“No.” He started to pace, trying to contain his anger. “You saw the letter, didn’t you?”
“I never saw anything, Ryan.”
“That’s why you believed Dad. You saw the letter from Debby Parkens.”
“I told you, no.”
“You’re the reason he got the letter, aren’t you?”
“What?”
“Dad told you it never happened, and you didn’t believe him. So he had to go out and get the letter from Marilyn Gaslow’s best friend saying she made it all up.”
“I never saw the letter.”
“But you knew about it.”
She paused. “Your father told me he had proof it never happened. He said he was going to use it to get even with the bastard who had framed him. I never saw the proof he had. Just, all of a sudden, money started pouring in. Millions of dollars. That was enough for me to believe him.”
“Why didn’t you just look at the letter?”
“Because I believed him without seeing it.”
“You refused to look at it, didn’t you. You felt guilty for not believing him.”
“Ryan, you’re getting this all backwards.”
“I don’t think so.”
“Ryan, did it ever occur to you that I didn’t want to see the proof because I believed him just fine without it? That maybe my greatest fear was that seeing the so-called proof would just raise more questions in my mind?”
Ryan searched her eyes. Her agony seemed genuine. He wanted to console her, but he was suddenly thinking back to a pointed question Norm had raised: If his father was innocent, wouldn’t he have told Ryan? The answer might have been right before him all along, deep in his mother’s eyes. Maybe Dad couldn’t face the pain of yet another loved one who said “I believe you” but in the heart harbored doubts.
Then another possibility chilled him.
He got down on a knee and took her hand. “Mom, I’m going to ask you something very important. I want a completely honest answer. Do you think it’s possible that Dad made up the proof? Would he go so far as to forge a document to prove he was innocent?”
Her reply was soft, shaky. “I don’t know, Ryan. But this is the way I’ve always looked at it: Would a phony document make somebody pay five million dollars?”
It was the kind of question that needed no answer. Until he thought about it. “Depends on how good the fake is.” He rose and retreated into the house, letting the screen door slap shut behind him.
55
Liz slept late on Sunday. She’d had trouble falling asleep. Yesterday’s court appearance had given her the jitters. They’d lasted all day, keeping her up most of the night. Not even a bottle of Merlot had calmed her nerves. She’d never testified in court before. Jackson had told her she was terrific, but she didn’t have the stomach for it. Thankfully, Ryan’s lawyer hadn’t come after her. She knew that wouldn’t be the case, however, if the legal battle continued. Yesterday had been a victory for sure. But it had taught her something. She was far less interested in courtroom warfare than her lawyer was.
Still, she wasn’t about to back down. Last night, drifting in and out of near-sleep, her mind had wandered to places she hadn’t visited for some time — scenes from her childhood. She was at the Prowers County Fair, and she was nine years old. It was funny how so many of the games at the fair revolved around money, at least the way Liz remembered it. There used to be a flagpole smeared with grease, with a twenty-dollar bill taped on the top. Kids would line up all day to take a shot at climbing up for the prize. Liz was the one who got it. Instead of wearing old shorts like most of the kids, she’d worn a skirt with her bathing suit underneath, using it like a rag to wipe off the axle grease as she climbed so she wouldn’t slide down. Her mother had slapped her face afterward. “What kind of stupid fool are you, Elizabeth? You don’t ruin a twenty-dollar skirt to get a twenty-dollar prize.” Liz understood the logic, but it seemed beside the point. Nothing could dim the feeling of winning that twenty bucks.
The phone rang on the nightstand. Liz rolled across the bed and answered. It was Sarah.
She sat up quickly, wiping the sleep from her eyes. She listened in shock as Sarah told her about Brent.
“Sarah, I had no idea.”
“Then why was your lawyer down here this morning?”
“Phil was in Piedmont Springs?”
“Came right to my house to offer me a deal. He wants me to help you squeeze more money out of my brother. Says you’ll give me a cut of whatever I can get you.”
Her mouth fell open. “Sarah, I swear to you, I never even talked to my lawyer about this. I wouldn’t. I would never try to turn you against Ryan. All I’m looking to get is my fair share. I’m not looking to destroy you guys.”
“I’d like to believe you.”
“You have to believe me. Please. Let’s work this out.”
Sarah fell silent for a moment. Finally, she said, “I’ll make you a deal.”
“What?”
“The way I see it, that snake you hired is going to cost us all a fortune. You’re going to spend a lot of money trying to get your share, Ryan is going to spend a fortune trying to protect the estate.”
Liz nodded to herself, seeing the logic. “Okay. I’m listening.”
“I think Jackson uses people. He used Brent. He’ll use you. And he won’t stop until every dime my father stashed away is lining the pockets of his three-piece suit.”
“He is aggressive.”
“He’s a shark, Liz. And he’s circling all of us.”
“What are you proposing?”
“From what I’ve been able to tell, it seems Dad wanted you to share in the family fortune. I’m willing to honor those wishes. On one condition. Fire Phil Jackson.”
“You want me to fire my lawyer?”
“Immediately. Jackson is going to screw everything up for everybody. And in the end, the only winners will be the lawyers.”
Liz said nothing, but she couldn’t disagree. For a split second she was nine years old again, thinking of that twenty-dollar skirt she’d ruined to get the twenty-dollar prize. One Pyrrhic victory was enough for anyone’s lifetime.
“Let me think about it,” said Liz. “This might just work.”
Amy drove nonstop back to Boulder, returning just after noon. Taylor was having a tea party in her room with Barbie. Amy was just in time to join them, but she was able to convince Taylor that the affair was much too formal for someone who had traveled clear across the state without showering. Taylor pinched her nose, hugged her as if she were covered with garlic, and sent her mommy marching off to the bathroom.
Amy had just about made a clean getaway when she heard Gram’s voice.
“Not so fast, young lady.”
Gram was leaning against the headboard, reading in bed. Amy was almost too tired to talk, but that was irrelevant to her grandmother. She wasn’t about to settle for the Reader’s Digest version, let alone a simple “Tell you later.” It took thirty minutes, but Amy sat obediently at the foot of the bed and recounted every detail. She even let Gram read the letter. At first it was difficult, but telling the story seemed to energize her. By the time she’d finished, her second (or perhaps third) wind had kicked in and she was ready to brainstorm.
“Why would Marilyn make the whole thing up?” asked Amy.
“Why does any woman make a false accusation of rape? Maybe they had sex and he dumped her. Maybe she got pregnant and couldn’t tell her parents she’d engaged in consensual sex. This was the 1950s, after all. Marilyn did come from a very proper family. Her grandfather founded the biggest law firm in Colorado.”
“But the letter doesn’t explain any of that.”
“Probably because Frank Duffy knew why she had lied. He just never was able to prove it.”
“What does this prove, though? It’s just a letter from my mother saying that Marilyn was never actually raped by Frank Duffy.”
Gram took another look at the letter. “It’s more than that. It says Marilyn and your mother attended their twenty-fifth high school reunion together. They had a few drinks, got to talking about old boyfriends. And then Marilyn admitted to your mother that Frank Duffy didn’t rape her.”