Three Suitcases Left in the Rain and Nineteen Million Dollars in Cancun
I picked up my leather notebook from the desk and slipped it into my handbag. The trap was set, and the green bank draft was the final piece that set the legal wheels in motion.
“Be careful when you go back to Martha’s house,” Frank said, standing up to walk me to the door. “Sable is desperate.”
“Desperation makes people careless,” I said.
The sound of a car door slamming brought me to the front window of Martha’s house. Down at the curb, Nathan was standing beside his silver sedan, his hands jammed deep into his trousers pockets.
I walked out onto the lawn, the damp autumn grass soaking through the soles of my shoes. Nathan did not cross the property line; he remained on the concrete curb, looking up at me with his head tilted.
“Mom,” he said, his voice trailing off as he looked toward the old River Oaks gates down the street. “We need to talk about this audit. The bank called me this morning.”
“They should have called you weeks ago, Nathan,” I said, stopping a few feet from the curb.
