Page 68 of A Vintage of Regret
“My mother knew about the missing money.” Grant leaned back and stared at the ceiling. “She called me that morning. Told me to pay it back. Said I had plenty of money to cover it. Which is true. It’s not like I’m poor. But that’s not the point. I didn’t do it. And I told her that. Told her I was headed over to see Dad to have the same conversation.”
Bryson held up his hand. “I’m sorry. I understand how your dad might have figured it out. He only left the board a short time ago and still volunteered on the Tourism and Wine committee. But your mom?”
“My father told her,” Grant said. “Surprising but not totally shocking. Anyway, she asked if I would stop by to tighten a leaky faucet. Parker just doesn't have the strength to do anything around the house yet. It was on my way, so I did.” Grant swiped at his face. “I didn’t think anything of it when she shoved two mugs of coffee at me.”
“You really think she put something in the coffee?” Bryson asked. “Jesus, what if you drank the wrong one?”
Grant snorted. “My dad drinks so much cream and sugar, it’s gross. I like mine black, so she labeled them. My mom does stuff like that all the time.”
“There was no coffee mug when I got there.” Bryson leaned forward.
“Sandy didn’t say anything about that.” Grant sighed. “It’s possible the police have it.”
Bryson rubbed his temple. “Our security cameras don’t overwrite for a full week. I’m sure Sandy will be requesting all of them now. But there are ways to skirt some of the cameras if someone knows where they are.”
“You think someone came back on property and to get the mug?”
“It’s possible someone picked it up and tossed it. But that mug had to go somewhere,” Bryson said.
“It was one of those fancy paper ones my mother orders online. She gets them in bulk. That way, if someone wants a cup to go, she doesn’t have to worry about her precious tumblers being taken.”
“Sounds like Elizabeth.” Bryson leaned against the desk. “Do you know if Sandy plans on bringing your mom in for questioning?”
Grant’s jaw tightened. “Sandy said nothing makes sense about my mother killing my dad. No motive. But I still look guilty as hell for the embezzlement and murder. Checks with my name on them. Approvals I didn’t sign. The letter my dad sent to Riley. And now? I’m the guy who handed him the poison.” He rubbed both hands over his face, then let them fall into his lap, staring at the floor. “I keep replaying it. I should’ve poured it out. I should’ve made it myself. I should’ve done a hundred damn things differently. But I didn’t. I just… trusted her.” His voice cracked. “She’s my mother.”
Bryson stayed quiet for a beat, letting the weight of it hang between them. He understood the kind of loyalty that could blind a man, the way family could wrap a chain around his neck and still expect him to thank them for it. He’d beenwatching it unfold with Riley and her family for years, only he hadn’t understood how deep the roots ran. Finally, he said, “We don’t know anything for certain yet, except you didn’t pour that poison. You didn’t put it in his cup. You didn’t kill your father.”
Grant’s laugh was brittle. “But in a way I did, because I handed it to him. How am I going to tell Erin? Her kids? My kids? Riley? Deep down, I feel utterly responsible because it all started with me trying to handle this by myself.”
Bryson leaned forward, elbows on his knees. “Then we find out the truth. About the money. About that coffee. We turn over every damn rock until we see what’s underneath. And if your mom had a hand in either crime, you’re not going down with her.”
Grant’s eyes went wide. “How could my mother have anything to do with money missing from the revitalization fund. She’s not even on the board or a committee. And why would she?”
“This is going to sound crazy,” Bryson said. “But cancer treatments aren’t cheap, and your mom lost a good sum of money in Robert Wilkerson’s Ponzi scheme. First, we hire someone to look into that.” Bryson lowered his chin, hating himself by the minute. This was Grant’s mother. But at the same time, it was also Grant’s freedom. “And let’s not forget, Monica is on the committee for the main street project.”
“What does your ex-wife have to do with… oh, she had my mother’s help on that project.”
“Exactly,” Bryson said. “Not to mention, Monica never liked your wife. She thought Kelly was an imposter. A poser.”
“Kelly snubs Monica every chance she gets. Can’t stand that woman,” Grant said. “No one can. I’ll never understand why you married her.”
Bryson let out a long breath. “Trust me, man, it was the worst few years of my life, and I couldn’t explain it if I tried.”
“So, what are we doing?” Grant asked. “Hiring a PI to look into my mom?”
“I think that’s the best course of action,” Bryson said. “I’ll talk to my dad in the morning.”
The fire snapped softly in the grate. Grant leaned back, drained his glass in one swallow, and closed his eyes. For the first time, Bryson saw just how tired the man was—not just from the questioning, but from years of playing roles, keeping secrets, and living under the weight of someone else’s expectations.
Grant peeked open one eye. “So, you and my sister, again, huh?”
Bryson smiled. It was hard not to. “I’m working on it.”
“Don’t fuck it up this time.” Grant stood, slapping Bryson on the back. “And if you tell anyone that I wouldn’t mind you as a brother-in-law, well, I won’t deny it this time.” Grant slipped out of the room and disappeared down the hallway.
Bryson corked the bottle, took the glasses, and headed toward the kitchen, where he found Riley sitting at the island with a bowl full of ice cream sprinkled with homemade cookies. “What are you doing out of bed?”
“I thought about eavesdropping on your and Grant's conversation and then decided that would be rude.” She licked the spoon, scooped up some more, and offered him a bite. “Are you going to tell me about it?”
