bracelet, the Chippendale table that had been passed down for generations—it was never about the money. Except that it was always, completely and totally, about the money.
And the money, the vast sum, was causing Jack concern. They were going to have to find a way to handle the amount without attracting the wrong kind of attention. He was going to get Leo alone tonight and ask for specific advice, which would satisfy him on two fronts: how to handle his and Tommy’s windfall, and determining exactly how familiar Leo was with concealing funds.
Jack could hear Walker in the kitchen, whistling off-key along with the classical music station. Schubert something. Walker was always happiest when he was entertaining. Jack sent a little plea out to the universe. If he could sell the statue, pay off the loan, he would be a changed man. He wouldn’t even care about The Nest. If he could save the summerhouse, he would forgive Leo about the accident. Tabula rasa and so on. He would be a better person, a kinder and more responsible person, a person of integrity and honesty—the type of person Walker deserved.
BEA WAS STANDING CLUELESSLY in front of the office espresso machine, a ridiculously elaborate Italian contraption that required setting pressure gauges and estimating water flow in relation to espresso grind and examining steam thermometers clipped to milk pitchers. Bea was a tea drinker but every once in a while she wanted, needed, coffee. Every time she approached the gleaming machine she wound up timidly turning a few knobs, peering at its undercarriage, and then just walking downstairs to the corner deli. But today she didn’t feel like going back outside.
She was in the office on a Saturday trying to catch up, and she was exhausted from a series of insomniac nights and near constant worry about Leo who had been completely incommunicado since she delivered her new story to him. She hadn’t been able to get back in touch with Stephanie either to ask about the strange e-mail from Leo about being “off the grid” that sounded like complete Leo bullshit or to find out if they were going to show up for Melody’s birthday dinner as planned. She didn’t even know what to hope for: Leo or no Leo; furious Leo or indifferent Leo—given his silence, enthusiastic Leo didn’t seem remotely possible. If Leo didn’t show, all hell was going to break loose.
“How much did this dumb machine cost, anyway?” Bea asked Paul. Technically, office expenses were her domain, but she barely paid attention.
“I paid for it,” Paul said. “It was my gift to the office. Would you like me to make you something?”
“Yes, please.” Bea sat on the couch opposite the coffee machine. It was low to the ground, and the cushions were stiff and covered with a nubby fabric. She was wearing one of her favorite outfits in an attempt to lift her mood. A bright red jumper with knee-high patent-leather boots. The back of her legs were exposed and the sofa was scratchy.
“Why can’t we have a comfy sofa?” she said. She knew she sounded like an entitled and petulant teenager but didn’t care. “Something you can sink into and maybe read and hang out.”
“Because this is an office and I want people doing the opposite of getting comfy and hanging out.” Paul liked to see everyone sitting upright at their desks, good posture, intently looking at computers and pecking away at their keyboards in the center of their otherwise orderly desks.
She checked the e-mail on her phone again as the espresso machine started to thump and hiss like a steam engine. If Leo was truly gone, Stephanie either had helped him and was covering it up or Leo was duping her, too. Bea moved from the sofa and sat at the office communal table. Lowered her head onto her crossed arms and felt the cool of the wood against her cheek. She felt like crying. She felt like screaming. She just wanted to be able to hear Leo’s voice and try to figure out what was really going on. She wanted to know what Leo thought about the story. She wanted her lucky leather bag back.
PAUL WOULD CREDIT his nearly perfect cappuccino (the foam could have been a little brighter but the richness of the coffee itself was superb) for working its magic on Bea, loosening her tongue, as he’d been patiently waiting for her to do. She’d taken two long sips and smiled, feebly but