Page 109 of Convict's Game

I showed them the email folder.

Lovelyn scanned the list. “Explain to me the significance of the gold?”

“He had an open casket. The gold was inside. Gold satin, gold studs. The outside of his casket was plain wood which reflected the kind of straightforward man he was, but my grandmother wanted to bury him with a little luxury.”

Her gaze returned to me. “Has anyone from the family been obviously hostile to you or your grandfather? At any point, not just at the funeral.”

I swallowed. “They’re all frustrated at the money not coming in, but that doesn’t lend itself to taunting me or spitting venom about my grandfather. He was beloved.”

“So that’s a no? I ask because in cases such as these, nine times out of ten, the answer is the most obvious one. It’s in plain sight. Do any of the messages make demands or threaten you directly?”

“No. It’s just jabs at my grandfather. He really was the best of men. He built up Marchant Haulage from nothing to an international behemoth of a company. All the money he made from it, he split between the family, expanding out his reach as he went.”

“He put his relatives on the payroll?”

“Not even that. He gave them monthly dividend payouts. Like a salary, I suppose, but with no work required. Just support for those who needed it.”

As I said the words, I doubted the last part. Like Convict had pointed out, not everybody had a real need. A generation had grown up used to having that money with no effort or even a recognition of the privilege on their part.

Lovelyn’s tone was careful. “What did he ask in return?”

I opened and closed my mouth. I’d never considered that. “Nothing as far as I know. Why do you ask?”

“Purely from an outsider perspective, and with no shade thrown at your frankly wonderful-sounding grandfather, all of those people were put into a position of obligation to him. He made them dependant, whether purposefully or not. It meant he could ask them for favours and they would jump to give them. I’m not saying he did, but we are looking at messages fromsomeone who hated him, despite all the great things he did. I’d try to understand why they need you to know this so badly.”

My shoulders rose. “You don’t think it’s jealousy?”

“If they were just making snide remarks about him, then sure. But making the effort to create an anonymous account and repeatedly send messages from it suggests something more pressing.”

Cassie pointed a whisk at her, the pile of pancakes growing. “Reckon they’d escalate to blowing up a boat?”

Lovelyn blinked.

I filled her in on what happened to theEden. Then I drew my eyebrows in and opened a previous message from the hate mail stack, showing it to Lovelyn.

She read aloud. “‘All those boats sitting in the dock.’ They said that right before the boat blew up?”

“They did. Just a couple of hours.”

My phone rang with the number for the Marchant legal team. I excused myself and answered it. I’d left them a message when driving back from the clinic, not expecting a reply until morning as it was after hours now.

Cochran, the lawyer handling my grandfather’s affairs, spoke down the line. “Miss Marchant. Thank you for your message. How can I help you?”

“What can you tell me about theEden’sdestruction?”

“Very little, I’m afraid. The police have not yet commented, and the caretaker company has not reported their immediate next steps.”

I grimaced. That wouldn’t help me update the relatives. “Do we know if there was any loss of life? Any cargo that’s been destroyed?”

“We have no information to share at all. May I recommend speaking with your uncle?”

“My uncle? Why would Wallace know anything?”

As far as I knew, my playboy uncle was sunning himself somewhere tropical. He’d never attended a business meeting or showed any interest in the company, nor had my grandfather trusted him to make a single decision. After the funeral, he’d hopped straight back on a plane.

“Then you haven’t heard. Mr Wallace Marchant returned to these shores a few days ago, I believe to prepare for next week’s meeting and to support your grandmother. She told me herself.”

“When did you speak to her?” I squeaked.