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“There’s some of my blood in your veins, boy, even if you wish there wasn’t. My brother was your grandfather.”
Gray pinched the bridge of his nose between two fingers. “Jonas. Listen, if you need advice, I can recommend someone. One of my partners clerked for a Federal judge—”
“So did you.”
That the old man would know so much about him took him by surprise. Still, he didn’t want to get drawn into this, whatever “this” might be. Over the years, he’d kept his distance from his father, from his uncle, from Texas. He went back for weddings and big family parties but only because he liked his cousins. Other than that, he’d never felt part of the Baron clan, never wanted to be part of it.
“Graham?”
“Yes. I’m still here.”
“I’m tellin’ you again, boy. I need your help.”
“And I’m telling you, Uncle. I can’t give it.”
The old man’s patience slipped. “Damnation,” he’d roared, “you fly down here and I swear, it’ll take less time to tell you my problem than it’s takin’ you to tell me you ain’t interested in hearin’ it!”
Gray had known that was probably the truth. Besides, he couldn’t quite repress that unwanted curiosity. After another few minutes he’d said okay, he’d take the first flight out of La Guardia in the morning.
“Good,” his uncle had said briskly. “You’re on TransAmerica flight 1157, leavin’ at 6:05 in the a.m.”
The phone had gone dead and Gray knew he’d been had. He’d cursed, then laughed, finally climbed back into bed and when the woman in it rolled into his arms he’d made love to her. But part of him had remained at a distance while he’d tried to come up with a reason his uncle would go to such lengths to arrange for this command performance. At four-thirty, he’d risen from the bed, showered, dressed, left a note for his still-sleeping lover asking her to please let herself out and that he’d phone her in a day or two. Then he’d taken a taxi to the airport.
Yes indeed, he thought, as the Jeep pulled through the wrought iron gates that marked the entrance to Espada, curiosity killed the cat—but he was, just as Jonas said, a hotshot New York attorney, too smart to be drawn into anything against his will. He’d hear his uncle’s story, offer some legal mumbo jumbo to soothe whatever twinge of conscience could plague a man at the end of such a long, powerful life and be back in New York by suppertime.
For all he knew, this little break in routine might just clear his head, make him feel better about the way he earned his living, twisting Justice’s arm just enough to keep his next rich client from serving a stretch in prison.
The Jeep came to a stop in a cloud of dust. Gray nodded to Abel, grabbed his briefcase and headed for the house. When he was a kid, it had reminded him of Tara. It still did, he thought, and he was smiling when his uncle’s wife opened the door. Gray was taken aback. He hadn’t given it any thought but now that he did, he was surprised to see Marta, considering how secretive Jonas had made all this sound.
“Graham,” his stepaunt said, “how good of you to come.” Smiling, she held out her arms and hugged him. She smelled of expensive perfume and looked as if she were planning to lunch on Madison Avenue and he thought, as always, how surprising it was that such a woman would be happy in this setting. He liked her; he always had. Of all the wives the old man had gone through, Marta was the best.
“Marta.” He kissed her cheek, put his hands on her shoulders and held her at arm’s length. “You’re as gorgeous as ever.”
“Flattery will get you everywhere,” she said, laughing. She linked her arm through his, shut the door on the hot breath of late spring and drew him into the elegant foyer. “I’m so pleased you decided to accept Jonas’s invitation.”
The old man’s summons had been about as much an invitation as the Spanish Inquisition would have extended to heretics, but Gray kept the thought to himself.
“My pleasure,” he said politely. “How have you been?”
“Oh, I’m fine. Everyone’s fine.” Her eyes clouded. “Except Jonas, of course.”
Gray looked at her. “He’s not well?”
“No. Not at all. Didn’t he tell you?” She sighed and shook her head. “Of course he didn’t. He seems to think he can pretend the years aren’t finally catching up with him. And that his doctors haven’t diagnosed—”
“Diagnosed what?”
Marta dropped his arm and folded her hands together at her waist. “Leukemia,” she said softly. “That’s the reason for all of this.”
Hell. It was like sitting in at the Mad Hatter’s tea party. Gray knew the characters but he didn’t understand the dialogue. “All of what?” he said carefully.
“You know. The talk about what will happen after—after he’s gone. Whether he’s divided his assets properly. Whether he’s left each child what that child truly wants.” She looked up at him, smiling brightly. “I’m sure your chat is going to ease his mind. I mean, yes, certainly, Jonas has an excellent attorney. And he’s given a great deal of thought to his will, but he seems to feel that discussing some of the specifics with you, as a member of the family, will help him be sure he’s taken care of everything.”
Gray’s eyebrows rose. Was that what this was all about? Was he here to read the old man’s will over his shoulder and offer advice on who should get what? He couldn’t imagine any of Jonas’s offspring quarreling over the disposition of the estate.
“Well,” he said cautiously, “I’ll do what I can.”
“I know you will.” Marta cleared her throat. “Now,” she said briskly, “what can I get you?”
