Page 45 of A Vintage of Regret
Bryson held her gaze.
“It’s from your dad,” Mateo murmured.
Riley covered her mouth and gasped. A tear slipped free and landed on the sheet. And then another one. Followed by a trail of many more.
Bryson twisted his body, setting the wine on the nightstand. He wrapped his arm around Riley, tugging her close to his chest, kissing her temple. “Mateo, we’re gonna have to call you?—”
“No. I want you to open the letter and read it.” She wiped her face, but she didn’t leave Bryson’s embrace.
“Are you sure?” Mateo asked. “I feel like I’d be invading your privacy.”
“No. It’s okay. I need to know. It’s probably just my dad being my dad. But it will help.” She sighed, resting her head on Bryson’s shoulder. “Rip it open.”
“Okay,” Mateo said.
“Hey, kiddo,
I’ve been meaning to write you anyway, but something’s been on my mind, and I just don’t know where to turn or who to talk to.
You know me—I’ve never been one to stir the pot unless there’s a good reason. Back when I was still on the revitalization committee, I noticed a few things in the books that didn’t quite add up. At the time, I chalked it up to slow paperwork or human error. But I’ve learned some things since I left, and I can’t believe it.
I don’t want to drag you into this, but what I can tell you is that a lot more money has gone missing from that fund, and it’s got Grant’s name all over it. I don’t understand it. Your brother’s done well for himself. He’s smart. He’s not someone who needs to cut corners. He’s opening a second spa since he’s making money hand over fist. It just doesn’t make sense. I didn’t want to take it to anyone on the revitalization committee. Not until I’ve had a chance to speak with Grant. I don’t want to believe he had anything to do with this. It’s not like him. I know he can be a little entitled sometimes, but he’s a good man.
I asked Grant for a meeting. I want to hear what he has to say. For all I know, everyone’s already looking into it, and I’m just being paranoid—and I have to consider where I got this information from. Although they wouldn’t point the finger at Grant unless they thought something was up. I’m so distraught.
I hate dropping this on you, especially from so far away, but I’ve always wanted you to know the truth when it comes to family matters. No matter what happens, you should be proud of the life you’ve built and the person you are. I sure am.
Love you always,
Dad”
“When was that letter dated?” Bryson asked.
“Two days before he died.”
Riley sucked in a deep breath. “There is no way Grant stole that money. Or that he…I can’t even say it out loud.”
“Mateo, can you scan that letter in and send it to Riley’s phone? I’ll also forward my contact information so you can drop it in the mail. Send it the fastest way you can. I’ll pay for it.”
“Sure, no problem,” Mateo said. “Riley, are you gonna be okay?”
Riley plopped back onto the pillow, covering her eyes. “I have no idea. This doesn’t make any sense.”
“You take good care of that girl of ours,” Mateo said.
“I will. Don’t you worry.” Bryson ended the call, setting the phone on the nightstand. He pulled Riley into his arms. “Once I get that letter, we’re gonna need to give it to Sandy, and I don’t want you staying in this inn all alone. Tomorrow morning, you’re moving into the main house with me.”
She groaned. “Do you really believe my brother is capable of embezzlement?”
“Capable? Yeah. He’s smarter than most. But would he? That’s the problem. I don’t see the motivation. But my dad? He’s looking at the books. There’s a problem there, and people on that committee know it. Sean knew it, and now he’s dead.”
Bryson couldn’t believe the words that slipped between his lips. But what was worse were the thoughts tumbling through his brain.
Nine
The steam from her coffee curled up in delicate ribbons, dissolving into the cool morning air. Riley sat on the Boone’s wide front porch, the fancy modern chair creaking under her as she leaned forward, elbows resting on her knees.
Next door, though more like a half city block away, her childhood home stood in soft shadow, the early light just starting to spill over the roofline. From this distance, it looked the same—the faded clapboard siding, the slanted porch roof, the way the maple in the front yard arched over the driveway like a guardian. But up close, she knew every paint chip and warped board told a different story.
