Page 48 of The Final Gambit

Zara considered the question. “My father liked to say that our minds have a way of tricking us into choosing between two options when there are really seven. The Hawthorne gift has always been seeing all seven.”

“Identify the assumptions implicit in your own logic,” Grayson said, clearly citing a dictate he’d been taught, “then negate them.”

I thought about that. What assumptions had we made?That Toby is the prodigal son, Tobias the father.It was the obvious interpretation, given Toby’s history, but that was the thing about riddles. The answerwasn’tobvious.

And on that first phone call, Toby’s captor had referred to himself as anold man.

“What happens if we take Toby out of the story?” I asked Grayson. “If your grandfatherisn’tthe father in the parable?” My heart drummed in my chest. “What if he’s one of the sons?”

Grayson looked to his aunt. “Did the old man ever talk to you about his family? His parents?”

“My father liked to say that he didn’t have a family, that he came from nothing.”

“That was what helikedto say,” Grayson confirmed.

In my mind, all I could picture were the three chess pieces. If Tobias Hawthorne was the bishop or the knight… who the hell was the king?

CHAPTER 37

We need to find Nan,” Jameson said immediately, once Grayson and I had reported back. “She’s probably the only person alive who could tell us if the old man had family that Zara doesn’t know about.”

“Finding Nan,” Xander explained to Eve, in what appeared to be an attempt to cheer her up, “is a bit like a game of Where’s Waldo, except Waldo likes to jab people with her cane.”

“She has favorite places in the House,” I said.The piano room. The card room.

“It’s Tuesday morning,” Nash commented wryly.

“The chapel.” Jameson looked at each of his brothers. “I’ll go.” He turned to me. “Feel like a walk?”

The Hawthorne chapel—located beyond the hedge maze and due west of the tennis courts—wasn’t large, but it was breathtaking. The stone arches, hand-carved pews, and elaborate stained-glass windows looked like they’d been the work of dozens of artisans.

We found Nan resting in a pew. “Don’t let in a draft,” she barked without so much as turning around to see who she was barking at.

Jameson shut the chapel door, and we joined her in the pew. Nan’s head was bowed, her eyes closed, but somehow, she seemed to know exactly who had joined her. “Shameless boy,” she scolded Jameson. “And you, girl! Forget about our weekly poker game yesterday, did you?”

I winced. “Sorry. I’ve been distracted.” That was an understatement.

Nan opened her eyes for the sole purpose of narrowing them at me. “But now that youwantto talk, it doesn’t matter if I’m in the middle of something?”

“We can wait until you’re finished praying,” I said, properly chastened—or at least trying to look that way.

“Praying?” Nan grumbled. “More like giving our Maker a piece of my mind.”

“My grandfather built this chapel so Nan would have someplace to yell at God,” Jameson informed me.

Nan harrumphed. “The old coot threatened to build me a mausoleum instead. Tobias never thought I’d outlive him.”

That was probably as close to an opening as we were going to get. “Did your son-in-law have any family of his own?” I asked. “Parents?”

“As opposed to what, girl? Springing forth fully formed from the head of Zeus?” Nan snorted. “Tobias always did have a God complex.”

“You loved him,” Jameson said gently.

A breath caught in Nan’s throat. “Like my own child.” She closed her eyes for a second or two, then opened them and continued. “He had parents, I suppose. From what I remember, Tobias said they had him older and didn’t much know what to do with a boy like him.” Nan gave Jameson a look. “Hawthorne children can be trying.”

“So he was a late-in-life baby,” I summarized. “Did they have any other children?”

“After having Tobias, I doubt they would have dared.”