The Cost of Silence

“No.” Red shook his head. “That’s the worst thing you could do. Victor’s main concern was that Marianne and the kids wouldn’t have to find out. I’m telling you, Allison York doesn’t seem like the tattling type. I’d bet my life that, unless we antagonize her, she’ll leave well enough alone.”

Lewis stared at Red a long time before answering. Finally, after another sip of water and three more taps with the napkin, he cleared his throat. “But it isn’t your life that’s in jeopardy here, is it? It isn’t your family. It isn’t your legacy.”

“No, but—”

“We cannot substitute our judgment for Victor’s. He said he wanted us to wait a week, then double the offer. That’s exactly what we’ll do.”

“Big mistake. She’s offended by the idea that we want to buy her silence. Besides, the offer itself is offensive. It’s too low, Lewis, even if it’s doubled. Tripled. Given what she’s up against—”

“What she’s up against?” Lewis tilted his head, which, with his hooked nose, made him look oddly like a vulture. The plate of glistening, wormy squiggles in front of him didn’t help. “Sounds as if you feel sorry for the woman.”

“Not really. I simply see the reality of her situation. Being a single mother can’t be easy.”

“Immoral behavior leads to difficult situations.” Lewis sniffed. “She should have thought of that.”

Red’s shoulders tensed. “God, Porterfield. I was thinking this room looked a little Victorian. An attitude like that fits right in.”

Lewis smiled again. “Are you defending her? Interesting. I’m curious about this excess of sympathy. In fact, Redmond, I’m wondering if you might be a touch compromised here.”

“Really? Well, I’m wondering if you might be a touch reptilian. Putting basic human sympathy off-limits is a little cold-blooded, don’t you think?”

Lewis steepled his fingers and stared at Red over the tips. He spoke in a contemplative voice, almost as if he were alone, mulling over a thorny point of law. “Actually, I am not particularly surprised. I told Victor it was risky, sending a man like you to do a job like this.”

Red’s jaw felt tight. “A man like me?”

“Yes. A man with a…shall we say a fondness for a certain kind of young woman? Shall we say a certain vulnerability to their charms?”

Without realizing how it happened, Red was suddenly on his feet. “Shall we say bullcrap?”

Though Red was three times Lewis’s size, the lawyer didn’t show a hint of fear. He lifted one pointed shoulder. “You may call it whatever you want, but I call it a problem. I think perhaps I’d better be the one to deliver the next offer.”

“No.”

“No? Why?”

“Because—” Red caught himself right before he could say the words, because you’re an arrogant jackass, and you’ll piss her off so much she’ll tell Marianne everything just to spit in your eye.

That was what the whole ugly mess always boiled down to, of course. Protecting Marianne. And Dylan. At twenty-eight, Cherry was probably mature enough, and far enough outside the fray, to handle the truth, but Dylan was already messed up as hell. He and Marianne needed some peace. They needed time to heal.

And Red had promised to help make sure they got it.

“Because I’m the fool who vowed to fix this,” he said, pushing his chair in and preparing to get out of this oppressive room. “And I’m going to do exactly that.”

THE MEETING WITH Lewis had left a bad taste in his mouth—and it wasn’t only the thought of that revolting calamari, either. Red went to the Diamante office, hoping to lose himself in some paperwork. The city council had sent over traffic figures for three of the new locations he was considering. They looked good, but he wanted to analyze them carefully.

For once, though, work didn’t help. The numbers ended up running together, like crazy hieroglyphics on the computer screen. So by three o’clock he turned off the computer and decided to leave early.

The Malone brothers hadn’t ever been brooders. Nana Lina had always said there was no case of the blues that a good sweat wouldn’t cure. Consequently, they worked hard and they played hard, and that didn’t leave time for the sulks.

Work had failed. Time to try play.

Matt and Belle were out of town on their sixth honeymoon in four years, so he was no help. On the way out, Red checked Colby’s office. A good heated game of handball would be perfect, and Colby was ahead in their lifetime stats.

His brother wasn’t there, but Nana Lina had commandeered his desk. When she saw Red, she smiled and motioned him in.

He plopped in the chair opposite her and got comfortable. A dose of Nana Lina was always good for what ailed you.

“So, did you finally get wise and fire Colby?” He grinned. “I always said the guy was overrated.”

Nana Lina never bothered to laugh at stupid jokes. If they got lucky and said something genuinely witty, her eyes could twinkle with true appreciation, but after living around three boys so long, she was immune to the daily exchange of cheap sarcasm.

She looked at a spreadsheet she apparently had been studying. “He’s out at Half Moon Bay, number three. We got word that the drawer’s not right again. Sixth time this week.”

Red frowned. “Since when did the company attorney have to count the pennies in the cash register? Don’t we have a decent manager out there?”

“You know Colby.” Nana Lina raised one graceful pewter eyebrow, as if mildly amused. “They think it’s the Mathison kid they hired last month.”

Red groaned, finally understanding. Colby took these things so hard. The oldest Malone brother, Colby talked tough, but he was a hopeless idealist at heart. He never could quite believe that, when they gave summer jobs to the sons of their friends, the kids would rob them blind.

“What is it about rich kids?” He laced his fingers behind his head, stretched and yawned. “No work ethic. Not paragons of industry and virtue like me.”

Nana Lina made a disapproving sound between her teeth. Then, finally, she smiled. “If you boys were half as useless as you pretend to be, I’d have to get out the switch.”

“Ooh. The switch.” This had been Grandpa Colm’s running joke. No one, neither their parents nor their grandparents, had ever laid a violent finger on any of them, but Grandpa Colm had loved to refer to the mythical switch as if he beat them daily.

Every now and then, when she was feeling particularly affectionate, Nana Lina would borrow the jest. It gave Red a warm feeling now, remembering his vibrant grandfather and the musical Irish lilt he’d never dropped, no matter how many years he’d been in the United States.

No, no one had ever whipped the Malone boys. No one had needed to. Their parents had been intelligent, calm, loving. And the three brothers had never been bad kids, though of course they’d had their defiant moments. Red had been slap in the middle of his worst adolescent prickliness when their parents died.

But after the accident—one of those freak automobile catastrophes that happened a few miles from their own home—the rebellious attitude dropped from the boys like magic. Once they got a glimpse of true tragedy, they never again confused it with the little annoyances, like curfew or chores. No more mountains out of molehills.

“I wish Dylan Wigham had someone like you to turn to right now,” Red said thoughtfully. “He’s been having a rough time since Victor died.”

Nana Lina nodded. She knew the family well, as they all did. Victor hadn’t been her favorite person, but they were in the same social set and ended up at many of the same functions. And, of course, Red’s friendship with the Wighams meant that they got invited to most of the Malone/Diamante events.

She might not know all the details of Dylan’s struggles, but she knew that the boy had been in a rehab clinic for the past several weeks. “When is he getting out?”

“I’m not sure. Soon, I hope. Marianne needs him at home, I think. She’s pretty lonely.”

“Yes,” Nana Lina agreed, though her voice remained crisp. She wasn’t a fan of extravagant mourning. Though Red knew she missed Grandpa Colm every day of her life, she had turned to work to give her life meaning. Work and her grandsons.

Predictably, she thought everyone should do the same.

She gave Red a straight look. “I hope you’re not planning to try to fill that void yourself.”

“I spend as much time with her as I can,” he said. “But if you’re asking whether I’m romancing her, the answer is no. Of course. Victor’s only been gone two months, but even if it had been two years, Marianne and I are just friends.”

“Good.” Nana Lina never leaned back in her chair, but Red thought he saw a slight relaxation in her shoulders. “She’s not right for you.”