The Last of the Stanfields(74)

“And why should you have done that, if my mother had nothing to do with the heist? Yours took all the risks.”

“Not so fast. The fact that your parents had trouble making ends meet only tells us your mother didn’t get a cut of the loot. It doesn’t mean she didn’t take part in the crime itself. Don’t forget what the poison-pen said.”

“He said that she had walked away from a huge fortune. Maybe it was because yours made off with all of it. Sometimes partners stab each other in the back.”

“What a lovely thing to say. But I’m going to have to stop you right there. My mother has always been an incredibly honest woman.”

“You’re kidding, right? That’s your definition of honest? The woman stole over a million dollars out of a safe!”

“He said a hundred and fifty thousand!”

“Which was worth a whole lot more back then! You do realize what you’re saying is completely nuts. Your mother pulls off a major heist, keeps my mum’s half of the loot, and somehow she’s still a saint?”

“Slow down, there’s no need to get nasty again. You really think they’d call each other ‘my love’ if something like that went down?”

“Your mother said that, not mine. I haven’t been able to get my hands on my mum’s letters.”

“So, maybe ‘honest’ wasn’t the best choice. But I can assure you, my mother has always been a loyal and faithful woman.”

“Says the kid who never even knew his father!”

George-Harrison shot me an icy glare, then abruptly flicked on the radio and kept his eyes fixed ahead on the road. I waited for the song to finish, then turned the volume back down.

“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said that. I didn’t mean it the way it came out.”

“If they gave my mom the wrong change at the cash register, even a dollar extra, she’d return it every time,” he said. “When the cleaning lady broke her leg, my mom kept paying her until she could get back on her feet. When I got in trouble at school, the first thing she did after finding out why the fight started was to have the principal tell the other kid’s parents they had twenty-four hours to get their brat to apologize, or my mom would come to their house and kick all their asses. I could go on and on, honestly, but just take my word for it: my mother would never be capable of stabbing somebody in the back like that, okay? Believe me.”

“Why did you get in a fight?”

“Because when you’re ten years old and someone says you’ve got no dad because your mom sleeps around town, it’s a lot easier to talk with your fists than think of a snappy comeback.”

“Right . . . I understand.”

“No, you don’t! You don’t understand any of it.”

“You’re right. I’m an idiot. But you listen to me, George-Harrison: I couldn’t care less about the money they stole. Truth is, my first thought about the money was to treat my father to a much-deserved holiday. So I promise you, right here and now: I won’t return to London until you find out who your father is.”

George-Harrison slowed the car and looked in my direction. His expression changed, and I suddenly felt as though I was staring at the little boy throwing punches in the school playground.

“Why would you do that for me? I thought we barely knew each other?”

I thought of my father. How gentle he could be, the way he was always ready to comfort me when I was feeling down, or how sweet and wise he was whenever I needed cheering up. He was always so involved in my childhood, never lacking patience or time, and wanting nothing but the best for all his children. I couldn’t imagine how George-Harrison must have felt to be deprived of that type of figure, and how much pain he must have endured. But I had no idea how to tell him all that.

“We may not know each other that well, but it’s a promise just the same. And you never answered my question. Do you miss her?”

“Miss who?”

“Nobody. Forget it. Just concentrate on the road.”

I had a thousand thoughts spinning in my head. I guessed it was the same for him. Then, out of nowhere, George-Harrison suddenly blurted out, “Of course! It’s so obvious!” He slammed the brakes and steered the pickup to the side of the road.

“They split the loot. My mom kept the bonds and yours . . . kept something else.”

“What makes you so sure there was something else they stole aside from those bonds?”

“My mother’s letter said not to let the ‘precious treasure dwell in darkness and fade from memory.’ That’s enough for me.”

“I was thinking about that earlier, around the time when you were telling me not to get nasty again. On that note, you’ll have to tell me exactly when I was nasty at all. But I digress. Let’s say they did split things up. Knowing Mum, she probably gave up her cut because it was dirty money.”

“There you go again. I get it: your mother was a saint. But if that’s so true, then the poison-pen would have to be pretty na?ve to think that the bonds were some lost treasure that would just pop up untouched after thirty-six years. Unless . . . the poison-pen knows, just like the cop was hinting at, that part of the lost treasure can’t be cashed in.”





30

ROBERT