Page 10 of Not a Word

“Once I’ve got Mom, I’ll track him down. Maybe she’ll be the one who wants to break it to him, once she knows the details, but I don’t know. She’s gonna be a mess.”

“So she has no idea—”

“Only that something’s happened to Dad. But I think she’s guessed it. She asked me if Dad was dead and I wouldn’t give her a straight answer.”

“You don’t know who the woman is?” She quickly added, “Was?”

I shook my head, even though Diana couldn’t see me. “At first . . . I thought it was Mom, until she phoned me.”

“My god, what a clusterfuck.”

That was the understatement of the year.

“I’m so sorry,” Diana said. “I’m just . . . I can’t believe it.”

“Yeah, ditto. I’m almost at the restaurant, gotta go. Love you.”

“Love you,” she said, ending the call.

I dropped the phone in one of the cupholders between the seats. I’d made good time getting across town. Benjamin’s, a waterside restaurant with beautiful views of the lake, was now only a couple of blocks away.

When I got there I stopped out front in a No Parking zone and hit the flashers. I’d expected Mom to be waiting, but I couldn’t see her out front. I jumped out of the car and ran inside, stopping just inside the door, scanning the room for her. Had she decided to hit the ladies’ room first?

There was a young woman standing at reception. “Hello. Do you have a reservation?” she asked.

“I’m picking up someone,” I said. “My mother. She’s here with some others from the arts council?”

“Oh, yes, they’re just finishing up.” She pointed. “They have that table over there? By the window?”

I looked, spotted four women, two still seated, two getting to their feet and collecting their purses. My mother was not among them.

“Did you see a woman standing here in the last five minutes, like she was waiting for someone? Catherine Chartwell?”

The woman recognized the name. “Oh, Mrs. Chartwell. I did see her when she came in, but I’ve been away from my post here for a few minutes.”

I made way through the tables until I’d reached the women. I recognized one or two of them, but did not know any names.

“Hi,” I said urgently. “I’m Reece Chartwell, Catherine’s son?”

They all smiled as one, their gleaming teeth reminding me of four Cheshire cats. “Oh, we’ve heard so much about you,” said the woman closest to me. “So nice to finally meet. So sorry about you getting, what do they call it? Downsized?”

Mom had clearly been filling them in on my job situation. Nice to know I’d been fodder for conversation.

“Have you seen her? I’m her ride.”

Another one of the women spoke up. “She left, must have been five, ten minutes ago?” She looked at her lunch partners, who nodded a confirmation.

“Thanks,” I said, turned and went back outside. No sign of her.

I got in the car, grabbed my phone from the cupholder, entered her number, put the phone to my ear. Her cell rang. And rang. And rang. Finally, voicemail.

“Hello. You’ve reached Catherine Chartwell. I can’t take your call right now but please do leave a message after the beep.”

I waited, then said, “I’m here. Where are you?”

Christ.

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