Chapter 94 - The Key in the Floorboards
Alistair didn't flinch. His pale eyes drifted from my face down to the barrel of the revolver, then back up. A faint, bitter smirk touched his lips.
"Arthur always said you had more nerve than him," he muttered, shifting his grip on the cane. "He told me once that if a burglar came through the kitchen window, you’d shoot him first and ask the sheriff about burial plots later. But you won't pull that trigger, Myrna. Not until you know what Caleb did."
A cold spike of dread drove straight through my chest, sharper than the winter wind outside. "Caleb is in a federal holding cell in Concord. He's answering for wire fraud, witness tampering, and grand larceny. He made his bed."
"Caleb didn't make anything," Alistair said, leaning forward. "Your son is an idiot who thought he was playing a high-stakes real estate game with Vance’s dummy corporation. But Tori? Tori isn't stupid. She's greedy, which is much more dangerous."
"Tori is halfway to an arraignment hearing," I snapped.
"Tori made a deal two hours before you landed in Boston," Alistair said flatly. "She traded the spare key to this house, the safe deposit slip from the bank in Portsmouth, and your travel schedule to an associate of Vance’s named Charles Miller. In exchange, Miller promised her full immunity and five hundred thousand dollars from the offshore clearinghouse."
The silence that followed was deafening. The ticking grandfather clock in the hallway sounded like a hammer striking an anvil.
May you like
"You're lying," I whispered.
"Look out the dining room window, Myrna," Alistair said quietly. "Look down past the maple tree at the bend in the driveway. Tell me if you see snow on the gravel, or if you see twin tire tracks."
