thought Ryan, had she not been eight months pregnant.
Sarah was just five years older than Ryan, but to him she had always seemed old. In grade school, her beehive hairdo and sixties-style cat’s-eye glasses made her look more matronly than their own mother. Kids used to tease that Ryan was prettier than his sister, more a slap to her than a compliment to him. Sadly, she hadn’t really changed much over the past three decades, save for the gray hair, crow’s feet around the eyes, and additional poundage. Sarah had been big before getting pregnant, which made her eighth month look more like her twelfth.
“Two million bucks!” She was literally squealing with delight. “I just can’t believe it!”
They were alone in Ryan’s old room. Their mother was downstairs with a handful of relatives who had decided to make dinner out of the leftovers from this afternoon’s post-service feast. Ryan was sitting on the bed. Sarah had squeezed into the nicked and scratched Windsor chair from his old desk. There had been no option but to tell her. Half the money was rightfully hers. Still, he hadn’t expected her to go giddy on him. At least not on the very same day their father had been buried.
“Easy, Sarah. There is a catch.”
Her excitement slowly faded. “A catch?”
“It’s not really found money, so to speak. At best, it’s tainted.”
“In what way?”
“Dad got it by blackmailing somebody.”
Her eyes widened once again, this time with anger. “If this is your idea of a joke, I’m-”
“It’s no joke.” In minutes, he explained all he knew — in particular, how neither he nor their mother knew who had paid the money. “The only thing he told Mom was that the guy deserved to be blackmailed.”
“Then we deserve to keep it.”
“Sarah, we don’t know that.”
“What do you want to do, give it back?”
He said nothing.
His sister shot him a troubled look. “You can’t be serious.”
“I just want to get some basic questions answered before we do anything. For all we know, Dad extorted some poor old fart for every cent he was worth. Or maybe he was forced to steal to meet Dad’s demands. And what horrible thing did this guy do in the first place to make him vulnerable to blackmail?”
“Don’t you think we owe it to our father to trust his judgment on those questions?”
“Hell, no. I loved Dad, but the bottom line is, he was a blackmailer. Morality aside, this money raises some serious legal problems. If the IRS or FBI gets wind of the fact that Dad somehow came into two million dollars without winning the Lotto, someone — namely us — is going to have some serious explaining to do.”
“Fine. Then give me my million, and you can do whatever you want with yours. I’ll take my chances. But from where I sit, it seems like lawyers are pretty damn good at keeping millionaires out of trouble.”
“I don’t want to fight with you over this. We need a plan, one we both can stick to.”
She struggled for a deep breath, shifting her pregnant body awkwardly in her chair. The slightest movement seemed to bring on discomfort. “Damn it, Ryan. You’ve got my hemorrhoids flaring up.”
“I’ll write you a prescription,” he said dryly.
“Wouldn’t do any good. I couldn’t afford to get it filled. Look at the realities, Ryan. It’s been a tough year for the whole family. On top of Dad’s doctor bills, pretty soon we’re going to have to figure out a way to take care of Mom. She depended on Dad for everything, so you can bet she’ll look to us now. You’re in the middle of a divorce, and even though Liz has been acting pretty civil toward the family, I think it says something that she didn’t come to the funeral. From what I hear, she’s gone out and hired a shark of a Denver divorce lawyer who has a reputation for leaving husbands flat broke.”
“Sarah, I can deal with my own problems.”
“Well, I’ve got problems of my own. At my age, it ended up costing me and Brent a fortune to get pregnant. All these fertility drugs aren’t cheap. We’re up to our eyeballs in debt, and the baby isn’t even born yet. And the way Mom keeps nagging, I shouldn’t have to remind you that Brent hasn’t worked since they closed down the plant.”
“You think two million dollars can solve the world’s problems?”
“No. But it can solve ours.”
“It might create more problems than it solves.”
“Only if you let it, Ryan. Now, if you don’t mind, I’d like to see my million dollars.”
He shook his head. “We can’t split it up until we have an agreement on what we’re going to do with it.”
“It’s my money. I’ll do what I want.”
“We have to stick together on this. There’s all kinds of issues to resolve. Not the least of which is possible estate tax.”
“Jeez, Ryan. Just take the money, and be happy.”
“I’m the executor of the estate. It’s my neck on the line. Blackmail is illegal, you know. We’re talking about receiving the proceeds of criminal activity. If we’re going to do it, we’re going to do it the right way.”
“And what is the right way?”
“I’ll keep the money hidden until we find out who Dad blackmailed and why. In the meantime, we tell no one about it. Not Liz. Not Brent. That way, the secret won’t slip out and the IRS won’t come crashing down on our heads. In the end, if we’re satisfied that Dad was right — if the man did deserve to be blackmailed — then we’ll keep it.”
“And if he didn’t deserve it?”
“Then we make a two-million-dollar anonymous donation to charity.”
“Get outta town!”
“That’s the deal, Sarah.”
“What if I don’t like it?”
“I don’t want to be a bully about this, but you don’t know where the money is. I do. If anybody gets greedy, I’ve already picked out a very deserving charity.”
“Shit, Ryan. That’s like extortion.”
“It must run in the family.”
She made a face.
“So,” he said. “We tell no one, not even Liz or Brent. Especially not Liz or Brent. Till I find out the truth. Do we have a deal?”
“I guess so,” she said, grumbling.
“Good.” He rose to help his sister from the chair. She waved him off, refusing his offer. He stepped aside as she waddled toward the door. He scratched his head and watched, wondering if the compromise was the right thing to do — and questioning the strength of Sarah’s commitment.
Ryan knew his sister was angry. She left the house immediately after their conversation, barely taking the time to say goodbye to their mother. He didn’t see any point in chasing after her. They’d each had their say. Hopefully she’d cool down on her own.
His mother and aunts were bouncing back and forth between the kitchen and dining room cleaning up. Staying busy was certainly one way to stave off the loneliness, the crying jags. Ryan escaped to the family room and switched on the evening news. A flood in India had killed eighty-six people. A convenience store clerk had been shot to death in Fort Collins.
A working stiff in Piedmont Springs just died in his sleep. The last one didn’t make the news. No violence, no fascination, no news. Should have jumped off a building, Dad.
Ryan paused, wondering if his father had succumbed to the thinking that a life wasn’t worthy unless it was news worthy. Dad had always short-changed his own accomplishments, never fully seeing the beauty in the way he made others feel good about themselves, one person at a time. Most people didn’t think the cashier at the grocery store or the gas station attendant were worth their time. Frank Duffy knew their names, and they knew his. He had the magic touch with everyone. That was something to be proud of. Yet Ryan remembered back in high school, when his acceptance letter had come from the University of Colorado. The first Duffy to go to college. His father had been more excited than anyone, embracing him so hard he’d nearly cracked a rib as he whispered in Ryan’s ear, “Now the Duffys finally have something to be proud of.” At the time, Ryan had thought it sad that his father didn’t
