“What do you think?” Dad asked.
“About Mom?” Brinley kicked off her shoes.
“About Zoe.”
Oh. The elopement. Dad wanted her to take sides. “Well, it’s Zoe’s way of doing things. Spontaneous, vagarious, skittish.”
“You agree with her.”
“No, Dad. I don’t. I only respect her freedom to choose.”
“Freedom to choose poorly.” Dad was beside himself. “With my money.”
“You gave her a trust fund.”
Dad winced at Brinley. She saw it then, his continued efforts to keep the family stable in spite of his own medical conditions. The stability had rested on his shoulders, like it or not, but tonight it had begun to fray. Not enough to disintegrate the family, but Dad had always wanted to keep the Brooks ship sailing on an even keel, and to have everyone in their proper little rowing spot, working in unison to move forward.
Zoe had upset that equilibrium.
“Why can’t she be like you, Brin? You’re easy to live with, demanding little. I don’t worry about you.” He paused. “Except for that violinist. What’s his name?”
“Ivan.”
“Yes, Quincy’s brother. What was he doing on our terrace?”
“You don’t miss a thing, do you, Dad? Ivan walked me home. That’s all.”
“That’d better be all. Those McMillans are dirt poor. Who knows what they want.”
Brinley gathered her thoughts. Both Yun and Ivan McMillan didn’t seem like gold diggers. Quincy might be an oddball, but he seemed harmless. What was Dad worried about?
Before she could retort, Dad continued. “I’m calling June.”
Ah, bring in the family attorney.
“She should be able to help us figure this out.”
“I’m not involved, Dad. Please.”
“You’re in it, whether you like it or not. If she loses her trust fund, you and Dill are going to have to support her when your mom and I are gone.”
“Dad.”
“It’s hard to talk about, but we’ll all die one day, Brin.”
Brin blinked.
“And Zoe is going to be the death of me.”
“No, Dad. Please don’t talk like that.”
“It’s the truth.”
Then Brinley realized Dad wasn’t really talking about his children. It was his fortune he was referring to. Somehow he must not have approved of Quincy, and perhaps his entire family. Dad must not have met Yun or Ivan.
Or Dad had already called Helen Hu, the private investigator who was ensconced in Vienna tracking down her violin, to look into the McMillans’ background. He had done that when Brinley was dating her ex-boyfriends, and most recently, Phinn.
“What’s the matter with her?” Dad droned on.
“Mom?” Brinley asked.
“Your sister. She can’t keep a relationship. Why is whatishisname any different? Why did they have to get married?”
“For love?”
“Love?” Dad burst out laughing. “You’re not that naive, Brinley.”
“My generation is returning to that which used to work, Dad. Like Grandpa’s generation. Love, marriage, children.”
“Seriously?”
Brinley wasn’t a hundred percent sure she was right, but she wished it. Believed it. “A third grandchild, Dad. Won’t you be happy?”
“I will be as soon as I see a prenup.” Dad’s shoulders slumped.
“Kind of late for that, don’t you think?”
“We can work it in.”
“The prenup?” After the fact? “If Quincy will sign it.”
“Is that his name?” Dad rubbed the back of his neck. “I’ve worked hard to maintain the family fortune. I don’t want to see it disappear into a black hole because I haven’t been paying attention to what my youngest daughter is doing.”
“She’s twenty-five as of this morning, Dad.”
“Acting like fifteen.”
Brinley didn’t want to go there. She walked around the ottoman and rubbed Dad’s shoulders.
“You’ve always been good to me, Brin.” Dad reached for her hand. His was warm and big and getting stronger every day.
“I love you, Dad.”
“I know.”
“We all love you, even Zoe.”
“Sure. For portfolios, we can all love.”
“It’s not like that at all, and you know it, Dad. Family is family. That’s what Grandpa Brooks had taught us. Even if we were poor, I’d still love you, Dad.”
“And you’d be the only one.” Dad chuckled. “Mark my word, Brin. You’d be the only one.”
