Chapter 11: Say What You Did

We carried Rory's mother out of the cellar before dawn, and the cook took her in without a question.

It was the same cook whose paper she had stolen, a stout woman who wiped her hands on her apron and said, "About time."

She put the old woman in the room behind the pantry and told us nobody went in there but her.

I took the empty vial from my sleeve and put it with the notebook in my suitcase, under a layer of sweaters.

Then I went back upstairs and made Rory's morning tea as if nothing had happened.

Conrad arrived at noon.

He walked into the Keane dining room in a gray suit with his hair neat, and he smiled at me across the table.

"Willa," he said. "Look at you. Married life agrees with you."

I said nothing.

Desmond sat at the head of the table with the same warm face.

Five Keane trustees sat down both sides, the lawyer among them.

Rory sat in his chair at the foot with a blanket on his knees and his mouth slightly open.

Bridget sat beside Bennett and would not look at me.

"We have a few formalities," Desmond said, "and then lunch."

"Before the formalities," I said, "I have a question for my brother."

Conrad's smile held.

"Of course."

I took the prenup out of my bag.

I had carried it all morning, folded in thirds.

I opened it to page nine and laid it flat on the tablecloth.

"Conrad," I said. "You told me this was a prenup."

"It is."

"Did you read page nine?"

The trustees were quiet.

Conrad glanced at Desmond.

"I skimmed it," he said. "It's a family custom. Perfectly standard for the Keanes."

"I'm asking if you read it."

"Willa, this isn't the place."

"It's the only place. I'll read it for the table."

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