family rightly to its knees.”
I sat on the bed and pulled Mutt's firearm from the back of my pants. Philip's eyes widened as I toyed with the gun.
“Candace lost a baby. I didn't even know she was pregnant.”
Philip jerked up to a sitting position. Genuine shock flushed his face. “Oh, my God. Oh, shit.” He swallowed. “Christ, Jordan. I'm so sorry.”
“Mutt's downstairs. He says you're the poisoner.”
I expected vehement denial, castigation of the accuser, and general bluster. None came. Philip stared at me, then started to laugh, a throttle of a giggle.
“That old shit. He's still trying to cover his bases.”
“Are you?”
“No, I'm not. I have no reason to hurt Lolly, Aubrey, or your girlfriend.”
“He claims you do.” I rubbed my fingers along the gun- unloaded, but Philip didn't know. He watched, fascinated, like a bird transfixed before a slithering cobra.
“Look, Jordan, I've never liked people like you-blond boys who have the world handed to them on a platter.”
“You don't even know me, Philip. You have no clue as to what my life is like. At least I never dealt drugs, got my own brother addicted, or stole money from my family.”
He raised a hand and an eyebrow. His gaze stayed on the gun, but then his eyes met mine in unexpected frankness. “Fine. You want to play priest in the confessional? Yeah, I sold drugs. I sold a lot of them. To college kids, to soulless lawyers, to bored housewives. Did I fuck up some lives? Sure. My own included.”
“Don't wait for me to weep for you. You never did jail time.”
“Only because,” he said, “Mutt found out. And he gave me a choice. Turn over all my drug money-all of it-to him, or he'd turn me in. He ain't no saint.”
I leaned back, doubt clouding my face. Philip laughed. “Mutt's a piece. He took the money I'd made for himself. But he got Tom straightened out. It was a fair trade.” He glanced down at the stack of spiritual tapes. “My life's better now. So's Tom. He and I aren't ever going to be close again, but we're okay.”
More hurt tinged this admission than he would ever openly admit; his heavy-jawed face creased and he bit at his lip pensively. I didn't speak for a moment and the tape of chant ended with a click, and it sounded like the doors of heaven shutting.
“You stole money from Mutt.”
Philip smiled again. “Wrong. I'm trying to prove he's stealing his own.”
“You must be on drugs again.”
“Hell, I never took that stuff.” He shrugged. “You deserve to know what's happened here, the game that Mutt's played out to its end.” He leaned forward, the sly, boyish smile of a secret to be shared cutting his face. “Mutt's not dying.”
“That's crazy.”
“Dead men don't pay taxes,” Philip said. “He's decided to vanish by going into his grave.”
“If he wanted to fake his death, he wouldn't claim to have cancer. He'd fake an accident or something and drop out of sight.”
Philip nodded. “So one would think. But not our Mutt. He-and the delightful Miss Wendy-are planning on taking what's left of his fortune, heading far away, and setting up house with new lives. New names.”
“Why?”
“He wants to marry her without the family hovering, I guess. Or maybe he's just tired of Lolly and Jake being like warts on his ass.” He coughed, then stared hard into my eyes. “And I get the distinct feeling there's something bad in his life he'd like to forget and evade forever, but I don't know what it is.”
Paul's death. And Brian's. Dead men can't be prosecuted, either. Philip's eyes betrayed nothing more. Perhaps he didn't know about the cover-up involving Paul.
“And just how have you been planning to prove this?”
“I got Mutt-finally-to let me handle some of his financial affairs. He figured he could keep an eye on me. But eyes look both ways, don't they? He's been a little lazy about not passwording some of his computer files and I noticed key investments being sold off. Dumped into banks in the Caymans and Switzerland. Mutt's slowly moving offshore, so to speak.”
“Still not proof enough.”
“No, not on hard paper. But you tell me why he's got driver's licenses and passports-for names other than Emmett Goertz and Wendy Tran-in his safe.”
“Did you see those?”
He nodded. “He asked me to get some papers out of the safe and I grabbed the wrong envelope. He was in the John off the study, talking to me while he peed. I slipped out a Canadian passport made out for Edward Grimes, but with Emmett Goertz's picture on it. I stuck it all back in before he came out of the John. I'd nearly pissed myself.”
My throat felt dry. Who to believe? “So when is he planning on jumping ship?”
“Don't know. But he's announced he's got six months to live. So my countdown's started.” He coughed again. “He'll 'die,' and suddenly the family will discover there's nothing left. No money, no land, no stocks. Damned Uncle Mutt, they'll say, he done spent it all. And Mutt'll be off lying in a hammock in Jamaica, screwing Wendy and laughing his ass off at us all.”
“So why haven't you called the police yet?”
“I don't have proof. Has he committed a crime? And maybe I'd be happier if he vanished. I'm tired of dancing to his old tunes.”
I rubbed my eyes with my hands; suddenly I felt an unforgiving weariness pervade my whole body. “So why are you telling me? And what are you going to do next?”
“Can't do anything until the storm lets up and we get the phones back. But I'm telling you this, because Mutt suspects I've been sniffing around. He wants to discredit me.”
“So why doesn't he announce your past crimes to the world himself?”
Philip shrugged. “Maybe he doesn't want the authorities looking too closely at me, or at any member of this family. And if he thinks Aubrey's going to ruin me with his book, he doesn't need to lift a finger. He'd be vanished by the time that book hits the shelves. The dirty work's done for him.”
“And your little tete-a-tetes with Wendy?”
Philip smiled. “I told Wendy I needed her to steal some money away from Mutt for me; or else I might have to rat on him.”
I blinked. “You're trying to blackmail him? You let him know that you know his scheme?” I didn't want to believe Philip-but as much as I hate to admit it, I was starting to accept his story.
Philip ruffled at the accusation. “Extorting from a criminal's not really a crime. It's a public service. Actually, I figured that he wouldn't give me enough credit to deduce his real plan. He'd believe I'd steal from him sooner or later, and he'd let it be sooner. I wouldn't be surprised if he tries to leave me holding the bag on some of his debts. Be just like the ornery cuss.”
Philip saw the dismay in my face. “Listen, Jordan. He likes you, he ain't ever liked me much. I'm sure it's a disappointment to you that he's the way he is. But truth is, he's a selfish SOB and he's always been one.”
“That book. You took the book on digitalis poisoning. I saw you replace it.”
“Do you think you're the only one who might try to investigate a crime?” I saw intelligence in his face, a look I'd previously dismissed as arrogance. I was the faulty, arrogant one. “Lolly never mentioned any sort of heart condition. And she'd been aching for Mutt's money from time immemorial. His announcement that he was dying would upset her-she did love him, after all-but it wouldn't induce a heart attack. She'd have shown the proper sorrow and probably bought a parakeet to pretend it was Mutt come back.” He coughed. “Damned old Lolly. Anyway, the way she died, it reminded me of the woman in Bitter Money. I swiped the book after dinner to compare symptoms, but I couldn't exactly parade it around the house, could I? My morning coffee might've had something in it aside from sugar and cream.”
“The book vanished-”
“I'm guessing Mutt did away with it. And the police frankly don't seem to care. His money tips the scales of
