Chapter 22: The Empty House

They didn't put handcuffs on my father in the restaurant.

The older investigator asked him, politely, to come downtown and talk about a death certificate.

Dad said, "I want my lawyer."

"He's on his way, sir. He called us an hour ago."

Dad blinked.

"He called you?"

"He brought a statement," the investigator said. "A long one."

My father stood, buttoned his jacket with fingers that missed the buttons twice, and walked out through the empty middle of the room.

Ninety people watched him go.

He did not look at me.

The Benedetti house on the Island had twenty rooms and a pool, and by Saturday noon it had one lamp lit.

Lorenzo and I drove out together.

The gate stood open.

There was a car in the drive with a bank's sticker on the windshield.

Dad sat in the big kitchen, at the island, in yesterday's suit.

The housekeeper was gone.

The refrigerator hummed, and there was nothing on the counters except a coffee cup.

"The district attorney let me out at four this morning," he said. "Bail. The lawyer posted it, against the house."

"The house goes Tuesday," Lorenzo said. "The bank has a lien."

"I know."

"Mom's moved her things to a hotel."

"I know that, too."

I laid a folder on the island.

"Resignation from every board," I said. "The family holding company. The foundation. The parish committee."

"The parish committee."

"They've asked you to step down already. I'm only making it tidy."