Chapter 8 - The Silver
I found him in the dining room with two cardboard boxes.
My mother’s silver lay wrapped in kitchen towels.
“What are you doing?”
Stuart straightened. “Jennifer said you wanted us to take these before the movers came.”
“I didn’t.”
He glanced at the boxes. “She told me you called her this morning.”
“I didn’t call her.”
He put a piece of silver back on the table. “Then she misunderstood.”
“She told you I said something I never said. Again.”
“That doesn’t mean she’s stealing.”
“Take your hands off the box.”
We stood across from each other beneath the chandelier Robert had rewired himself.
Stuart looked tired. There were dark circles under his eyes that I had not noticed at Thanksgiving.
“We made a deposit on a renovation,” he said quietly.
I had expected many answers. Not that one.
“With what money?”
“Our savings. The contractor gave us a date, and Jennifer thought—”
“That you would have money from my house soon.”
He sank into a chair.
“I never agreed to take your money.”
“You heard her in the study,” I said.
He looked up sharply.
“Yes. I was home. I heard both of you.”
His eyes moved to the floor.
“You let her talk,” I said. “You knew what she expected to happen.”
Stuart rubbed his face. “I thought we could persuade you to move. You’re alone in this big place.”
“I like my life. You never asked.”
“I did ask. You wouldn’t listen.”
“You asked when I was selling. Then you threw dinner at me.”
For once, he had nothing to say.
I told him to leave his key on the table.
He did. At the door, he paused.
“Max saw the boxes. What am I supposed to tell him?”
“The truth would be a start.”
After he left, I inventoried the silver. Two serving spoons were missing.
May you like
Then I checked the study.
Robert’s fireproof box was gone.
