Page 165 of Confessions

“So, let’s talk about you. You’ve grown up, Carlie. I have to admit that years ago I was angry with you.”

“Because you wanted Jackson to be blamed for Roy’s murder.”

Thomas sighed. “I didn’t want it, Carlie. I thought it was what had happened. I would have supplied money for the best lawyers in town to see that he got a lenient sentence, but I truly believed that he’d killed Roy, either accidentally or intentionally. Whether he was my son or not, he had to face justice.”

“But he was innocent.”

“Thankfully,” Thomas said, though the lines around his eyes deepened and Carlie remembered the fact that Brian’s wife, Laura, had accidentally killed Roy.

The waiter cleared the salad plates and returned with the main course: a brace of quail on a bed of wild rice. Carlie said little and ate even less. Coming here had been a mistake. She should have listened to Ben.

Ben. Just the thought of him made her heart turn over.

“I’m thinking of buying Mrs. Hunter’s apartment house.”

“Is that so?” she said, trying to sound surprised.

“I like to preserve some of the unique architecture of Gold Creek.”

“It’s a beautiful house.”

“I thought maybe you’d like to manage it for me.”

“Pardon me?”

He smiled then, a practiced, patrician smile that had no warmth. “If you would manage the units—there’re five of them with the studio, isn’t that right?”

“Yes.”

“I could give you a break on the rent. Perhaps your folks would like to move into Mrs. Hunter’s place.”

“Wait a minute—” Things were moving much too quickly.

“I’m just trying to help your father. I’ve talked to the attorneys and the accountants and the financial advisers and think that there’s a way your father can collect disability for a little while, retrain for office work, at which time he’ll be retirement age and be able to collect his full pension and benefits.”

Carlie waited for the catch. “Have...have you talked this over with him?”

“Just this afternoon.”

“And?” She held her breath.

“He seemed pleased. Even considered moving into the apartment house to be closer to you.”

“If I stay,” she said, setting down her fork. “Look, Mr.—Thomas, I appreciate everything you’re trying to do for my family and I know you probably think you’re doing me a favor by making plans for me, but I can’t accept your offer.”

“You haven’t even heard it yet.”

“I’ve heard enough. I have to live my life my way.”

“Of course.” He looked slightly offended. “I was only trying to help.”

“Thanks, but I don’t think I need any.”

His nostrils flared slightly and if the waiter hadn’t come to remove their dishes, she was certain he would have said something not particularly kind. They finished dessert in relative silence and afterward he helped her with her coat and his fingers trailed along her arm. She shrugged him off, told herself that she was imagining things, but when he brushed his lips to her nape, she whirled on him. “I’m not interested, Mr. Fitzpatrick.”

Fortunately, he didn’t press the issue but the helicopter ride back to Gold Creek seemed to take forever. She didn’t notice the moon or the stars or the lights of the city. When they finally touched down it was all she could do not to bolt from the chopper.

He helped her into his white Cadillac and she sat stiffly on the leather seats.