“I got another email from Mom about that medical research assistant position at the university,” Layne said idly. “She has it all mapped out—I can work with Dr. Clark and he can be my faculty advisor while I get my doctorate.”
“You don’t want a doctorate.”
“According to Mother, I do. She doesn’t care what I study...as long as it’s somehow connected to the medical field and I become Dr. McGraw.”
Dee sighed. “I love my sister, but she has tunnel vision when it comes to this stuff. Don’t let her push you, Lani. Just keep doing what makes you happy.”
Lani.
Layne smiled at the nickname that only her aunt and uncle had ever used.
Dee absentmindedly wiped the stone counter she’d already cleaned twice and Layne frowned. “Is something wrong? You’ve been distracted for weeks.”
“I...oh, nothing.”
“Come on, I know you too well. Fess up.”
Her aunt smiled weakly. “It’s just that lately I keep feeling as if William is in the house. In his office, walking up and down the hall or up the stairs. Or lying next to me in bed. Sometimes I can even smell his aftershave.”
The unexpected mention of her uncle made Layne’s stomach drop. “That’s what Grandmother Adele said after Granddad was gone. I’m sure it’s normal.”
“Maybe, but I can feel him, Lani, the way I always used to know he was home. It’s as if he’s looking for something or trying to tell me something. Some people believe a soul can’t rest if they have unfinished business.”
“Is that what you think it is?”
“I don’t know.” Dorothy gathered the dish towels she’d used that evening and threw them into a laundry hamper. “But it started when I received that letter from Peter Davidson, so what better time for Will to come back and haunt the place?”
“What letter?”
“I’ll get it.” Dee dried her hands and went out, returning a couple of minutes later.
Layne read the note from her uncle’s former partner, a scowl growing on her face. “How dare he? This is emotional blackmail.” She stared at the letter in disbelief. “Agree to sell Uncle Will’s company under the terms he offers, or he’ll drag the embezzlement case up again?”
Aunt Dee’s face was pale. “Yes. But wouldn’t making accusations against William be libel?”
“I’m not sure. It’s possible you can’t libel someone who’s...uh...”
“Dead?” Dee finished flatly. “Maybe. But Peter is basically saying I’m not due anything because of what happened, and he’ll make a stink about it if I don’t go along. That was William’s company, too. He’d be so upset if he knew about this.”
“Uncle Will was never actually indicted for embezzling.”
“I know. But I haven’t gotten anywhere with the police or the Carrollton District Attorney’s office on clearing his name. After they decided he killed himself, it seems as if they just stopped investigating. I even heard one of them say ‘he must have been guilty’ the night Will died. I’ve called and called and nobody will even talk to me any longer.”
Layne let out a pent-up breath. “Maybe they think you’re just trying to throw doubt on the suicide verdict to get Uncle Will’s life insurance.”
“God knows I need the insurance money—it’s probably the only way I’ll hang on to the house—but that isn’t the only reason. I hate people thinking Will would steal from his own clients. And now this letter from Peter.... I’ve been dragging my feet, but I have to make a decision soon. He’s working for the Eisley Foundation as their chief financial officer and doesn’t want to deal with Hudson & Davidson any longer. His stepson resigned three months ago to take over as director of the foundation from his grandfather.”
Layne nodded, recalling Matthew Hollister’s connection to her uncle’s company. The notorious playboy, Gordon Eisley’s grandson, had started working for Hudson & Davidson almost a year and a half before, a case of pure nepotism on Peter Davidson’s part. Though Uncle Will had been annoyed about it, he hadn’t objected. And not long before his death, he’d admitted that Matt Hollister had worked hard and seemed to have a decent business head on his shoulders.
Layne had only seen Matt Hollister in person once, when he’d come to Uncle Will’s funeral. A ripple of whispers had run around the church when he’d arrived, sitting in the back. He had slipped out early without speaking to the family, but at least he’d come; Peter Davidson hadn’t even sent flowers.
“Aunt Dee, what did you think of Matt Hollister?” she asked.
“We’ve only met once at a company Christmas party. It was just a hello and goodbye encounter—the other women were crowding around too much for anything else.”
“But what about when Mr. Davidson married Matt’s mother?”
“We didn’t go to the wedding. It was a small, hush-hush affair on Catalina Island to avoid publicity—you know Katrina Eisley’s reputation for being a recluse. Marrying into the Eisley family was a big deal for Peter. Between his new father-in-law and famous stepson, he joined a small, very exclusive social circle.”
Layne returned Peter Davidson’s letter to her aunt. “I’ve done research on Matt Hollister for some of the reporters at the Babbitt. I can’t imagine he’s really reformed. His father, S. S. Hollister, is one of most outrageous hedonists in the world and they seem cut from the same cloth.”
“Except the son never married, and the father can’t stay out of divorce court. Anyway, I sort of understand why Peter claims I’m not due anything from the sale of the firm....”
“I don’t,” Layne said stoutly.
“Unfortunately the math appears to add up. The embezzlement crashed the value of the company and Peter repaid every penny of the stolen money from his own pocket. At the end of the letter you can see he’s offering to give me twenty-five thousand dollars as a goodwill gesture, but that’s all.”
“It’s hard to believe you wouldn’t be due several million at the very least. The property alone is worth a fortune.”
While Dee didn’t say anything, Layne thought she agreed. Her aunt had never dealt much with money, focusing on art while her husband went into business after getting out of the navy. They’d seemed to have the perfect marriage, but Layne wasn’t naive enough to think there hadn’t been occasional problems.
Dee sat next to her and traced a pattern in the quartz countertop. “The thing is, I know how good you are at research and putting pieces of information together. And I’ve been thinking...if anyone can prove Will was innocent, it’s you. And then I could challenge Peter about the sale and be able to pay off the mortgage before I have to sell the house. Will and I built this house together—I don’t want to lose it.”
Layne froze.
Okay, so she was good at her job. That didn’t make her a criminal investigator. And what if she proved Uncle Will had embezzled from his company? How could she tell Aunt Dee? It might hurt even more to know for sure.
“Uh, about the mortgage,” she said. “The house means a lot to me, too, and I have some money saved—”
“I can’t accept it. This is my problem,” her aunt said predictably. “But if you could find out the truth, it would help in more ways than one.”
“What if you don’t like what I find? I’m not saying Uncle Will was guilty, but you never know.”
“I need the truth, wherever it leads.” Dee put a hand in her pocket,