Brinley didn’t believe him. She released Dad’s shoulders. As she was walking back to the sofa, she passed by the side table with the two books on top that had replaced Dad’s liquor. Right on top was an old Bible that looked awfully familiar. Brinley opened it. Sure enough, it was Grandpa Brooks’s Bible that his great-grandmother had given him in 1930. The Bible had been printed in 1823.
It should be in a museum.
“Are you reading this Bible?” Brinley asked Dad.
“Every day.”
“When did you start reading the Bible?”
“Since Argo Perry invited me to his church.”
“He always invites people to his church. What changed?”
“I changed, Brin. I met Jesus.”
Brinley was stunned. “When did this happen?”
“Maybe five or six weeks ago.”
“What church are you attending? Better be sure it’s not a cult, Dad.”
“Seaside Chapel is not a cult.”
“Is it the same church the McMillans attend?”
Dad paused for the longest time. “I see your point, Brinley Brin.”
“You needn’t worry about any ulterior motives on their part, right?” Brinley plopped back onto the sofa.
“You’d be surprised at what people who call themselves Christians do.” Dad raised a hand. “I’m not saying the McMillans can’t be trusted but it’s human nature we’re dealing with.”
“Yeah. That ubiquitous problem. Just don’t get conned or scammed.”
“I won’t. Don’t worry.”
“Don’t you think it’s odd that Argo and the McMillans go to the same church?” Brinley asked.
“What do you mean?”
“You trust Argo Perry, but you don’t trust the McMillans.”
“I’ve known Argo for some thirty-odd years. I don’t know the McMillans until Zoe came home one day with this green-haired fellow.”
“Quincy had green hair?”
“He cleaned up.” Dad sighed. “What are you doing in the morning?”
“Sleeping in.”
“Could you do me a favor?”
Uh-oh.
“I need you to check on the reno on Second Street. If you get there at six, you can see if they put down the bathroom tiles properly.”
“Did you say six?” Brinley glanced at her watch. “Don’t you have Toby to do that sort of checking for you?”
“I want you there before Toby gets there.”
“You don’t trust him anymore?”
“I do, with my life even. In fact, he was the one who saw that I was having a stroke. He called 911. He saved my life.”
“But you want me to micromanage your GC.” Brinley knew her Dad too well. She’d been tagging along his pet projects since she was a teenager and Dad was trying to build up Brooks Renovations, Inc. Basically he flipped old houses, renovating them in period style in the process. Since his stroke, he had to hire a general contractor, Toby being his third and, hopefully, the one to keep.
“Well… He wouldn’t mind you on the job site.” Dad pressed his temple again. “Bring a box of Dunkin’ Donuts and all will be well.”
“I think he’s a Krispy Kreme sort of guy.”
“And how would you know that?”
“He told me.”
“When?”
“I can’t remember. Why?”
&nb
sp; “Just wondering.”
“Dad, I’ve known Toby since we were in high school.”
“He has a girlfriend.”
Brinley rolled her eyes. “We’re talking doughnuts here. Nothing personal.”
“Let’s keep it that way. I don’t want anyone breaking your heart again.”
“I’m a happy single at the moment.” Brinley retrieved her iPhone from her purse. “Oh, lookee there. Nothing scheduled at the crack of dawn except life-saving sleep.”
“You can take a nap later. Will you do this for me?”
Brinley considered it. “You know I love this stuff.”
In a corner of her luggage she’d brought with her for the holidays was her tool belt. She brought it every time she came to Sea Island. In case Dad lets me go to the job sites.
Dad flinched.
“What’s wrong, Dad?”
“This headache. Comes and goes.”
Brinley glanced at her watch. “What were we thinking, Dad? It’s almost midnight. Let’s get you to bed.”
“I guess I could go to the job site to see how Toby is doing.” Dad struggled to get out of that big old chair.
“Don’t worry about it. I’ll go.”
“You sure?”
