator—someone with even less scruples than I possessed myself. Jerome Neusmeyer was known for casting an eye toward younger women, so I’d assumed a fake name and approached him, making clear that I was interested in being an estate beneficiary and that I could be bought. Neusmeyer had jumped on the idea—and jumped on me. Extricating myself from the situation had been tricky. I could still feel the imprint where he’d squeezed my breast. The idea that he was involved with the Purcells left me searching for an exit tout de suite.

      I would have run from the room right then and there, but Orchid had turned away to glance out the window and stare up at the sky. The gnarled oak that reached toward the house was losing its leaves. She said, as if in conversation with it, “I don’t remember what happened to her.”

      I’d been lost in thought at that point, wondering if Dahlia might not be right and that this dementia-thing was an act. She knew who Neusmeyer was, all right. Now, I keyed into what she was saying. “What happened to who?” I asked.

      “I think it was my Percy’s fault. But he was a good man,” she added instantly, as if afraid she might be overheard maligning her late husband. “He didn’t mean to drive her away.”

      “Are you talking about your…daughter?” I moved closer to her, craning my neck to look up at the sky, too. What was this? Some kind of confession?

      “Sometimes I think she’d still be here if we’d just listened a little more. That’s the way it is with children, don’t you know. You have to listen to what they’re not saying more than what they’re saying.”

      “Yes.” I agreed with her. She seemed entirely sane. Thoughtful, even.

      Then she suddenly glanced around furtively and whispered, “I just don’t want anything bad to happen.”

      “Nobody does,” I answered automatically. She looked unsure, so I added, “Nothing bad’s going to happen.”

      “How do you know?”

      “I don’t, I guess.”

      “I want her back.” Orchid’s face tightened, and she suddenly looked as stubborn as a two-year-old. Then her expression cleared. “But I have Logan. And Jazz!” as if she’d just remembered.

      “Yes,” I agreed, and that was pretty much the end of our discussion. It definitely left me feeling undecided about her mental state, not exactly the news Jazz would want to hear. Now, I said to Dwayne, “She needs to be looked at by a professional.”

      Dwayne, who’d been listening intently to my story, asked, “You think she meant Jazz and Logan’s mother?”

      “Lily’s the one that’s gone.”

      “She died in the sanitarium?” I nodded and Dwayne added drily, “Doesn’t speak well for how she feels about the rest of her family.”

      “No, it doesn’t.”

      “What about them?” Dwayne asked. “You think they’re tryin’ to steal her money?”

      I chewed thoughtfully and mentally ran through my impressions of the Purcells.

      “Hard to say. I think they pretty much keep her isolated and confined to her room. There’s no phone, and I didn’t get the feeling she has lots of visitors. Maybe she likes it that way. Maybe it’s a protection for her. She could be easy prey for anyone trying to get a chunk of Purcell money. Beyond that, Orchid’s got some deep fear. Or, maybe that comes from starting to lose your mind. She needs a doctor and a lawyer.”

      “Your buddy. Neusmeyer.” A smile played around Dwayne’s lips. He knows all about my “relationship” with the estate lawyer. “So, what did you tell Jazz?”

      “I haven’t really told him anything yet. He wants to meet tomorrow. He asked me a couple of questions and then we just sort of left it.”

      Actually, I’d walked downstairs after the meeting with Orchid and breathed a sigh of relief to see that most of her children had dispersed. The main salon was empty except for Jazz, Logan and Benjamin. Logan was thumbing through a book and perfecting his bored look. Benjamin was standing at the window, looking up at the sky, much as Orchid had. Jazz was lost in thought, his brows drawn together, his expression sort of grim.

      When I entered the room Jazz jumped to his feet. His smile nearly distracted me. “What do you think of her?” he asked eagerly. “Isn’t she great?”

      I wasn’t sure what I thought of her, in point of fact. She’d seemed kind of spooky, and sometimes cagey, sometimes clear. She’d lamented her husband’s treatment of Lily, but then seemed oddly scared to talk about it.

      “I don’t think she’s ready to give up control.”

      “But should she? Is it dangerous, do you think?”

      I shrugged. “Call an estate lawyer. Or, maybe the family doctor. Maybe they can figure out if she’s compos mentis.”

      “What’s that?” Logan asked, eyeing me darkly.

      “If Grandmother’s in her right mind,” Benjamin said, his voice sounding dreamy and distracted.

      We all looked at him. My thought was: Now, why doesn’t he call her Nana?

      “I hate doing that,” Jazz said. “It feels like such a betrayal. I really think she just needs someone with her.”

      “She’s got Eileen,” Benjamin said.

      Logan made a choking sound. “Her? She’s a thief! She stole those jewels.”

      “We don’t know that,” Jazz reminded.

      “Yes, we do. We just don’t want to do anything about it, ’cause no one wants to take care of Nana.”

      Logan sounded fairly knowledgeable about the situation, especially for a twelve-year-old.

      “I take it Eileen’s the caretaker?” I put in.

      Benjamin nodded.

      “You ready to go?” Jazz asked me. I got the feeling he wanted out of there even worse than I did.

      “Sure.”

      We

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