feel the pride he rightfully should have felt. Now he could only wonder what secrets had made him feel so ashamed.
The news was turning to sports when Ryan heard a knock on the front door. He rose from the couch and answered it.
“Liz,” he said with surprise.
His wife stood in the doorway, tentative. “Can — can I come in?”
He stepped aside awkwardly. “Of course. Come in.”
Liz was wearing a casual print sundress, not exactly mourning attire. It showed the figure she’d worked hard to maintain. She’d changed her hair, Ryan noticed. It was lighter, more blonde, making her eyes seem greener, her legs more tan. Physical attraction had never been the problem in their marriage. Maybe it was a classic case of wanting what you can’t have, but to Ryan his wife had never looked better than in the last seven weeks, since she’d told him she was filing for divorce.
“Can I get you something?” asked Ryan. “Lots of food left. You know how funerals are in the Duffy family.”
“No, thanks.”
Ryan wasn’t surprised. Liz never ate, it seemed, never needed sustenance. Eight years of marriage and he never did find that battery she must have run on.
Liz said, “Can we talk for a minute?”
She seemed to be shying from the noise in the kitchen. Ryan quickly surmised her visit wasn’t family- oriented. She wanted some privacy. “Not to push you out the door,” he said, “but how about the porch?”
She nodded, then led the way to the big covered wood porch that extended across the front of the house, overlooking the lawn. Ryan closed the door behind them. He started toward the wicker love seat near the picture window, but they both stopped short, thinking twice. Too many memories there, watching sunsets side by side. Liz took the old rocker. Ryan sat on the porch railing beside a potted cactus plant.
“I’m sorry I missed the funeral,” she said, eyes lowered. “After all these years, I did love Frank. I wanted to go. I just thought it would have been awkward for the family. You, especially.”
“I understand.”
“I hope you do. Because I don’t want us to end up enemies.”
“It’s okay. I promise.”
She looked away, then turned her gaze toward Ryan. “I don’t think Frank would want us to be enemies.”
“Dad would want us to stay married, Liz. But this isn’t about what Dad wants.” Ryan paused. His words had sounded harsher than intended. “I do appreciate the way you helped me keep the lid on the divorce around Dad. There really wasn’t any need for him to know.”
She sniffed back a tear, nearly scoffed. It was a hopeless charade Ryan had kept up for the sake of his dying father, never telling him that the marriage was over. “He must have known. For God’s sake, we lived in Piedmont Springs. Everybody knew.”
“He never said anything to me. To suggest he knew, I mean.”
“We talked a couple of weeks ago. On the phone.”
“I didn’t know that.”
“He didn’t really come right out and say the word ‘divorce.’ But I think he sensed you and I were having money problems.”
“What did he say?”
“Just before he hung up, he said something like, hang in there. Things will get better for you and Ryan. Money will come soon.”
“Did you ask him what he meant by that?”
“I didn’t push it. At the time, I didn’t see the point.” She paused, as if considering what she was about to say. “But I’ve been thinking about what he said. A lot. I guess that’s why I drove all the way down here to see you.”
Ryan bristled. “What have you been thinking?”
“I thought, if only that were true. If we could solve our money problems, maybe we wouldn’t be where we are now.” She looked up, catching Ryan’s eye.
He blinked. She looked sincere, sounded like she meant what she was saying. Yet he somehow didn’t trust her. Anger swelled inside him. It was the damn money. Either she was after it, and it was making her deceitful. Or she knew nothing about it, and it was making him paranoid. The damn money.
“Liz, I’d be lying if I said I’d lost all feelings for you. But I just buried my father today. I can’t get on this emotional roller coaster.”
“I’m sorry,” she said, rising. “I didn’t come here to mess with your head.”
“I didn’t mean to send you away.”
She smiled sadly. “It’s okay. I really should go. Give my love to Jeanette.” She kissed him lightly on the cheek — just a peck, next to nothing.
“Thanks for coming by. It means a lot.”
“You’re welcome.” She headed down the steps and crossed the lawn. With a half-turn she waved goodbye, then got in her car and drove away.
He watched as her taillights faded into the darkness. He was tempted to call her back and tell her about the money. But his sister’s earlier warning echoed in his mind — how Liz had hired herself a shark of a Denver divorce lawyer. Maybe Liz was just fishing for assets, something to report back to her lawyer.
Ryan walked back inside, chiding himself. After coming down hard on Sarah to keep things quiet until they sorted out the truth, there he was ready to tell all to Liz at the first sign of a possible reconciliation. Still, he couldn’t deny his feelings for Liz. What was so awful about a woman who wanted a little financial security?
He went to the living room and picked up the phone, ready to call her answering machine and tell her to call him as soon as she got in. He punched three buttons, then hung up.
Sleep on it, he told himself.
10
Two days had passed, and Amy was still working up the nerve to phone Ryan Duffy. Just one question — the two-hundred-thousand-dollar question — had her paralyzed: Did she have the right Duffys?
She had done some serious checking. Yesterday, she’d even taken a sick day from the firm and driven all the way to Piedmont Springs, looking discreetly for obvious signs of wealth, a lifestyle befitting a family that could spare an extra two hundred thousand dollars. She found nothing of the sort. The Duffys owned a simple house in a rural middleclass town. The only car in the driveway was an older Jeep Cherokee. Ryan’s clinic had the street presence of an abandoned five-and-dime store, serving patients who looked like they might barter sheep for services. And Frank Duffy had worked for wages his entire life.
Her findings had so befuddled her that last night she’d gone back to the computer to check the remaining Jeanette Duffys on her list. No one, however, seemed more promising than the Duffys of Piedmont Springs. Amy figured that whoever had sent the money didn’t just wake up one morning and decide to do it. Something had to trigger the decision — a traumatic and life-altering event, like Frank Duffy’s illness and impending death. It couldn’t be coincidence. It had to be these Duffys. For whatever reason, they just didn’t flaunt their money.
Amy had to be cautious in her approach. It simply wouldn’t be smart to phone Frank Duffy’s son and say, “Someone in your family appears to have sent me a box full of cash for no good reason.” Greedy heirs weren’t likely to explain why she’d gotten the money. They were more likely to say, “It’s mine, give it back.”
At lunchtime Thursday, Amy grabbed a Pepsi and an orange from the employee lounge and went back to her office. She peeled the orange and broke it into wedges as she glanced at the handful of snapshots she’d taken of the Duffy house. Eight of them were spread across her desk. It had seemed wise to take pictures, just in case she ever had to go to the police. Police were always taking pictures — at least that was her experience. She remembered when she was eight, when her mother died. The police were all over the house taking
