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“No, sweetheart. I’m just tired. Your Uncle Tully is—has the flu. You all have to be quiet. Help the boys with their homework, okay? I’ll call you when it’s time for supper.”
Stormy went through the door that connected the small den—her mother’s formal sewing room—to the room that had served her father as a study. It had been his quiet space, the place he laughingly said he could go to escape thecaterwaulingof his womenfolk.
And now that she thought about it, much of that caterwauling had to do with Nina pleading with their mother to be allowed something that Stormy was already being allowed—lipstick or use of the family car or a later curfew.
Their mother’s stock reply had always been, “When you’re older and more responsible.”
Stormy wondered if that stock reply had fostered the dislike Nina held for her now.
Sunlight poured into the study, catching dust mites in flight. The walls were a soft gray, the leather furniture worn to the suppleness of silk. It was a tranquil room, exactly right for a man who spent hours reading, collecting stamps, and carrying on correspondence with philatelists around the globe.
When she left, Stormy thought, this was the room she’d miss most. She moved to the armoire that served as camouflage for the safe her father had used for the rarest of his stamps.
The opened doors of the armoire blocked out the sun, leaving its interior in shadow. For a moment, Stormy thought the emptiness of the safe was only a trick of the light. She pushed open the doors as far as they would go and bent to peer inside.
Empty!
But that was impossible.
She ran her hand over the interior. All she felt was cool steel.
She opened the cigar box. Only some loose change tumbled into a corner.
For a few seconds, nature supplied the anesthetic of disbelief. Then her mind registered the truth, and adrenaline poured into her system.
The money was gone. Money didn’t just vanish into thin air. And no one had broken into the house and robbed them.
Nina. There was no doubt in her mind.
Yet there was no logic to this turn of events at all. Nina wanted her out of the house as badly as Stormy wanted out.
Stormy’s legs carried her halfway down the stairs, but there she collapsed and buried her face in her hands.
“Stormy!” Sandy whispered urgently, creeping quietly up the staircase. “Mrs. Lowery’s here. She’s making a home visit. Stupid me, I answered the door. I put her in the living room. I didn’t know what else to do.”
Stormy got to her feet.
“Wait!” Sandy admonished, still whispering. “That’s not all. Tyler Mangus is with her. He said he’s been trying to reach you all afternoon, but your phone is out of order. I looked. It was off the hook.”
Tyler and her parole officer together in the same room? Her fate was sealed!
She felt sick.
“Nina took the phone off the hook, I’m sure, so Tully wouldn’t be disturbed.” But in light of the empty safe, it seemed more ominous than that.
“Well, your brother-in-law is disturbed now. He poked his head out and wanted to know what all the commotion was about. What do you want me to do?”
“Do you mind making coffee? No—brew some tea. If my destiny is about to be unraveled, let’s do it in a civilized manner.”
Sandy backed down the stairs. “What are you talking about?”
“And tell Tully to get up and get cleaned up and dressed and join us in the living room.”
Sandy turned and moved down a step. Stormy grabbed her shoulder. “Call Noreen, too. Tell her if my parole is revoked, I want her to take care of Liane for me.”
“What!” Sandy squeaked, fear leaping into her eyes.
“Just do it!” Stormy pleaded. Then she approached the living room, terror gnawing at her soul.
