'Did my mother know?'
'She found out two weeks before Ashley died.'
I leaned against the sign.
'I didn't want to have to tell you that,' Joseph went on. 'Of course, it was just a coincidence, but you can see how Adrian, needing to blame someone, would turn on your mother.'
'And feel remorseful about it now-perhaps that is why he is so nice to me. Perhaps he spun that story about my father's artistic tantrum because he thought the reality would be too painful for me.'
'Or for him,' Joseph said bluntly. Even with the beard, I could see one side of his mouth draw up. 'Adrian hates to be wrong.'
'He was wrong, wasn't he?'
'Katie! How can you think otherwise?'
Easily. My parents had told me half-truths. So had Adrian and Joseph. Why should I believe any of them now? I jammed my hands into my coat pockets.
'Are you all right?' Joseph asked, after a long moment of silence.
'Just cold,' I replied crisply. 'Let's go in.'
The building, covered with pale siding and a new tin roof, showed its age inside. As long as an athletic field, it had a concrete floor and a loft that ran along three sides. The loft area was crammed with furniture, and a sign on the stairway that led to it said, note to customers: YOU CARRY IT UP THE STEPS, YOU CARRY IT DOWN. I guessed it was used for items that were waiting to be picked up by the buyer.
Joseph and I walked along one side of the building, scanning the merchandise. We passed a door with a sign prohibiting entrance and warning that dogs were inside-the ones Trent had spoken of, I assumed.
An auction was going on at either end of the building, two motorized vehicles moving along the floor trailed by crowds of interested buyers. Joseph decided to follow the furniture auctioneer at the far end, while I wandered the rows of tables spread with smaller items-glassware, china, mirrors, statues, and paintings, looking for a portrait my father might have done, the retriever carrying a goose. But I barely saw what was in front of me, for memories were running inside my head like old films, cinema that I was watching with older, more knowing eyes.
Was my mother capable of killing out of revenge and hurt? Could she have done something less deliberate than murder, such as ignore the safety of a child she could no longer endure?
I found the painting that was thought to be my father's and knew immediately it wasn't. I realized that, with regard to my father, the only thing I could be certain about was whether he had done a particular painting. Since he had been the one constant in my life, this new uncertainty made everything I thought I knew seem questionable.
I turned away from the painting, aware of someone's eyes on me. Trent, with file folders tucked under his arm, gazed at me through a half-glass wall that sealed off the auction's business office.
I looked back. Did he know who Ashley's real father was? Since that fact had generated Adrian's investigation, he must have.
'Ah,' said Joseph, who had materialized at my elbow, 'you have found the painting.'
'It's not my father's,' I told him. 'That goose not only looks dead, it doesn't look as if it were ever alive.'
Joseph laughed.
'Trent is watching us from the office,' I added.
Joseph glanced up and the two men nodded at each other.
'I don't understand, Joseph, why wouldn't Trent have been a suspect? He had the same motivation-he'd been cheated on. And why wasn't Robyn considered a possibility? She was jealous of Ashley-even as a five-year-old I was aware of that. I can see how she deals with Patrick now, with anyone whom she thinks is competition for her father's attention and money. Trent, Robyn, Brook-all of them were home that day. All of them knew Ashley loved to go to the pond. Why didn't Mr. Koscinski investigate them?'
'Because he was hired by Adrian.' Joseph replied, he and Trent turning their backs to each other at the same time. 'The Westbrooks will claw one another's eyes out in private, but in public they are loyal and strive to keep up their fine family image. Those kinds of suspicions are something Adrian couldn't even consider.'
'Well,' I said, 'he should consider them-for Patrick's sake.'
'All right, Kate,' Adrian said, three hours later, 'what is this business that is so pressing you got past Cerberus, my three-headed dog-otherwise known as Mrs. Hopewell,' he added in quieter voice.
There was a sharp rap on the office door.
'Almost got past,' he corrected himself. 'Yes, Louise?'
She opened the door. 'I told the girl she could not see you.'
'Thank you,' Adrian replied. 'I'm quite sure you did.'
Mrs. Hopewell waited, as if he might ask her to escort me out.
'What do you have in your hand, Louise? May I see it?'
She stepped into the room, but walked no farther than the credenza, depositing the FedEx envelope there rather than carrying it to Adrian. I believed it was her small way of protesting the fact that he had granted me a meeting.
After the housekeeper left, Adrian rose from his chair a bit stiffly, closed the door, then picked up the envelope. 'Some days are good and some days aren't so good,' he said, returning to his seat across from me. He gave me a wry smile and sat down wearily.
'So, Kate, I trust that you have the phone, the microwave, the refrigerator, and whatever else you need.'
'Yes, thanks. It's Patrick I want to talk about.'
'His loneliness.'
'That, too,' I said.
'Oh dear, there's a list.'
I was silent for a moment, ordering my questions and points.
Adrian leaned forward, smiling. 'I'm kidding you. I am interested in all that you have to say.'
'Patrick definitely needs friends,' I began. 'We should encourage him to invite other children to the house. I would be happy to supervise them. I think it would be good if we could get him to join a team. He likes hockey, but that season is almost over. Any kind of sport would do-just something that would place him with a group of children. He is too isolated at Mason's Choice.'
'I agree.
'But there's something more to consider,' I rushed on, 'and that is the reason why he doesn't have friends. Tim moved away, and Patrick doesn't talk about any other children.'
'Except Ashley,' Adrian remarked dryly.
'When I pick him up from school, I see the boys playing together and him standing alone.'
Adrian sighed. 'I've been too caught up in my ridiculous therapy.'
'Many children have only one parent and do fine,' I assured him. 'If you want my opinion-and I'm going to give it to you whether you do or not-l think the problems he has here at home are affecting his ability to get along with other children. I suspect he is acting like an impossible brat at school or withdrawing entirely. Either would be a natural response, given the hostile treatment he receives from those who are supposed to be loving family members-Robyn, Trent, and Brook. Mrs. Hopewell doesn't help any.'
'You're quite blunt, just as your mother was.'
'They're quite nasty, just as they were to Ashley.'
I saw the brightness in his eyes-whether it was surprise or amusement, I wasn't sure.
'True enough,' he said. 'And so you want me to put the leash on them.'
Yes.
Adrian pulled the tab on the FedEx package and shook out a blue-striped envelope, which he slit with a letter opener.
'I can't do that, Kate, though I wish more than anything I could spare Patrick the pain. But it is better for him
