Too Good to Be True(85)

Margaret was sitting on the chaise lounge on the patio when we came downstairs a good while later. Angus lay sprawled on her lap, groaning occasionally as she stroked his fur.

“I heard zoo noises,” Margs called, turning her head as we entered the kitchen. “Figured it was safer to stay outside.”

“Want a glass of wine, Margaret?” I asked.

“Sure,” she said listlessly.

Callahan did the honors, opening the fridge as if he lived there and getting out a bottle of chardonnay. “This okay?” he asked.

“That’s great,” I said, handing him the corkscrew. “Thanks, bub. And not just for uncorking the wine.”

He grinned. “You’re very welcome. To all my skills. Want me to cook something?”

“Yes, I do,” I said. “Margs, you want to eat with us?”

“No, thanks. The pheromones alone in there would choke me.”

I opened the screen door and sat next to my sister, sliding my bare feet against the brick of the patio. “Everything all right, Margaret?” I asked.

“Stuart’s on a date,” she announced. “With your coworker, Eva or Ava or some other sex-kitten,  p**n -star name.”

My mouth dropped open. “Oh, Margs. Are you sure it’s a date?”

“Well, he’s having dinner with her, and he took great pains to remind me who she was.” Her voice deepened to impersonate Stuart’s formal voice. “‘You remember, Margaret. Rather attractive, teaches history with Grace…’ Asshole.” Margaret’s mouth gave a telltale wobble.

“You know, she might just be trying to butter him up for his support on her being chairman of our department,” I suggested. “She must know he’s friends with the headmaster.”

“He wouldn’t go against you, Grace,” she replied.

“I’m harboring his wife. He might,” I said. She didn’t say anything else. I glanced at Callahan through the screen door. He was chopping something at the counter, and he looked so right there that it made me a little dizzy. Then I immediately felt a pang of guilt for feeling so happy when Margaret was suffering.

“Margaret,” I said slowly, turning back to my sister, who was staring at her knees, “maybe it’s time for you to go back to Stuart. Get some counseling and all that. Things aren’t getting any better with you staying here.”

“Right,” she said. “Except it would look like I’m crawling back because I’m jealous, which is true, now that I think of it, and I don’t want to give him the satisfaction of thinking that if he’s going to cheat on me, I’ll come to heel like some trick dog.” Angus barked in solidarity. “If he wants me back, he should bloody well do something!” She paused. “Other than screwing another woman,” she added.

“What can I do?” I asked.

“Nothing. Listen, I’m going down cellar, okay? To watch one of your geeky movies or something, is that all right?”

“Sure,” I said. “Um, I might stay over at Cal’s tonight.”

“Okay. See you later.” She got up, gave my shoulder a squeeze and went into the kitchen. “Listen, Shawshank, you need to talk to my sister about your sordid past. Okay? Have fun.” She took her glass of wine and disappeared down cellar.

I sat alone on the patio, listening to the birds begin their evening chorus. The peace of the season, the smell of freshly cut grass, the gentling sky made me so happy. From the kitchen came the sounds of Callahan cooking, the hiss of something in the frying pan, the cheerful clatter of plates. I felt such a surge of…well, it was too early to say love, but you know. Contentment. Pure, underrated contentment. Angus licked my ankle as if he understood.

Cal opened the door and brought out our plates, setting one in my lap. An omelet and whole wheat toast. Perfect.

He sat down in the chair vacated by Margaret and took a bite of toast. “So. My sordid past,” he said.

“Maybe I should know what you did that landed you in prison.”

“Right,” he answered tightly. “You should know. You eat, I’ll talk.”

“I just think I should hear it from you, Cal. Margaret knows—”

“Grace, I was planning to tell you today, okay? That’s why I was ticked when you weren’t around. So eat.”

Obediently, I took a bite of the omelet, which was hot and fluffy and utterly delicious. Giving him what I hoped was an encouraging smile, I waited.

Cal put his plate down and turned his chair so it faced me better. He sat leaning slightly forward, his big hands clasped loosely in front of him, and stared at me for a minute, which made chewing a bit awkward. Then he sighed and looked down.

“I didn’t exactly embezzle the money. But I knew about it, I didn’t report the person who did embezzle it, and I helped it stay hidden.”

“Well, then, who took it?” I asked.

“My brother.”

I nearly choked. “Oh,” I whispered.

For the next half hour, Callahan told me a pretty fascinating story. How he and his brother, Pete, owned a large construction company. About Hurricane Katrina and an endless supply of reconstruction the government was paying for. About the frenetic nature of the business, the orders that went missing, the insurance claims, the criminal underbelly of New Orleans. And then, one night, how he found a Cayman Islands account under his own name with $1.6 million in it.