Chapter 7
When Declan heard that the foundation records had been requested, he called me.
It was the first time his number had appeared on my phone.
I stared at it through three full rings before answering.
“Hello?”
“You hired Evelyn.”
“You told me to.”
“I suggested her.”
“She’s terrifying.”
“Yes.”
“I like her.”
“So does every judge in Grayhaven.”
I leaned against the diner’s back wall.
It was my break.
The alley smelled like cold rain and bread from the bakery next door.
“She asked for your records,” I said.
“I know.”
“You’re not angry?”
“No.”
“You sound annoyed.”
“I am.”
My shoulders tightened.
Then he added, “Finn stores archived files using a naming system only he understands.”
I closed my eyes.
“You’re annoyed at the filing system.”
“It has Roman numerals.”
“That does sound serious.”
“It’s indefensible.”
I laughed.
Declan went quiet.
“What?”
“Nothing.”
“No, what?”
“I’ve never heard you laugh over the phone.”
The warmth left my face and migrated directly into my ears.
“I laugh.”
“Apparently.”
“Rosa says I do it at least twice a month.”
“Remarkable.”
“I can hang up.”
“That would be tragic.”
Another silence.
But not an uncomfortable one.
Then I asked, “Did you know the patient services trust had been dissolved?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“My mother created it before she created the foundation. It handled temporary payments when the charity was small.”
“What happened?”
“She shut it down after the foundation became independent.”
“And Harbor Mutual had access to it?”
“Years earlier.”
I rubbed my thumb against the phone case.
“Evelyn thinks someone may have kept using the name.”
“She may be right.”
“Did your mother know Victor Hale?”
A pause.
“Yes.”
“How well?”
“Well enough to regret trusting him.”
The words settled between us.
“Why didn’t you tell me that before?”
“Because I didn’t know whether it had anything to do with your case.”
“You could have told me anyway.”
“Yes.”
I waited.
Declan sighed quietly.
“I’m not very good at telling people things before I’m sure they matter.”
“That sounds inconvenient.”
“It has been mentioned.”
“By Maeve?”
“Repeatedly.”
I smiled.
Then I asked the question that had been bothering me.
“Why did your mother keep his company around long enough for complaints to happen?”
Declan took several seconds before answering.
“Because Victor Hale was my father’s friend.”
The alley suddenly seemed very quiet.
“Your father?”
“Yes.”
“I thought your father died before the foundation existed.”
“He did.”
“Then why would that matter?”
“Because after my father died, Victor helped my mother sort through his finances.”
The meaning arrived slowly.
“Your father had debts.”
“Yes.”
“Victor helped her?”
“She believed he did.”
There was something in his voice.
Not suspicion.
Memory.
“What happened?”
“I don’t know all of it.”
“That doesn’t sound like you.”
“No.”
For the first time, I heard something like uncertainty in Declan Walsh.
It humanized him more than any smile could have.
“My mother never explained everything,” he said. “By the time I was old enough to understand the documents, she had stopped speaking to Victor entirely.”
“Why?”
“That’s what I’m trying to find out.”
I stiffened.
“You’re investigating him?”
“I’m reviewing my mother’s old files.”
“Because of me?”
“Because your contract contains the name of an account that should have disappeared years ago.”
I understood.
Still, uneasiness remained.
“Declan.”
“Yes?”
“I don’t want this handled quietly because people are afraid of you.”
The words came out before I could soften them.
He was silent.
I wished immediately that we were speaking face-to-face.
At least then I could read his expression.
Finally he said, “Neither do I.”
I blinked.
“You don’t?”
“No.”
“But you could make one phone call and—”
“Probably.”
The calmness of the admission unsettled me.
“Then why not?”
“Because you need the truth to survive anyone’s reputation. Including mine.”
I said nothing.
He continued.
“If Harbor Mutual did something unlawful, it should be proved in a way that doesn’t depend on who I am.”
My grip loosened around the phone.
“That sounds like Evelyn.”
“She would be deeply offended to hear that.”
“I’ll tell her.”
“Please don’t.”
I laughed again.
This time he did too.
Only once.
May you like
Quiet and brief.
But I heard it.
