Chapter 15: Tea at Four

The Lang house at four on Christmas Day looked like every magazine spread Margaret had ever posed for.

There were wreaths on the windows and a ten-foot tree in the hall, hung with glass.

The maid took my coat and did not meet my eyes.

Jerome sat in the truck at the end of the drive with the engine off. He had said he'd stay there until I came out.

My phone was in my bag, recording, with the zipper open an inch.

"Hallie, dear," Margaret said from the sitting room. "Come and be warm."

She sat by the fire in a navy dress, with a silver tea service on the low table.

On the table beside the tray lay a velvet box, a leather folder and a pen.

"Sit," she said. "You've lost weight."

"I haven't had your cook."

She poured two cups and pushed one toward me.

I did not touch it.

"You're angry," Margaret said. "That's natural. You've had a very hard week."

"Where's Dirk?"

"Resting. He's not himself."

"Where's my mother's ring?"

She smiled, opened the velvet box, and turned it so I could see.

A thin gold band with a small garnet.

I had last seen it in my jewelry drawer, the morning before the gala.

My throat closed.

"That is yours," Margaret said. "It always was."

She held the box a little closer to me.

"It can be in your hand today."

"And what do I sign?"

She opened the leather folder.

"An agreement," she said. "Five million dollars, paid in three installments, with a house in Wayzata if you like."

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