“At the Chihuly art gallery. He’s trying to keep my mind off Randolph. And he’s thinking about buying a chandelier for his house.”
“Nice,” Hannah said. “He must be pulling down some bank at Mashburn & Tully. Seven figures?”
“I’ve never asked,” Carlotta said. “I assume he does well.”
“You’ve never wondered how it is that the partners there are making so much money when your father’s clients haven’t been made whole?”
Carlotta squirmed. “Peter told me it’s because the case was never prosecuted, that the firm was only responsible for repaying a small percentage of the claims, that Randolph is personally responsible for the bulk of the restitution.” She sighed. “But that might never happen.”
Hannah made a rueful noise. “Maybe when you find your mother, she’ll be hoarding stacks of gold bars.”
Carlotta was suddenly seized by the predicament she’d inadvertently put Hannah in by sharing information about her parents. “Hannah,” she said carefully, “maybe you should sit this one out.”
Hannah jerked her head around. “What do you mean?”
“I mean my mother is technically a fugitive. If you know where she is and you don’t report it to authorities, you’ll be aiding and abetting.”
“So will you.”
“But this is my family. It’s a risk I’m willing to take.”
“You’re my family,” Hannah said. “It’s a risk I’m willing to take, too.”
Carlotta’s eyes watered as emotion thickened her throat.
“Oh, fuck, don’t cry. I take it all back.”
Carlotta laughed, then wiped at her lashes.
“Hey, I think he’s making calls,” Hannah said, lifting her binoculars.
Carlotta lifted hers and focused. Sure enough, the man at the counter was making phone calls, then setting aside the packages one at a time.
“There’s your package,” Hannah said.
Carlotta held her breath.
He tapped on the keyboard and after consulting the computer screen, punched in a number.
“He’s calling,” Hannah said.
He seemed to be waiting…and listening. Probably to a ringing phone. “No one’s answering,” Carlotta murmured with a sinking feeling.
“There—his lips are moving. He’s talking to someone!”
But he wasn’t taking breaks like someone listening to another person on the other end would. Then he hung up.
“He left a message.” Carlotta lowered her binoculars and sighed. “Dammit. That voice message could be sitting on a burner cell phone hidden somewhere in the Buckhead house.”
“Try to be positive. Think of all the little things that worked out in order for you to be sitting here.”
“Ten years after the fact,” Carlotta said. “And if Randolph had just given me the address when I talked to him in the pen, I wouldn’t be jumping through these hoops. And look at the hoops you and I both jumped through just to get in and talk to him in the first place.” She grunted in frustration. “He could’ve made this a thousand times easier.”
“Maybe there’s a reason he’s reluctant for you to reunite with your mother. You said she was an alcoholic.”
Carlotta nodded. “I’ve wondered if she still drinks, or if she’s gotten worse.”
“It had to be stressful for her to be away from you and Wesley.”
“I’d like to think so,” Carlotta said, “but Valerie wasn’t what you’d call ‘maternal.’ She wasn’t a bad mother, just…inattentive.” She turned in her seat. “What’s your mother like?”
“Ha—I wish my mother was an alcoholic. She’s so uptight.”
“Your sisters I met at the wedding trade show seemed nice.”
“Uh-huh.”
“You’re not going to tell me anything about your family?”
“Uh-uh.”
Carlotta crossed her arms. “We need to talk about something for eight hours.”
“Have you popped Peter’s cherry yet?”
“Hannah,” she scolded, but she couldn’t help laughing.
“I take that as a ‘no.’”
“We’re working our way up to it,” Carlotta murmured. “We’ve both been preoccupied.”
“Any word on the dead guy’s identity?”
“Not yet. Jack and Coop are working on it.” She studied her cuticles. “Speaking of Jack…”
“I’m listening.”
“He and I talked. About the baby.”
“And?”
“And he said he was sorry he hurt me, that it was one night with Liz and it wasn’t supposed to be any more than that. He said something cryptic, that maybe he’d been trying to prove something to himself.”