“Positive.” Brinley tried to help Dad to his cane. At first he didn’t want Brinley’s help. Maybe he thought that since his stroke had been somewhat mild that he’d bounce back. The recovery had taken a bit longer and Dad’s patience was running out. He wasn’t a hundred percent and everyone knew it.
Brinley waited until Dad didn’t resist her holding his arm. His other hand was on the cane. They’d barely reached the hallway when the doorbell rang.
Brinley glanced at her watch. Midnight. Who could it be?
“Will you get that?” Dad asked.
“Me? Shouldn’t we call security?”
“It’s probably them.” Dad inched his way toward the elevator. “Take care of it, Brinley Brin.”
Chapter Ten
In the foyer, Brinley’s head spun. There were Christmas trees everywhere, tall and fake, and twinkling pine trees rising some five, ten, twenty feet into the air, and backing up against the walls, million-dollar paintings, and the grand staircase. It looked like a forest in there. And smelled like it too, as much pine scent as Brinley’s nose could bear.
Brinley hadn’t seen it earlier this evening when she had arrived from the airport because the chauffeur had dropped her off in the basement garage and she’d taken the elevator directly to her room on the second floor of the family cottage. Then it was a quick jaunt from the upstairs balcony, around the pool, through the gate and backyard to the guest cottage.
Between two Christmas trees in giant urns trimmed with birds, nests, and Swarovski eggs, the front door with its Italian stained glass looked strangely nondescript even though the custom-made glass had cost her parents a pretty penny.
It was signature Rose Brooks. In previous years, it wasn’t uncommon for Mom to drop fifty thousand or more in decorations, mostly going to high-priced interior decorators for their gaudy labor. A small price to pay for the praise of Mom’s guests.
If it were up to Brinley, she’d give that money to the local homeless shelter or some poor senior citizen living in a dilapidated old home with rotting porch floorboards.
But that wasn’t Mom.
Brinley tapped a few times on the security panel near the front door. It came to life, but she didn’t like what she saw on screen. The front door camera framed an officer and one of the security staff members. Sure, police always made her feel safe, but at this time of night, it could only mean trouble.
She pressed a button.
“What’s up, Chaz?” Brinley braced for the worst.
“I’m here with some officers from the GCPD and Aunt Ella.”
What does the Glynn County Police Department—
“Did you say Aunt Ella?”
Brinley couldn’t unlock the front door fast enough, but it was bolted down five ways to Fort Knox and then some. It seemed silly since the back terrace door had been unlocked. The reason for the heavy security was Grandpa Brooks’s art and music collection in the basement. The vault, as they all called it.
When she finally yanked open the front door, Brinley gasped. Standing behind two stout officers and wrapped in a blanket was someone she had never expected to see in that condition. Her hair was matted, her mascara smudged on her cheekbones, lipstick on her chin. She was wearing only one slipper.
“Aunt Ella! What happened to you?”
Aunt Ella pushed past Brinley. That was when Brinley saw a sprig of something sticking out of Aunt Ella’s disheveled hair. She quickly removed it. Aunt Ella didn’t seem to notice.
“Would you like to come in, Chaz, officers? It’s chilly out.” Brinley stepped aside.
“Thank you, ma’am.” They entered the foyer into Mom’s winter wonderland.
Brinley thought they were trying not to laugh out loud, but it might just be her imagination.
“They found Aunt Ella loitering on Sea Island Drive.” Everybody called her Aunt Ella, even Brooks employees.
“Loitering?” Brinley’s knees went weak. “As in wandering around?”
“Yes, ma’am. Someone called in. Said she was trying to use their yard as her bathroom.”
Brinley’s cheeks flushed. Her head snapped toward Aunt Ella quailing by the Christmas trees, hanging on to flimsy ornaments. Those were probably made of real gold filigrees.
She rushed to her. “What were you doing out there, Aunt Ella?”
Sheepishly she began to speak. “I was looking for my old bed.”
“Your old bed?”
“I don’t want to sleep in the guest cottage. Willard gave me a bedroom to put my old bed. Where is the big house and where is my old bed?”
