Chapter 35

CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE

ANTHONY

Conversation with Rosie

I’m home.

Thank God. Joy and I were afraid you were going to turn into a human popsicle.

The roads are still not completely cleared, and there’s no way I’m going into the office today, so I email the manager to let everyone know Smith Investments is officially closed for the day.

I sleep until noon and then tell my mother and Emma about the text message Rosie got from my phone. We check the countdown website for what must be the thousandth time, but it’s still blank other than the opening message and the countdown, steadily getting closer to New Year’s Eve.

We settle around the fireplace in the drawing room, my mother on her settee and Emma in the leather chair while I alternately pace and lean against the fireplace.

“It must be Nina,” Emma says, waving a hand and sitting back in her chair. The tree is listing a bit behind her, but Mother has announced that decorators will be arriving on Thursday to take it down and prepare for the New Year’s party.

Which might or might not still be my wedding.

I rub my forehead. “It does seem like something Nina would do.”

“Well, we’re in luck,” Emma says, her eyes flashing with amusement. “Because Anthony said he’s ‘taking care of her.’”

“I am,” I reply with annoyance, leaning back against the fireplace again. My gaze travels upward for half a second to Mark’s urn. Then my father’s empty one. My muscles seize up a little and I look away.

“Yes, of course,” my mother puts in evenly. “I’m sure you’ll be very intimidating. Even so, we should call those private investigators with an update.”

So we gather at the drawing room table and call them on speaker phone. Nicole answers on the first ring.

“Merry Christmas,” I say.

“Was it?” she muses. “Didn’t sound like it was going to go down very well for you. I heard Rosie is going to New York City for New Year’s.”

My mother’s gaze swings to me, and I shake my head. “No, not anymore,” I say. “I went to see her last night.”

“Go on.”

“I hitched a ride on a snowplow.”

“Een-teresting. You’re more enterprising than I thought. I don’t hate it.”

She’s turned this into an interrogation of me, but I’m not feeling patient enough for it to circle back around. So I cut in and tell her about the text message Rosie got from my phone.

“Did you try using the Find My Phone app?” Damien asks after I finish.

“Yes,” I say, trying not to sound impatient.

“And nothing showed up?” Nicole asks.

“No.”

“I’m guessing you’re not the sort of go-getter who changes his passwords on the daily?”

“No,” I admit, rubbing my forehead. I feel like I did after someone in Tech Support asked me to try restarting my computer—and it worked.

“Yeah, so the phone thing was obviously Nina,” she says.

Emma snaps her fingers and makes an air gun at me.

“But how’d she find it in the first place?”

“I’m guessing she used your password to log onto Find My Phone and tracked you down. She probably saw an opportunity to grab the phone and went for it. Lucky for us, we have some dirt on her and the Volleyball.”

“Volleyball?” I repeat as Emma snorts.

“Wilson,” my sister explains. “Like the sports brand.”

“Yeah, turns out he likes to partake in illegal poker games in addition to psychedelic teas. You know, I gotta say, this guy does it right.”

Damien clears his throat. “And there’s compelling evidence that Nina has been stealing from him.”

“Are we sure he didn’t just give whatever it is to her?” I ask, rubbing my forehead again.

“Reasonably,” Nicole says. “She’s been selling his shit on Facebook marketplace. Cashmere socks. A stupidly expensive bowling ball. You name it.” She breaks into cackling laughter. “I put in a low-ball offer for the bowling ball, but she turned me down. I did buy the socks for Damien.”

Damien laughs, then says, “We should have enough to dunk them, even if we can’t prove she’s the one who stole your phone and impersonated you.”

“But we might be able to press on the old thumbscrews to get her to confess to that and the website,” Nicole adds.

“Rosie and I had talked about meeting her and—” I glance at Emma, whose eyes are sparkling. “The volleyball for drinks on Wednesday night. But he sent me an email trying to confirm, and he was under the impression our meetup was supposed to be on Thursday. The bartender must have sent me a text about Thirsty Thursday.”

“Yep, definitely Nina,” Nicole says.

“Must be,” I agree, feeling both relieved and pissed off. She made it very clear that she didn’t want me, that all of the allurements that had made her want to marry me weren’t worth enough for her to put up with my personality. And now here she was doing her damnedest to ruin my life again. “If it was her, she probably doesn’t expect us to show up on Thursday.”

“Which is why you’re going to email the Volleyball back to joyfully confirm. And where will we be meeting you on Thursday evening?”

“Yes,” my mother says. “I think Emma and I would also enjoy a chance to get away from the decorators. We should all go. It sounds delightful.”

“Uh, I’d prefer to handle this myself,” I say.

“You won’t even know we’re there,” Nicole says dismissively. “Besides, your sister owes me another chance at a drink-off.”

“What?” Emma asks, sitting up straighter.

“I met you last month in Charlotte,” Nicole says. “I challenged you to a drink-off, but you have a surprisingly high tolerance for alcohol. I think I said my name was Ingrid, but I honestly don’t remember.”

“Why?”

“I’m terrible at remembering names.”

I nod to her. “They were helping Mother with something.”

Emma doesn’t seem totally convinced, but she shrugs. “I guess I got to listen to Irene sing karaoke, so it wasn’t a total loss.”

“Exactly,” Nicole says. “So we’ll sit in a back booth and only step in when the time is right. We can set a code word.”

“Volleyball,” Emma suggests.

“Hell, yes,” Nicole says. “Volleyball it is. Bar name and time.”

It’s not a question, and I don’t feel the need to fight them on it. I’ve spent most of my adult life fighting my battles alone, and where has it gotten me? Maybe Rosie’s right, and it’s time to let other people fight with me.

“I need to speak with the P.I.s privately for a moment,” I announce, looking at my mother and sister.

My mother sighs. “By all means, take my phone from me.”

She releases another gusty sigh as I do just that, taking the phone out into the creaky hallway, closing the double doors, and then walking up toward my room. I know my mother and sister well enough to know they’d try to listen in if I stayed too close.

“What about Rosie’s fingerprints?” I ask as I walk. Because I need them to take care of this for her. And if they can’t, I need to figure out a way to do it myself.

“Our guy has agreed to do it,” Damien says. “Tomorrow morning. He doesn’t anticipate a problem.”

Relief gusts through me. They’re taking care of another obstacle that threatened to keep me from Rosie. Maybe it’ll be okay. Maybe…

“Thank you,” I say, taking the stairs two at a time.

“Oh, don’t get all teary-eyed on me,” Nicole puts in. “I had enough of that shit over Christmas. Let me tell you. Do not watch The Santa Clause if you don’t want to have to go around all night pretending you’ve been chopping onions.”

“Thank you,” I say again. Because I don’t have much to add to that. “I appreciate your help more than I can say.”

“Rosie’s family,” she says. “I guess that means you probably are too. Remember that when we want to have a party at Smith House.”

“I will,” I promise as I walk into my bedroom and shut the door.

Damien clears his throat, then says, “The phone prank was clearly Nina, but that doesn’t mean all of it is. We’re still following up on the rival business deal.”

“Why haven’t I heard about this from anyone but you?” I ask. I sit at my desk, where I have the picture Jake sketched of The Ware spread out in front of me. My finger starts tracing the folds of the paper, the spread of the building.

“Because they’re trying to undercut you,” Nicole says with a laugh. “That’s not the kind of effort that rewards honesty.”

No, I suppose not.

“Thank you,” I say. “Please keep me updated.”

“See you Thursday,” Nicole says.

Then she disconnects the line.