Reid gulped audibly.
Was he?
I looked to Reid. “I stayed away from him, and I was never in the office. I have no idea if he was around when she wasn’t.”
“I guess I never thought much about it,” Reid said. “I was always in the office, but I steered clear of him as much as I could. I mean, who wouldn’t?”
“She’s gone now,” Rock said, “and we know she’s not with him. I think it’s safe to assume it’s possible she wasn’t with him when she disappeared before.”
“Who knows what we can assume at this point?” Reid said.
I nodded.
After what Riley had been through at our father’s hands, of course she wanted to disappear. Hell, I’d thought about it more than once. And Rock? He’d done it. After military school, he’d never returned to Manhattan.
Now, having been to Montana twice, I understood why.
Montana was good for a person’s soul. It was almost a cleansing balm.
I needed to cleanse myself before I could be with Charlie again. She deserved a whole man, not someone whose insides were as big a mess as mine were.
God, the secrecy.
Rock had spilled his biggest secret.
Now I had to spill mine.
Except I’d held it in for so long—hidden it from even myself—that I wasn’t sure I could put it into words.
“Father Jim,” was all I said.
“What about him?” Reid asked.
“I don’t want him doing the memorial service.”
“Why not? Dad gave that church a ton of money over the years. He owes us.”
“It’s not that.”
“Wait,” Reid said. “We used to make jokes about the altar boys going into the confessional with Father Jim, but are you saying…”
I shook my head vehemently. “No. He never touched me. Never touched any kid, that I know of.”
“Then what’s the beef with him?” Rock said.
Indeed, what was the beef with him?
I’d suppressed everything for so long. So, so long.
Was Father Jim in those blurred images? Or wasn’t he?
“Nothing,” I said.
Rock cleared his throat. “I don’t buy it. What’s the problem with Father Jim?”
“Dad wasn’t a religious man.”
“So what?”
“We shouldn’t have a priest doing his service. That’s all.”
Yeah, that was all.
Nothing more there.
Except it was a lie.
I knew something about Father Jim. Something I couldn’t put into words yet. It had nothing to do with the altar boys or the nuns. Or even the parishioners.
No, it was far more sinister.
It concerned my father.
And I’d buried it long ago.
For good.27Charlie“Of course not,” Blaine said. “That’s the reason I invited you to lunch.”
Right. The other stuff was just to soothe his own ego. He didn’t want me back any more than I wanted him back. Which was fine with me.
“Then what is it?” I asked.
“It’s about Derek Wolfe.”
“Okay. What about him?”
“Don’t you think it’s strange there hasn’t been a funeral yet?”
“Not particularly. They’re planning it now. It’ll be next week.”
“I see. I’ll look forward to it.”
“You’re coming?”
“Of course. Derek and I go way back. He was our firm’s biggest client.”
Right. That was how Lacey had gotten involved in all this.
“I understand the police are investigating all of his children…and Lacey.”
I dropped my mouth open. I didn’t know why I was surprised. It must be common knowledge. A high-profile billionaire had been murdered.
“Yes. They’re all innocent.”
“I believe they probably are.”
“Does this have something to do with what you want to tell me?”
“Yeah, actually. I like Lacey. Always have. I don’t for a minute believe she could murder anyone, not even Derek Wolfe.”
“Good. Because she didn’t. And you’re right. She doesn’t have it in her.”
“As for the Wolfe siblings, I don’t know them well, other than Reid. Reid shares his father’s business acumen, and he’s a pretty nice guy. Derek Wolfe paid our firm a lot of money over the years, so we did our share of ass kissing. But I’ll be honest with you, Charlie.”
I nodded.
“He wasn’t a nice guy.”
Right. Tell me something I don’t know.
“Uh-huh,” was all I said.
“I’m not sure what Lacey thought of him, but she hadn’t worked with him very long. He could be very charming when he wanted to be.”
“Lacey doesn’t discuss her clients with me,” I said.
“Charlie, of course she does. You’re her assistant.”
“She would never say anything disrespectful about a client.”
“That’s to her credit, then.” He cleared his throat when the waiter came by with our food.
Lasagna Bolognese. His favorite. I’d told him once that I loved it as well—which was true—and he’d apparently taken that to mean I wanted to eat nothing else. He ordered it for me whenever we went to a place that served it.
“Sure you don’t want a glass of wine?” He touched his finger to his goblet, indicating to the waiter to bring him another.
“I don’t drink during the workday.”
He laughed. “You’re young yet.”
I didn’t reply. It was easier not to. A petty argument over day drinking wasn’t the reason I was here. I wanted the information he said he had for me.