Chapter 7: Dean Calls Four Times
He called at nine forty-one, ten-oh-eight, ten fifty-three, and eleven-thirty.
I let all four go to voicemail.
I was sitting in Ruth's living room with a legal pad, writing down every financial transaction I could remember from the past eighteen months — dates, amounts, what I had been told each document was for, who had been present.
Carol had asked for a written account in my own words, and I was determined to give her one that was complete.
Ruth brought lunch at noon without being asked.
A bowl of tomato soup and half a sandwich, set quietly on the side table beside me.
She didn't ask how I was doing.
She simply left the food and went back to her kitchen, and that small act of uncomplicated kindness nearly undid me more than anything else had.
At twelve forty-seven, Priscilla called.
I looked at the screen for two full rings.
Then I answered.
"Eleanor." Her voice was measured.
Controlled.
The voice she used when she wanted something and was being careful about how she asked.
"I think we need to talk before this goes any further."
"Priscilla," I said, "you should speak to an attorney."
"I don't need an attorney.
I need five minutes with you without Carol Voss in the room."
"That's not something I'm willing to do."
A pause.
"I understand you're upset.
I understand the accounts look bad from the outside.
But there are things you don't know — things Dean and I were trying to protect you from — and if you file anything formally, those things are going to come out in ways that are going to hurt people you care about."
I set the legal pad on my knee.
"What things?"
"The house, Eleanor." Her voice dropped.
"Richard's estate.
There are irregularities in how the estate was settled that Dean has known about for four years.
Nothing that was your fault — nothing you did deliberately.
But if an investigation opens up, it won't stay contained to the accounts.
It never does.
And the people who get hurt won't be Dean and me."
It was well constructed.
I could feel the shape of it — the implied threat wrapped in concern, the suggestion that I was the one with something to hide, the careful use of Richard's name.
"Priscilla," I said, "if there are irregularities in Richard's estate, my attorney will find them.
And if they exist, they will be addressed." I paused.
"Is that everything?"
Her breathing changed slightly.
"You're making a mistake."
"Perhaps.
But it's mine to make." I shifted the phone to my other hand.
"Don't call this number again.
Contact Carol Voss's office."
I ended the call.
Ruth appeared in the doorway.
"The soup's getting cold," she said.
"Yes." I picked up the spoon.
"Ruth — do you know a good accountant?
Someone completely separate from any firm Dean has ever recommended to me?"
"My cousin's daughter," Ruth said immediately.
"She's been in practice for twenty years.
Completely independent." She paused.
"Do you want her number?"
"Please."
Ruth went to get her phone.
I ate the soup.
It was good — warm and simple and made by someone who expected nothing in return — and I sat with it quietly and let the morning settle.
At two-fifteen, Carol called.
"The freeze is in place," she said.
"Both accounts.
As of eleven fifty-eight this morning."
"Did they try to transfer anything?"
"Priscilla attempted a wire transfer at eleven forty-four." Carol's voice was perfectly level.
"Fourteen thousand dollars.
To an account in her sister's name in Cincinnati."
The attempt had failed by fourteen minutes.
"She knew," I said.
"She suspected," Carol said.
"Big difference.
She didn't know exactly when the freeze would execute, so she moved fast.
But not fast enough." A brief pause.
"Eleanor, this is actually good for us.
An attempted transfer after she knew an investigation was likely is consciousness of guilt.
It goes into the file."
I set the empty soup bowl down.
"What happens next?" I asked.
"Detective Alvarado at the financial crimes unit will contact you tomorrow to take a formal statement.
I've sent her everything we have — the footage, the document comparison, the transfer history, the timeline.
She'll want to speak to you directly." Carol paused.
"She may also want to speak to Dean separately from Priscilla.
I'd encourage that.
What each of them says without the other in the room will tell us a great deal."
After I ended the call, I sat for a long time without writing anything on the legal pad.
At four-thirty, Dean didn't call.
Instead, he rang the doorbell at Ruth's house.
Ruth appeared in the doorway and looked at me.
"He's on the front step," she said quietly.
"Alone."
I thought about Carol's instruction: *don't discuss the case.* I thought about Dean's face when he couldn't meet my eyes.
I thought about what Carol had asked me that morning: *Does it matter to you whether he knew?*
May you like
"Let him in," I said.
"But stay close."