What?
“This is the big house,” Brinley reminded her.
“But my old bed is gone.”
“What are you talking about, Aunt Ella?”
“Go upstairs and see.”
Brinley held Aunt Ella’s arm. “We’ll find your bedroom, okay? I’m glad you’re safe.”
She turned to the officers. “Thank you.”
“The neighbors are mad their flower beds have been trampled on and, uh, you know.”
Brinley wanted to run and hide her head in those big urns. She was speechless.
“They’re pansies,” Aunt Ella whimpered.
“The flowers or the neighbors?” Brinley asked. “Never mind.”
One of the officers spoke. “Trespassing is trespassing, ma’am. So is vandalism.”
“I’ll call her doctor in the morning to see what’s going on.”
“Malik has already texted her doctor, Miss Brinley,” Chaz said.
“Thank you.”
Brinley offered all three men coffee, but they declined. After the men left, Brinley went around the house, locking the doors and windows. When she returned to the foyer to set the house alarm, Aunt Ella was still standing in the same spot.
“I want to sleep in my old bed.” Spindly fingers pointed upward. Upstairs.
Brinley hadn’t paid any attention in years past because it hadn’t been a problem. The renovation that her parents had done to the house this year had apparently not considered Aunt Ella’s needs. Frankly, Brinley hadn’t opened any other door upstairs besides her own bedroom door since she arrived. She wondered what happened to Aunt Ella’s bedroom.
Aunt Ella mentioned earlier that she had come from the guest cottage. This must be the first year they’d moved her there. Aunt Ella didn’t like changes.
Well, neither did Brinley.
“Let’s go find your bedroom, Aunt Ella.”
They took the grand staircase with Aunt Ella clutching her one slipper. The rest of her was cocooned in the blanket.
“Whose blanket is that?”
No answer.
Brinley noticed that Aunt Ella’s heels and soles were filthy. All that tracked on the marb
le stair treads.
They reached the top floor, but they couldn’t find Aunt Ella’s room. Brinley hadn’t been up here in ages as her bedroom was on the second floor overlooking the violin pool. Walking down the hallway, Brinley realized that in her parents’ renovation euphoria, they had knocked down walls, merged bedrooms, and transformed the entire third floor. What used to be Grandpa Brooks’s bedroom—where he’d passed away—now looked like a library with comfortable reading chairs.
Aunt Ella became frantic. She ran up and down the hallway, opening and closing doors. No one was in any of those rooms. “Where is my bed? Where is my bed?”
Brinley hushed her and locked her arms into hers. “Why don’t you sleep in my bedroom, Aunt Ella? We’ll sort it out in the morning.”
Aunt Ella seemed to think about that proposal. Slowly, she yawned and nodded.
Brinley took her to the elevator, where they went down one floor. She opened her bedroom door. She heard the ocean waves again, and now Aunt Ella also did, apparently, because she walked across the plush carpet floor to stand at the tall windows next to a pair of locked doors.
Outside, the sky was clear and the moon was out. The sound of the ocean grew stronger even through the closed doors and windows.
Brinley picked up her blouse and jeans from the bed, and rolled her suitcase out the door. She came back to get Aunt Ella settled.
Aunt Ella looked sickly. “Where’s my old bed?”
“You can have my bed. It’s the same one Grandpa Brooks bought for me.”
“Willard bought this for you?” Aunty Ella shed the blanket and sat down on the comforter.
Brinley had no idea she had been wearing nothing more than a flannel nightgown on her tear through the neighborhood. She felt sorry for her. She hoped the doctor had something to say about her condition. If she knew how to pray to God—if she remembered how Grandpa Brooks had said they ought to pray—then she would ask God to make Aunt Ella well.
Perhaps tomorrow—today!—afternoon she’d ask Yun McMillan about it. Better yet, she’d bring Aunt Ella to tea with Yun, and Yun could pray to her God for Aunt Ella.
Aunt Ella now looked around, confused. “This will have to do.”
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