The Unkindest Cut - By Honor Hartman Page 0,50

remember if we were ever properly introduced. I’m Emma Diamond.’’ I said.

He nodded, his cigarette dangling from his mouth. ‘‘I know. Will Trowbridge.’’ He stuck out a hand.

I shook his hand. ‘‘Thanks, Will.’’ He released my hand, and we regarded each other in silence.

‘‘I’m very sorry about your father,’’ I said.

He tensed, and for a moment I thought he was going to get up and walk away. ‘‘Thanks,’’ he said, his voice suddenly gruff.

Again there was silence. I waited.

Will spoke after a minute or two. ‘‘So what did my mother tell you about the will?’’

I figured I had better be very careful here. Ill-chosen words on my part might cause further tension between Will and his mother, and I definitely did not want that. Her willingness to talk about intimate family matters to strangers had obviously bothered him enough to make him leave the room. I wondered idly how long he had been out here. Glancing at the grass around his feet, I counted seven cigarette butts.

‘‘Oh,’’ I said, trying to be as nonchalant as possible, ‘‘she just told us some general things. About your grandfather’s will and so on, and your father’s trust fund.’’

Will dropped his cigarette on the grass and ground it fiercely with the heel of his shoe. ‘‘I’ll just bet she did,’’ he muttered.

‘‘I’m sorry, Will,’’ I said, partly to fill the awkward pause that followed his words, but mostly because I really did have great sympathy for him. ‘‘I know none of it is really any of my business.’’

‘‘Not your fault,’’ he said, shrugging. ‘‘My mother makes it everyone’s business. God knows why, but she does.’’

I didn’t answer that. Frankly, I wasn’t sure what to say to him at that point.

He didn’t seem to notice my silence. He turned to face me after a moment. ‘‘Just what did she say about my father’s trust fund?’’

I struggled for the words to put it as diplomatically as possible. ‘‘I believe she said she wasn’t sure what would happen to it, now that your father is . . . gone.’’

He snorted in disbelief. ‘‘I can’t believe she’s pulling that shit.’’ He had the grace to look slightly abashed. ‘‘Sorry.’’

I waved his apology away. I had certainly heard worse in the classroom.

‘‘Why do you say that?’’ I asked.

‘‘Because she knows damn well what happens to that trust fund,’’ Will said, his face reddening in anger. ‘‘It’s hers now, for the rest of her life.’’ His shoulders slumped, and he stared at me, misery replacing the anger.

He didn’t have to put into words what he was thinking—what he feared, rather. He knew as well as I did that the trust fund gave his mother a very good motive for murder.

Chapter 18

I thought carefully for a moment before replying. ‘‘I’m sure your mother is upset by all that’s happened, and she’s probably not thinking very clearly.’’

Will grunted. He pulled a cigarette packet out of his shirt pocket, shook it, and then crumpled it in his hand when he discovered it was empty. He tossed it into a trash can nearby.

‘‘Good shot,’’ I said, knowing it probably sounded fatuous, but wanting to do something to break the silence.

‘‘Thanks,’’ he said. He put his hands on his knees, his shoulders slumping a bit. He turned his head to look at me for a moment. Then he shifted to stare out into the woods ahead of us. ‘‘Look, I don’t want you to get the wrong impression. I love my mother. It hasn’t always been very easy for her because of my dad. He, well, he wasn’t always around when he should have been while I was growing up.’’

‘‘I know what that’s like,’’ I said. ‘‘Neither of my parents was around very much when my brother and I were growing up. We had nannies and servants around us all the time. They were the ones who really took care of us.’’

‘‘Seriously?’’ Will sat up and looked at me with open curiosity.

I nodded. ‘‘I wish it had been different. Sometimes I think I would give anything to have ordinary parents, but they weren’t. They were who they were, or rather, they are who they are.’’

‘‘They’re both still around?’’

‘‘Yes, but I hardly ever see them. They spend a lot of time traveling, and when they’re in Houston, they’re usually so busy they don’t have much time for my brother and me.’’

‘‘That’s pretty shitty,’’ Will said, and this time he didn’t apologize.

‘‘It is,’’ I agreed. ‘‘The point is, my brother and I managed to get on with