Chapter 18: The Offer

The diner on Route 9 has six booths and a pie case, and Delaney's mother had taken the one in the back corner.

She had ordered coffee for two and a slice of lemon meringue, and she hadn't touched the pie.

I slid in across from her at nine exactly with my coat still buttoned.

"Thank you for coming, Hattie," she said. "May I call you Hattie?"

"You can call me Miss Sorrell."

"Of course."

She smiled, and it did not move her eyes.

A waitress refilled my cup and went away.

I looked at the vinyl seat beside me and knew this was the booth.

Rafe had sat right here in April, laughing, and told a girl what I would never do.

"I'll be direct," she said. "I know about the house."

My hand stopped on the cup.

"The back taxes. Three thousand eight hundred and twelve dollars, due Saturday, or the county puts 41 Locust Street up for the lien sale."

"That's public record."

"It is. And a foundation board member can read public records."

She reached into her purse and laid a long envelope on the table between us.

"There is a cashier's check in there for the full amount, made out to the county."

I didn't touch it.

"My daughter has made mistakes," she said. "She's a perfectionist. She gets frightened. I won't pretend otherwise."

"She forged fourteen signatures."

"She wrote some names where she assumed agreement. Please don't use a lawyer's word for a nervous girl."

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