Fidelity (Infidelity #5)(78)

“I know, but I’m done with confrontation for now.”

“Then you best be going.” She extended her hand with two small folders. “Here’s yours and your momma’s passports. I sure hope I see her before she goes far away. I ain’t never been to New York.”

Nox extended his hand. “Miss Jane, we need to rectify that very soon.”

She nodded. “I think I’d like that, Mr. Demetri.”

Standing, I smoothed the skirt of my dress. “I know Momma would like that too. Thank you, Jane.”

“Thank you. I knew you would save her. I prayed you would.”

“I wasn’t alone.” I glanced up at Nox.

“Thank you,” she said to both of us. Her big brown eyes glistened with unshed tears.

I wrapped my arms around her. “Come now. With us. There’s nothing stopping you.”

Jane patted my back. “How do you know? I happen to be a very busy woman. I have business. Remember, I’m the house manager? What do you think would happen to this place if I just ran off? Then when you and Miss Adelaide come back, it would be a mess. I can’t let that happen.”

“I love you,” I said, kissing her cheek just before Nox and I hurried down the stairs and out onto the driveway. As we slipped into the back of the SUV, a black sedan turned into the circular driveway.

Deloris nodded toward the car.

“Suzanna,” I offered.

“I was concerned.”

“Jane said he wouldn’t be here. I trust her.”

“Nice woman,” Nox said, adding with a grin, “with terrible timing.”

Even though winter was approaching, most of the giant oak trees held tight to their leaves. The moss never went away. It was the other trees on the property that stood like skeletons, their flesh gone, leaving only the naked bones. I sighed as the tires bounced upon the cobblestones. A glance out the back window revealed only dried leaves blowing in our wake.

I turned back around and leaned against Nox’s shoulder. “Thanks. I liked having you there.”

“Do you think your mom will ever want to come back?” Nox asked once we were off the grounds.

I shrugged. “I wouldn’t blame her if she did. She’s never lived anywhere else.”

“Never?” Nox asked.

“I think she and my dad had an apartment before they were married while they both attended Emory. They married right after she graduated and moved here.”

“That would have been intimidating.”

“You think so?” I asked, surprised that Nox would think anything was intimidating.

He nodded. “And your grandfather. I don’t know anything about him, except his will. Princess, that is the document of a narcissistic egomaniac. I’d venture to guess that Bill Gates’ last will and testament isn’t as detailed.”

“And yet, it isn’t,” Deloris said. “It’s wordy and specific while at the same time vague.”

As the SUV moved closer to the hotel, I asked. “Do you think there’s any merit to my mother’s accusations that my grandfather was killed?”

“Like Lennox said the other night, it’s the date of the codicil,” Deloris said. “Your grandfather added it the day he died. That isn’t enough to warrant an investigation.”

“It’s enough to be suspicious,” I agreed.

“We need to hurry,” Deloris said, looking at her phone.

“What is it?”

“It’s Isaac. Our eyes outside the hotel contacted him: Mr. Spencer just arrived.”





I’D MADE THE drive from Westchester County—Rye to Brooklyn—hundreds if not thousands of times. Through the years I’d seen the changes, the improvements. The roads had become highways. The highways expanded. Theoretically it should have lessened the time needed for the commute. That was in theory.

Through the years the traffic had grown, tripled if not quadrupled. It didn’t matter if I took the Throgs Neck or Whitestone Bridge, there were always backups. Always cars. One of the problems were people like me—people who drove alone rather than carpooling. One person. One car. I wasn’t like Lennox—I rarely used a driver. I was more of a solo man. Always had been. Tonight, as my headlights reflected off the wet pavement and the sky spit flakes of snow, I was alone.

Adelaide was doing better by the day, growing stronger.

I’d been proud of her the other night as she spoke to Fitzgerald. I’d heard his responses. Each one reinforced my desire for his demise. It wasn’t like the idea was in need of support. I’d wanted it for nearly fourteen years, since the Christmas party.

The thing I needed to clarify, the reason I made up an excuse to leave Adelaide with Silvia, knowing they were safe and protected, was that Alton Fitzgerald’s demise was my request. When he no longer took a breath—because I knew it would happen—it would be my debt to pay.

That was why I’d again called Vincent, why I’d requested a second audience with him in a single week. That was why as the temperature outside the car dropped, my skin was warm and prickling with anxiety.

Instead of meeting at Vincent’s home, he’d asked me to join him at a little restaurant off the beaten path. It wasn’t the same one where we’d met years ago, but the interior was similar: dark wood-paneled walls with a wooden floor, tables covered in red-and-white checkered tablecloths, and each table lit by a single candle flickering in a red jar. If it hadn’t truly been authentic Italian, it would look like it was trying too hard to be.