{ 171 }.

Lizzie frowned and approached the butler" and that was when she got a whiff of a smell that, as a farm owner, she had some familiarity with.

An African- American man in a sheriffs uniform came out of Rosa- lindas office, along with Lane.

Whats going on? Lizzie asked, a cold chill shooting through her chest.

Dear Lord, was Rosalinda . . .

Was that why the hall had smelled so badly this morning? she thought with a pounding heart.

Theres been a difficulty, Mr. Harris said. And it is being handled appropriately.

Lane met her eyes as he spoke with the deputy and he nodded to her.

When she motioned over her shoulder toward the conservatory, he nod- ded again.

Ms. Mollie made the sign of the cross over her heart. It comes in threes. Death always comes in threes.

Nonsense, Miss Aurora muttered as if the woman had been wear- ing her out with that line of reasoning. Gods plans determine it for us all. Not counting on your fingertips.

Threes. Always threes.

Heading back to the conservatory, Lizzie closed the door behind her and looked at the hundred or so bouquets of pink and white flowers.

Whats wrong? Greta asked. Did something else get left off the order"

I think Rosalinda is dead.

There was a clatter as the spray bottle slipped out of Gretas hands and bounced on the slate floor, spraying the womans work shoes. What.

I dont know.

As a stream of German boiled up and out of her partner, Lizzie muttered, I know, right? I just cant believe it.

When? How?

I dont know, but the sheriffs here. And they didnt call for an ambulance.

{ 172 }.

Oh, mein Gott . . . das ist ja schrecklich!

With a curse, Lizzie walked over to the view of the garden and stared out at the resplendent green of the cropped grass and the elegant setup for the party. They were seventy- five percent there, and already things were beautiful" especially the glowing heads of the hundreds of late-blooming paper-whites that she and Greta had planted in the beds under the flow- ering fruit trees.

Ive got a really bad feeling about all this, she heard herself say.

A bout an hour after Metro Police arrived at Easterly, Lane was allowed to leave the scene for a short period of time.

He wanted to talk to Lizzie to let her know what was going on, but he had to take care of Gin first.

The Bradford Family Trusts were all administered and managed out of the Prospect Trust Company, a privately held firm with billions of dollars of assets under their control and a speciality in handling the super- wealthy in Charlemont. As they were not a traditional bank, however, the household checking accounts were run out of the local branch of PNC" and that was where he went with the checkbook hed taken out of Rosalindas desk.

Parking in the lot by the one story boutique building, he wrote the check out as payable to Cash in the amount of seventy- five thousand dollars, forged his fathers name on the signatory line, and endorsed the back as payable to the Washington County Jail.

As soon as he pushed into the beige and white lobby, he was inter- sected by a young woman in a navy blue suit and discreet jewelry. Mr.

Baldwine, how are you?

I just found a dead body. Thanks for asking. Fine, I need to get this check certified?

Of course. Come into my office. Leading him over to a glass enclo- sure, she shut the door and took a seat behind a tidy desk. Were always pleased to help your family.

He slid the check across the blotter and sat down. I appreciate it.

{ 173 }.

The sound of fingernails tippity- tapping on the computers key- board was mildly annoying, but he had so much bigger fish to fry.

Ah . . . The bank manager cleared her throat. Mr. Baldwine, Im sorry, there are not sufficient funds in the account.

He took out his phone. No problem, Ill just call Prospect Trust and initiate a transfer. How much do we need?

Well, sir, the account is overdrawn by twenty- seven thousand, four hundred, eighty- nine dollars and twenty- two cents. The overdraft pro- tection is covering that, however.

Give me a moment. He went into his contacts and called up the PTC administrator in charge of the familys funds. Ill just wire it in.

Obvious relief bloomed in her face. Here, let me give you some pri- vacy. Ill be out in the lobby when youre ready. Take your time.

Thanks.

While he waited for the connection to ring through, Lane tapped his loafer on the marble floor. Oh, hey, Connie, how are you. Its Lane Baldwine. Good. Yes, Im in town for Derby. Among other things. Listen, I need you to wire some money into the general household account at PNC.

There was a pause. And then the womans smooth, professional voice became strained. Id be happy to, Mr. Baldwine, but I dont have access to your accounts anymore. You removed them from Prospect Trust last year.

I meant out of my fathers accounts. Or my mothers.

There was another pause. Im afraid youre not authorized to effect transfers of that nature. Id need to speak to your father. Is there a way you could get him to call in?

Not if he wanted the money. Given that dear ol daddy was trying to squeeze Gin, there was no way the grand and glorious William Bald- wine was going to help facilitate her release.

My fathers out of town and unreachable. How about I put my mother on the phone? Surely he could go to her and keep her conscious long enough to order a hundred and twenty- five grand into the house- hold account.

{ 174 }.

Connie cleared her throat just as the bank manager had. Im so sorry, but that . . . that will not be sufficient.

If its her account? How can it not be?

Mr. Baldwine . . . I dont want to speak out of turn.

Sounds like youd better.

