Three Suitcases Left in the Rain and Nineteen Million Dollars in Cancun
I stood in the empty hallway for a long minute, looking at the bright new brass of the deadbolt.
At noon, the dining room felt three times larger than usual. The silver coffee pot sat tarnished on the sideboard, catching the grey autumn light from the tall windows.
Nathan sat opposite me, his head bowed over a plate of cold sliced turkey that remained untouched. He kept both hands shoved deep into his trouser pockets, his shoulders hunched forward.
Sable sat at the head of the table, her fork scraping against her plate with a small, rhythmic screech that made my teeth ache.
Nobody spoke for several minutes, the silence stretching until it became a physical weight in the room. The only sound was the occasional click of Sable’s red fingernails against the polished mahogany table.
“The appraiser needs the entire second floor cleared by Monday,” Sable said, setting her fork down with a sharp clink that echoed off the high ceiling.
I looked at Nathan, but he did not raise his eyes from his plate, his gaze fixed on a small spot of grease on the table.
