“He said he didn’t want to bring it up with the family.”
I frowned.
“What else?”
“He asked whether Michael had business partners. Whether he had debts. Whether the car had ever been searched after his death.”
Dad slowly lowered his arms.
“Searched?”
“That was the word he used.”
A chill moved over me.
Mom stepped closer.
“Why would Ryan care about the car?”
Mason looked toward the garage door.
“I don’t know.”
Dad’s voice was quiet.
“Why were you recording tonight?”
Mason looked at me again.
“Because Ryan asked Ethan and me to come into the garage before Claire got there.”
Every muscle in my body tightened.
“Why?”
“He said he needed help checking something.”
“What?”
Mason swallowed.
“The roadster.”
Dad became very still.
“He wanted to get into Michael’s car?”
“He already had.”
The air seemed to leave the kitchen.
Dad stared at him.
“That car was locked.”
Mason nodded.
“Ryan had a key.”
I looked at Dad.
He shook his head.
“I never gave him one.”
“Neither did I,” Mom said.
Mason pulled his phone closer.
“He opened the driver’s door before Claire came in. He started going through the glove compartment.”
My mind raced backward.
When I had entered the garage, Ryan had been standing beside the car.
The driver’s door had been open.
I hadn’t even questioned it.
I had been too angry because I had just found the canceled venue payment on our shared wedding account.
That was why we fought.
The money.
Ryan had told me the venue made a billing mistake.
I had called them.
They said Ryan personally requested the refund two weeks earlier.
Nearly eighteen thousand dollars.
Money my parents had contributed.
Money Ryan claimed was still sitting in the wedding account.
Except it wasn’t.
My hands began to shake.
“I confronted him about the venue.”
Mason nodded.
“I heard.”
Dad turned to me.
“What venue?”
“The payment was refunded.”
Mom frowned.
“Why?”
“I don’t know.”
I looked at Mason.
“Did Ryan tell you?”
“No.”
“Did he tell you what he was searching for?”
Mason’s eyes moved to Dad.
“He said Robert kept something important in the car.”
Dad stared at him.
“What?”
“He wouldn’t say.”
I felt suddenly cold.
Dad turned toward the garage.
For the first time that night, he looked at the wrecked roadster with something other than grief.
Suspicion.
“Michael never kept anything important in that car.”
Mom spoke quietly.
“Are you sure?”
Dad looked at her.
“Yes.”
But the answer came too quickly.
Mom heard it too.
“Robert.”
He didn’t respond.
“Robert.”
Dad walked toward the sink.
His back was to us.
I knew that posture.
It meant he was thinking.
Or hiding something.
“Dad?”
He gripped the edge of the counter.
“Michael had a habit of hiding things.”
My throat tightened.
“What things?”
“Nothing illegal.”
Mom gave him a look.
“That is a very specific answer.”
Dad sighed.
“My brother didn’t trust banks.”
Mason blinked.
“Money?”
“No.”
Dad turned.
“Documents.”
“What documents?”
“Contracts. Letters. Copies of things he thought somebody might someday deny saying.”
I stared at him.
“That sounds paranoid.”
“He was a trial attorney.”
Mom almost smiled despite everything.
“That explains some of it.”
Dad did not smile.
“About two months before he died, Michael came here.”
