Page 164 of Dying to Meet You
“You, uh, could find out,” Hank says. “Marcus Wincott obviously never anticipated DNA testing. But I’m sure I’ll be swabbing my cheek any day now when this story breaks and people wonder if Portland is full of unknown Wincotts.”
“I’ll bear that in mind,” Harrison says stiffly.
Hank nods. “Meanwhile, I’ll be spending the foreseeable future in rooms full of lawyers, untangling all the messes the foundation is in,” he says. “But I want you both to know that we’ll take full responsibility for whatever happened in the past.”
A girl could almost feel sorry for him. Almost. “And what about Beatrice?”
He sighs again. “The police will build their case against her—for murder, attempted murder, and some kind of drug charge.”
“Because of Laura Peebles?” I ask.
He nods. “I don’t know much about that part. But Beatrice’s lawyer will argue that she’s incompetent to stand trial, by reason of insanity.”
“A lawyer that you’re paying for?” Harrison asks.
“Well, probably. I know I’m not supposed to feel sorry for her, but somebody has to. And it’s such a waste of potential. Beatrice is smart and talented.”
“And deeply disturbed,” Harrison adds.
“True.” Hank does that thing where he rubs his neck again. “I believe her mother was mentally ill. Maybe you’ve heard the rumors, but she took her own life in the mansion.”
“Wait, did she...” My throat goes suddenly dry. “Did she go over the railing?”
Hank spreads his hands. “I can’t confirm or deny. But when I was a kid, that was the story I heard.”
“Is that why the house stood empty for so many years after Marcus died?”
“Probably. But I was thirteen when he died. Not exactly brought in on all the big family decisions.”
“You are now, though,” I point out. “And some of those family decisions are going to be examined if Beatrice goes to trial.”
“And even if she doesn’t,” Hank says, sounding resigned. He stands up. “There’s a lot to be done. You know where to find me, Rowan. I’ll have some paperwork to you in the next few days. And please don’t worry about anything job related. I’ve asked the new girl to call every contractor and let them know that we’ve hit pause on the site.”
“The new girl,” I echo, rising to walk him to the door. “What’s hername?”
He winces. “Yeah, I’ve got to stop calling her that. Her name is Lisette. She’s still not as efficient as Beatrice used to be. But on the positive side, I don’t think she’s a murderer.”
“Hang on to her, then,” I say.
When we get to the door, Hank pauses. “Let me just say one more time that I’m sorry I embarrassed you after the dinner, too. That was very bad behavior.”
“I’ve forgotten it already.” It’s true—if only because I’ve been very busy trying not to die.
We shake hands very awkwardly, because my right hand is out of commission. And then he leaves.
Returning to the sofa, I sit down beside Harrison. He’s got his feet propped up on the coffee table and a distant look in his eye.
I take his hand in mine, which is a thing that I seem to do now. He’s basically worn me down with homemade soup and soft glances. Propping my feet up on the coffee table beside his, I ask what’s on his mind.
He strokes his thumb across my palm and doesn’t answer for a moment. “Nothing much,” he says. And it sounds a little evasive.
“Look, I know I’m the neurotic one, and you’re Mr. Cool and Collected. But a billionaire just sat here and wondered if maybe he’s your cousin. You barely blinked. And you never even said whether you thought the B. Jones on that list was your mom. Aren’t you curious? There could be a settlement for you.”
He goes quiet beside me.
“Harrison? What aren’t you saying?”
He tilts his head back and stares up at my antique tin ceiling. “Maybe I’m not curious, because I already had a hunch.”
