Page 126 of Blue Jean Summer

“Well?” Lewis snapped.

I glanced between them. “Is there something I’m missing?”

Mr. Allen wrung his hands. “Perhaps we should go somewhere a little more private.”

Catherine caught my eye from across the tent and shot me a quizzical look as she continued to answer the reporter’s questions.

“No, we can do it right here,” Lewis said with the gumption of a petulant child. “You’re a fucking liar.”

“Lewis,” I warned at the same time Mr. Allen dabbed his forehead and said, “Mr. Halstead…”

“Fine,” Lewis harrumphed as he raised his hands. “We can go somewhere more private. But it’s not like it’ll stay private for long.”

Mr. Allen offered an apologetic shrug.

“My office,” I said.

I wasn’t taking a passive approach to this meeting the way I had when the will was read. When the three of us reached the estate house, I went right in and sat behind my desk, in my chair, and let the two of them duke it out over the extra seats.

“Well?” I pressed. “Let’s get on with it. Tonight is a big night for my wife, and I’d like to be present for it.”

Like I had conjured her, Catherine appeared in the doorway, cheeks flushed like she had run all the way down to the house in her high heels. “Gentlemen,” she said as she smoothed down her pale blue dress.

I shot her a look that said, “What the hell are you doing here?”

She ignored it.

“Ms…. Catherine,” Mr. Allen said warily. “I suppose this conversation will be easier with all of us present.”

“Get on with it,” Lewis snapped.

Mr. Allen tugged at his tie like it was strangling him. “Mr. Wilder, is it true that you and Ms. Foster were not engaged to be married at the time the last will and testament of Walter Wilder was read?”

I raised an eyebrow. “It sounds like I should have my attorneys present.”

Mr. Allen looked at Lewis. “I can’t force him to answer.”

“Fine!” Lewis shouted. “I’ll ask the questions.” He pointed a finger at Catherine. “You paid her to marry you so you could steal the estate from me!”

“That’s not a question,” Catherine said as she inspected her nails.

“I didn’t steal the estate from you,” I said, matching Catherine’s level of calm. “Granddad named me the beneficiary of it in the will.”

“The old man was out of his mind!” Lewis yelled.

“Perhaps he was, considering he left you to run his nonprofit,” I countered. “But the will says what the will says. And the will says that he was of sound mind.”

Lewis turned an unnatural shade of purple. “You paid her off!” Lewis shouted. “Five grand a month as long as she stayed married to you just so you could have the estate!”

Catherine’s eyes met mine in a silent question. How does Lewis know that?

“I don’t know what’s got you so worked up,” I said, trying to brush it off. “I’m married. Same as you. Or has your Vegas wife called it quits?” I picked up one of Granddad’s heavy pens. “Mr. Allen even signed our marriage license as the witness. Used his own pen and everything.”

“Lewis,” Catherine said, mustering up all the compassion she could. Her kindness was never fake. For the moment, though, it was performative. “Have you thought about talking to someone? A therapist, maybe? Loss is hard. I think you’re grieving.”

I bit my tongue to keep from smiling or laughing in amusement. Catherine may have been a terrible actress, but she was just as cunning as the Wilder women who had come before her.

“I didn’t give two shits about the old man!” Lewis hissed, spewing spittle through gritted teeth. “He certainly didn’t give two shits about me.”