Will you please hold for a moment?

As piped- in music drawled into his ear, he burst up out of the stiff chair and paced in between the potted plant in the corner, which he dis- covered was plastic when he tested a leaf, and the floor- to- ceiling, double- hung windows that looked out onto the four- lane road beyond.

There was a beeping tone and then a male voice came over the con- nection. Mr. Baldwine? Its Ricardo Monteverdi, how are you, sir?

Great, the CEO of the company. Which meant whatever the answer was had tripped the delicate situation wire. Look, I just need a hun- dred and twenty-five thousand in cash, okay? No big deal"

Mr. Baldwine, as you know, at Prospect Trust, we take our fidu- ciary responsibility to our clients very seriously"

Stop right there with the disclaimers. Either tell me why my moth- ers word isnt good enough for her own money or get off my phone.

There was a period of silence. You are leaving me no choice.

What. For Gods sake, what?

The next stretch of quiet was so long and dense, he took his phone from his ear to check he hadnt lost the call. Hello?

Cue the throat clearing. Your father declared your mother men- tally incompetent per the rules of her trusts earlier this year. It was the opinion of two qualified neurologists that she was, and is, incapable of making decisions at this time. So if you require funds from either of their accounts, we will be more than happy to accommodate you"

provided the request comes from your father in person. I hope you un- derstand that I am walking a fine line here"

Ill call him right now and get him to phone in.

Lane ended the call and stared out at the traffic. Then he went over to the door and opened it. Smiling at the manager, he said, My fathers go- ing to have to call Prospect to initiate the transfer. Ill have to come back.

{ 175 }.

Were open until five oclock, sir.

Thanks.

Back out in the bright sun, he kept his phone in his hand as he strode across the hot pavement, but he didnt use the thing. He also didnt remember the drive home.

What the hell was he going to do now?

When he got back to Easterly, there were two more police units in the courtyard by the garages and a couple of uniforms standing at the front door. He parked the Porsche in its usual waiting spot to the left of the mansions main entrance and got out.

Mr. Baldwine, one of the officers said as Lane approached.

Gentlemen.

The sensation of their eyes following him made him want to send the group far away from his familys house. He had a tweaking paranoia that there were things happening behind the scenes he knew nothing about, and hed just as soon eyeball those skeletons privately first"

without the benefit of Metro Polices prying stares.

Taking the stairs up to the second floor, he went to his room and shut the door" then locked it. Over by his bed, he picked up the receiver on the house phone, dialed nine for an outside line, and then entered *67 so that the number of the extension he was calling from would not reg- ister on any caller ID. When a dial tone came over the line, he entered a familiar exchange and four- digit series.

He cleared his throat as it rang once. Twice"

Good morning, this is Mr. William Baldwines office. How may I assist you"

Assuming his fathers clipped business tones, he said, Get me Mon- teverdi at Prospect on the line right now.

Of course, Mr. Baldwine! Right away.

Lane cleared his throat again as classical music came across the connection. The good news was that his father was anti- social unless human interaction benefited him business- wise, so it was unlikely there were any recent personal conversations between the two men that would give the lie away.

{ 176 }.

Mr. Baldwine, I have Mr. Monteverdi on the line.

After the click, Monteverdi jumped right in. Thank you for finally returning my call.

Lane dropped his tone and added a boatload of Southern: I need one hundred and twenty- five thousand into the general household"

William, I told you. I cant make any more advances, I just cant. I appreciate your familys business, and I am committed to helping you sort all of this out before the Bradford name runs into difficulty, but my hands are tied. I have a responsibility to my board, and you told me the money you borrowed would be repaid by the annual meeting" which is in two short weeks. The fact that you require additional funds" of such a small amount? My confidence is now not high.

What. The. Hell.

What is the total owed? he asked in his fathers heavy Virginian accent.

I told you in my last voice mail, Monteverdi bit out. Fifty- three million. You have two weeks, William. Your choice is to either repay it, or go to JPMorgan Chase and get them to do asset lending against your wifes primary trust. She has over a hundred million in that ac- count alone, so their lending profile is met. I sent you the paperwork on your private e- mail" all you have to do is put her signature on them and this goes away for the both of us. But let me make myself perfectly clear" I am very exposed in this situation, and I will not permit that to continue. There are remedies I could bring to bear that would be very uncomfortable for you, and I shall use them before anything affects me personally.

Holy.

Shit.

Ill get back to you, Lane drawled, and hung up.

For a moment, all he could do was stare at his phone. He literally couldnt string two thoughts together.

Then came the vomiting.

With a sudden heave, he jerked in half, barely getting the wastepa- per basket over in time.

{ 177 }.

Everything that hed eaten in the staff room came up.

After the gagging subsided, his blood ran cold, the sense that noth- ing was as it should be making him wonder" then pray" that this was some kind of nightmare.

But he didnt have the luxury of fading into neutral" or worse, fall- ing apart. He had to deal with the police. His sister. And whatever was going on here . . .

God, he wished Edward were still around.