Concealed in Death (In Death #38)(89)

“So you’re partners, in a sense.”

“Yes, in every sense.”

“But you’re the one with a business degree, with business management training.”

“Yes, that’s right.”

“So you deal with the finances.”

“At HPCCY, yes, primarily.”

“How did you let the other place tank so bad you literally walked away from it?”

The faintest color spread over her cheeks. “I’m not sure how this applies.”

“Everything applies.”

“We overextended,” Philadelphia said shortly. “Emotionally and financially. We simply believed in what we were doing, and wanted to do so much we neglected the practicalities. Actually, I got the management training during the last year we had The Sanctuary as we realized we were in trouble in that area.”

“So before that, you just fumbled along. What, hoping for a miracle?”

Both her eyes and her voice went very, very cool. “I understand not all believe in the power of prayer. We do, even when the answer to that prayer isn’t clear or seems hard. In the end, our miracle came. We’ve been able to help many more children, give them much more care, simply because we initially failed in a practical, business sense.”

“Who handled the finances at The Sanctuary—before you got the training?”

Philadelphia made a short, impatient sound. “Again, I don’t understand these questions. Nash did, for the most part. We were raised in a very traditional home. Our father earned the living, handled the money, the bills. Our mother kept the house. So we initially approached The Sanctuary with that dynamic. It was what we knew. But it became apparent to both of us that Nash simply wasn’t gifted with a real head for business. I was. We also believe in using our gifts, so I got further training. It was too late to save The Sanctuary, but we accept that was the plan.”

“Whose plan?”

“The higher power. We learned, we lost, we were given another chance, and we’ve succeeded.”

“Handy. So you handle the finances now.”

“For HPCCY, yes, along with our accountant.”

“You’d each handle your own personal finances?”

“Of course. Lieutenant—”

“Just getting a picture,” Eve interrupted. “What about your other brother?”

“Monty? Monty died.”

“In Africa. Fifteen years ago last month. I meant before he died. What was his function? What were his duties, responsibilities? His share?”

“He . . . assisted wherever he could. He enjoyed helping with meals, doing small repairs. He helped Brodie now and then.”

“You’re talking about scut work.”

Philadelphia’s eyebrows drew together to form that deep crease between them. “I don’t know what that means.”

“No real responsibilities, no real job. Just picking up lower-level chores.”

“Monty wasn’t trained to—”

“Why not? Why didn’t he get the training to be a partner, like you and your older brother?”

“I don’t understand why that matters? Our personal lives—”

“Are my business now.” Eve snapped it out so Philadelphia jerked in her chair. “Twelve girls are dead. It doesn’t matter if you understand the question. Answer it.”

“Come on, Dallas.” Playing her good cop role, Peabody soothed her way in. “We need to know,” she said to Philadelphia, “whatever we can know, so we can try to piece everything together. For the girls,” she added, nudging some of the pictures just a little closer to Philadelphia.

“I want to help, it’s just that . . . it’s painful to talk about Monty. He was the baby.” She sighed out the stiffness. “The youngest of us, and I suppose we all indulged him a little. More when our mother died.”

“Committed suicide.”

“Yes. It’s painful now, it was only more painful then for all of us. She simply wasn’t well, in her mind, in her spirit. She lost her faith, and took her life.”

“That’s a terrible thing for a family to go through,” Peabody said, gentle, gentle. “Even more, I think, for a family of faith. Your mother lost her faith.”

“I feel she lost her will to hold to that faith. She was ill, in her mind, in her heart.”

“Your father took a hard line on that,” Eve put in.

The flush returned, more temper than embarrassment this time, Eve thought. “This was, and is, a very personal tragedy. If he took a hard line, as you say, it was his grief, his great disappointment. My father’s faith is absolute.”

“And your mother’s wasn’t.”

“She was unwell.”

“She became unwell, or began treatment, shortly after giving birth to your youngest brother.”

“It was an unexpected and difficult pregnancy. And yes, it took a toll on her health.”

“Difficult and unexpected,” Eve repeated. “But she went through with it.”

Hands folded tightly on the table, Philadelphia spoke coolly. “While we respect the choices each individual makes, the termination of a pregnancy, except under the most extreme conditions, was not a choice for my mother, nor for those who share our beliefs.”