Chapter 7: Eleanor

In the elevator, I finally asked.

"What were you doing in his driveway?"

Denton watched the numbers drop.

"Watching," he said. "I'd heard Preston was going to do something I couldn't stand."

"On Friday. Before I'd even done anything."

"Yes."

"How did you hear?"

"I'll tell you," he said. "I promise I will. Not tonight."

He turned his head, and the look in his gray eyes was pleading.

I had known him for four days.

I had known plenty of men who pleaded with their eyes while they lied.

This one looked as if the truth was heavy enough to break us both.

"Tonight my grandmother wants to meet you," he said. "She's been calling since Sunday."

"Your grandmother."

"Eleanor. She's seventy-eight, she's rude, and she'll ask you something awful."

"Is she going to like me?"

"She likes nobody," Denton said. "That is the best sign I've got."

The Kane house sat on a quiet street near the lake, three stories of gray stone with a garden in the back.

Eleanor Kane was waiting at the head of a long dining table with a cane across her knees.

She had a silver bob, pearl earrings, and eyes exactly the color of her grandson's.

She looked me up and down, from my dove-gray suit to my shoes.

"So you're the thief," she said.

"And you sent a judge to marry us," I said, "and didn't come yourself."

Denton made a small choking sound.

Eleanor's mouth twitched.

"Sit," she said. "Not there. That's Denton's chair, and he sulks."

I sat on her right.

A maid set down plates of lemon tart, and nothing else.

"Dessert first," Eleanor said. "I'm seventy-eight. I eat what I like in the order I like."

"That sounds fair."

"It's the only philosophy I've got." She picked up her fork. "Now tell me why you married my grandson."

Denton opened his mouth.

"Not you," she said, without looking at him.

I put down my fork.

"Because on Saturday night two hundred people watched me get thrown out," I said. "And he was the only man who stood still."

"That's gratitude."

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