PART 6 — “PUT HIM ON SPEAKER”

Bruce’s name flashed across Alicia’s screen.

Nobody spoke.

The phone stopped ringing.

Then immediately started again.

Mark looked at his wife.

“Answer it.”

“No.”

“Why not?”

“Because this has become ridiculous.”

Thomas leaned back.

“Then answering should clear things up.”

Alicia glared at him.

I said nothing.

That seemed to bother her most.

Finally she answered.

“Bruce?”

Thomas raised one finger.

“Speaker.”

Alicia ignored him.

But Mark reached across the table and tapped the speaker button himself.

“Mark!”

Too late.

Bruce’s voice filled my kitchen.

“Alicia, where are you? I’ve been calling.”

“We’re busy.”

“Well, I need to know what happened.”

“With what?”

There was a pause.

Then Bruce lowered his voice.

“The Dorothy situation.”

Nobody moved.

Alicia closed her eyes.

“What situation?” Mark asked.

Silence.

“Bruce,” Mark repeated, “what situation?”

“Is Dorothy there?”

I looked at Thomas.

He nodded.

I leaned toward the phone.

“Good morning, Bruce.”

Nothing.

Then:

“Dorothy.”

He sounded like a man who had just opened the wrong door.

I kept my voice pleasant.

“I understand you’ve been taking photographs of my bedroom.”

“That’s not—”

“And apparently planning to list my house December twenty-seventh.”

Another silence.

“I think there’s been a misunderstanding.”

Thomas almost smiled.

Everybody seemed to love that word when they got caught.

I asked, “Did I hire you to sell my house?”

“No.”

“Did I ask you to value it?”

“No.”

“Did I give you permission to enter when I wasn’t home?”

Bruce hesitated.

“Alicia said the family had authorization.”

Mark slammed his hand against the table.

“What authorization?”

“Mark, don’t drag me into your family issues.”

“My name is on your paperwork!”

Bruce went quiet.

Thomas reached for his legal pad.

“Bruce, this is Thomas Reed.”

A long pause.

“The attorney?”

“Yes.”

The call suddenly sounded different.

Bruce became careful.

“Mr. Reed, perhaps I should speak with my broker before continuing.”

“That would be wise.”

Then Bruce said something none of us expected.

“But for the record, I didn’t prepare the signature document.”

Thomas’s pen stopped.

“What signature document?”

“The one Alicia emailed me.”

Mark turned slowly toward his wife.

Alicia went pale again.

Thomas asked, “When did she email it?”

“October ninth.”

October ninth.

One day after the document claimed I’d signed it.

While I was still in Charleston.

Thomas wrote the date down.

“And what did Alicia tell you it was?”

“That Dorothy had agreed Mark would handle the sale.”

“I never said that!” Alicia snapped.

Bruce immediately answered.

“Yes, you did.”

Her face hardened.

“You’re lying.”

“I still have the email.”

That changed everything.

Thomas looked at me.

Not triumphantly.

Seriously.

Because now there was a trail.

A written one.

“Bruce,” Thomas said, “do not delete that email or any messages, photographs, documents, or communications concerning Dorothy’s property.”

Bruce didn’t argue.

“I won’t.”

Then he added:

“And you should probably ask Alicia about the December meeting.”

Alicia lunged for the phone.

Thomas got there first.

“What December meeting?”

Bruce hesitated.

“Silver Meadows.”

My stomach tightened.

“What about it?” I asked.

“They weren’t waiting until after Christmas.”

I stared at the phone.

Bruce continued.

“Alicia told me Dorothy was supposed to move in on December eighteenth.”

December eighteenth.

A week before Christmas.

The room went silent.

Then Mark whispered:

“You told me December twenty-sixth.”

Alicia looked at him.

He looked devastated.

“Why did you tell me Mom would spend Christmas with us?”

She said nothing.

And suddenly I understood why the house had a target listing date of December twenty-seventh.

They didn’t intend to discuss my future at Christmas.

They intended to have me gone before it.

I looked down at my grocery notepad beside the sugar bowl.

Nineteen minutes of truth sat beneath my hand.

But I still didn’t open it.

Not yet.

Because Bruce had just given me something better.

A question I hadn’t known to ask.

I looked at Alicia.

“What was supposed to happen on December eighteenth?”

Her mouth tightened.

Thomas closed his pen.

Mark stared at his wife.

And Bruce remained completely silent on the phone.

Then Alicia whispered:

“You weren’t supposed to find out like this.”

I felt my heart thump once.

“Find out what?”

She looked at me.

And for the first time since entering my house that morning, Alicia didn’t look angry.

She looked afraid.

“Silver Meadows wasn’t supposed to be permanent.”