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“And when was that?”
“Like ten, maybe fifteen minutes before you showed up,” he said. “I just told you we had a meeting.”
Don’t believe him, don’t believe him, he’s a liar! Youknowhe’s a liar. And what if he did kill Merritt? Who says he didn’t? Just Jonas, and he was in prison for murdering the family. Right? You’ve defended him, but you’ve always had doubts. Who wouldn’t? The jury convicted him. Remember that!
“A meeting?” she repeated, her mind racing.
“Yes, for Christ’s sake. He’s my . . . was my attorney. And not a great one, if you want to know the truth. Why did it take him twenty years, half my damned life, to find this cop who finally admitted that the police had screwed up? Huh? Why couldn’t he have found the guy before the trial or anytime in between? Trust me, Margrove was no saint. He was paid and paid well.” That much was true. She knew it. Hadn’t that money come out of the estate? “Between Margrove and your aunt, they pretty much helped themselves to every last dime, right?”
“I don’t know.”
He snorted. “You’re supposed to inherit, right? The bulk of the estate, soon. If I were you, I wouldn’t count on it. It’s gone.”
“How would you know?”
“I make it my business to know. And now that I’m out, my conviction thrown out, I’m an heir, too. I checked.”
“How? You were . . .”
“Locked away? Behind bars? Cut off from the world?” He snorted. “There are ways, Kara, trust me.” Jonas was working himself up. “You should have been on top of the money.”
“I was eight!” The snow was falling so fast, she had to up the tempo of the wipers.
“Yeah . . . well, they took advantage of you. Of us.” Tapping his fingers on the edge of the window, he asked, “What happened to the house? You still live there?”
“No . . . oh, no.” She shook her head violently, saw the curve up ahead and slowed, the Jeep shimmying slightly. “I have my own place.”
“Lucky you.”
“Jonas—”
“Was it sold then? The house?”
“No . . . it couldn’t be.” She eased around the curve, felt the tires slide a bit. “Not according to the trust.”
“So?”
“Aunt Faiza lives there.”
“What! Faiza? Shit!” He let out a long breath. “You’re fucking kidding!”
“I thought you made it your business to know these things.”
“I guess Margrove had his reasons to keep that little fact from me.” He glowered into the night, his fingers still tapping rhythmically on the glass. “I wonder how much else he hid? How much he bled from the estate?” She caught his grimace in the mirror, his lips razor thin. “I want it.”
“What? You want the house?”
“I figure it’s owed to me. It and a whole lot more.”
“If you say so.”
The tempo of his nervous tapping quickened, and the interior of the vehicle seemed to shrink. “Look, just so you know, and you’re not disappointed. You shouldn’t expect any big payout when your time comes to inherit. I’m pretty sure that between Faiza, our loving aunt, and that fucker Margrove, there isn’t much left.”
Her stomach knotted at this unexpected turn in the conversation. “I don’t know what to expect.”
“As I said, I’m taking the house. I don’t care who I have to sue.”
“Auntie Fai, okay, but Margrove—”
