The Final Victim(34)

Unable to bear another moment in the suffocating heat of the car, Charlotte at last turns the key. Her sweat-dampened forehead is struck by a welcoming blast from the vent Okay, good.

Now what?

Of all the days for Royce to have an important meeting. If she could just see her husband, talk to him, she'd feel better. She always does when he's around. But she'll just have to wait Right now, there's nothing to do but pick up Lianna and go home to face her cousins.

*

"Will you please just shut up so I can think straight?" Gib rakes a hand through his blond hair and paces across the small second-floor sitting room, shuttered against the strong afternoon sun.

"Don't tell me to shut up."

"I'm sorry," he tells Phyllida, if only to prevent a petty argument with the drama queen. "I'm just trying to figure out what the hell could have happened to cause this."

"Nothing /did, if that's what you're thinking."

It is what he's thinking. He doesn't trust his sister. Never has. As far as he's concerned, Phyllida is a lying, scheming diva whose only interest is herself.

And maybe her kid, he allows. To be fair.

Remingtons are nothing if not fair.

Yeah, right.

"I haven't even talked to Grandaddy in months," Phyllida informs him, to further prove her innocence.

"Well, neither have I."

"Maybe that's the problem."

"Oh, please. Do you really think he cut us out because she gave him more attention than we did?"

"Do you?" Gib shrugs.

"Why did he do it, Gib? This is crazy."

It is crazy. What can their grandfather possibly have against them?

Grandaddy was a pretty staunch Southern Baptist. Unreasonable, in Gib's opinion, at times. Did he and his sister somehow offend the old man's morals?

What if…?

No, Gib tells himself sternly. There's no way he knows about you. No way on earth.

It had to be something else. Something that involves Phyllida, too.

"Maybe it's because he didn't like Mother," he suggests.

"What does she have to do with anything? Grandaddy cut her out years ago, after Daddy died. You know that"

"I know, but maybe he knew that if we got the money we'd use some of it to help her, and he didn't like that idea."

"You're really reaching here, Gib," Phyllida tells him. "I doubt Grandaddy has even thought about Mother in ages. And you saw him waltzing with her at my wedding. I think he decided to let bygones be bygones."

"I think he was senile and had no idea who she even was."

She snorts. "Grandaddy might have been old, but he wasn't senile. He knew it was Mother. He was laughing and talking to her."

"Yeah, well, he didn't write her back into the will after that, did he?"

"No, but I don't think he wrote us out because of her."

"I guess not." Gib is quiet for a moment, thinking. "Maybe if she convinced him to do it…"

"Mother?"

"No! Charlotte. Maybe she talked him into giving it all to her."

Phyllida shakes her head. "She's too damned nice. I honestly don't think she cares about the money all that much."

"Nice people like money too."

"I don't know…" Phyllida toys with the edge of a tabletop lace doily, rolling and unrolling it. "Don't you think she seemed as surprised as we were?"

"Maybe she was faking it."

"She's no actress."

No, but you are, Gib can't help thinking. He wonders again if his sister could be hiding something.

Then again, who isn't?

He, at least, is more skilled at it than most.

Anyway, even if Phyllida did do something to upset Grandaddy, why would Gib be cut out of the will as well? That doesn't make any sense.

No, it seems far more likely that the one person who benefitted from the change in the heirs apparent would be the person responsible for it.

"At least you got the cufflinks," Phyllida tells him pettily.

He knew that was coming.

"Only because nobody else can use them," he's obliged to point out. "You know how much he hated to see anything go to waste. Remember when we were kids? He saved twist ties off bread bags." 'The cufflinks are platinum. They're worth something if you sell them."

"I'm not going to sell them, Phyllida." Not right away, anyway.

"You're going to wear them?"

He shrugs. "Why not?"

"Oh, right, I forgot. You're a fancy lawyer with fancy shirts."

He chooses to ignore that, as he does her other, frequent comments about his wardrobe.

He also ignores his sister's catty, "I'm surprised Grandaddy didn't also leave some jewelry to Nydia."

At least, until she adds a provocative, "Considering what people have been saying about the two of them."

"What have people been saying?" Gib asks with interest.

"You know… that Grandaddy had been…"

"What?"

She bobs her perfectly waxed eyebrows provocatively.

"You think he was doing the housekeeper?" he asks with perverse delight. The thought had never entered his mind. So much for old-fashioned Southern Baptist morals.