He gave his father a little salute and walked inside the house.
Philip sighed, sitting down on his son’s vacated chaise. He felt rotten. Oh, he had no misgivings about the chicanery he intended to work on the lottery. It had served him well, kept him alive. But it had come with some cost. Philip Young could rationalize most things, and most days he lived without any guilt about what he had done. But every once in a while, something would happen-seeing his brother’s children, for example-that would cause a flare-up of conscience. He wasn’t like his brother, so noble, so upstanding. Nor was he like his father, another good man. There were days that Philip Young almost admitted to himself what he really was: a coward.
His children, he realized, were even worse. They took it for granted that they should not have to face the same risks as everyone else. They had been raised that way. Their entitlement knew no bounds. Unlike their father, they suffered not even a moment’s compunction over their trickery. Not once did either Ryan or Chelsea experience even a flicker of guilt or remorse for their cousins. No, to them it was their right, their due, to be excluded from the messy realities of life and death.
Sitting there on his uncle’s terrace, Philip was not proud of his children.
Nor was he proud of himself.
But that didn’t alter the course he had planned.
“Philip,” came a voice.
He looked around. It was Uncle Howard, walking slowly, a little stiffly, onto the terrace.
“Welcome, nephew,” the old man was saying. “I wasn’t expecting you quite so soon.”
They shook hands.
“I came early because I knew Ryan and Chelsea would need me,” Philip explained. “They’re very upset after learning about the lottery.”
“Are they?” Uncle Howard asked. “They seemed to take it surprisingly in stride.”
“They are quite good at masking their emotions,” Philip lied. “I suppose I’ve trained them that way.”
Uncle Howard sighed, taking a seat in a large wicker chair overlooking the grounds. “Well, I have much faith in this woman that I have hired. She’s in New York right now making inquiries about possible solutions. I sense she may be able to finally uncover a way to end the curse.”
“Why do you have so much faith in her?”
“Because she’s a woman.”
Philip laughed. “You’ve said that on the phone. But I don’t understand.”
“The spirit that has controlled this family, that has wrought so much destruction, is a woman,” Uncle Howard said, his voice hard with resentment. “No man has ever been able to figure out what she wanted or how to control her.”
“And so Carolyn Cartwright has a better chance, you think?”
“Possibly. The spirit of Beatrice may allow her to see things that she kept guarded from the men. She has a weakness for her own kind.” He moved his yellow, watery eyes to meet Philip’s. “Remember, she didn’t kill Jeanette.”
The mention of his sister’s name stabbed Philip’s heart, as it always did. “One could argue what she did to Jeanette was even worse.”
“Still, she was disinclined to see her die, and that’s something.” The old man looked back across the grounds. Hummingbirds flitted around the rosebushes. The tall violet cleomes swayed in the soft breeze. “I have great faith in Carolyn. I will finally see an end to this madness before I die.”
And when will that be, exactly? Philip’s mind raced with the thought. And who have you decided shall get the bulk of your fortune?
Just then, as if on cue, a hand was placed on Philip’s shoulder.
“Hello, Uncle Philip.”
He turned. Douglas had come outside. As usual, the punk looked disheveled and unruly. His hair was straggly, his face unshaven. He wore an Obama HOPE T-shirt. He looked like a filthy hippie.
“Douglas,” Philip said, shaking the young man’s hand. “And what corner of the world have you blown in from this time?”
“My last address was in Syracuse, but I’m thinking of putting some roots down here in Maine. Come back to my roots, so to speak.”
The little sneak, Philip thought. Douglas was implying that he was to be the chief beneficiary of Uncle Howard’s will. He probably expected to live in this very house.
“My little hoodlum has visions of opening his own carpentry shop in Youngsport,” Uncle Howard said with obvious affection.
Philip stewed. He hated when the old man called Douglas his “little hoodlum.” He had no such special nickname for Ryan.
Douglas sat down on the back step at Uncle Howard’s feet. The old man placed a gnarled hand on his shoulder.
Any flicker of guilt Philip had been harboring disappeared in that moment. When it came time to draw up the lottery, the names of himself and his children would not be entered. Instead, there would be three additional slips of paper bearing the name “Douglas.”
Standing there looking at the old man’s hand on Douglas’s shoulder, Philip did not feel even the slightest twinge of guilt.
Chapter Eighteen
Carolyn had expected there might be a curious reaction to Diana from the family, but she could hardly have anticipated Chelsea’s scream.
“Oh my God!” she cried. “What is it?”
“It’s only what you would look like, my dear,” Diana replied, “if you were thirty years older and had had your arms and legs chopped off.”
That shut the girl up.
Diana was strapped into a specially designed motorized wheelchair with a long lever that she could operate with her chin, if need be. But at the moment Huldah was behind her, her hands grasping the handles of the chair tightly, her hard German eyes glaring at Chelsea.
“I apologize for my niece,” Mr. Young said, bowing slightly at his waist. Chelsea, meanwhile, was slinking back into the parlor, whether humiliated, revolted, or chagrined, Carolyn couldn’t tell. Philip Young stood staring wide-eyed, his look matched by his son Ryan. Douglas stood beside Carolyn. She wondered what thoughts were going through his mind.
“Welcome to my home,” Mr. Young was continuing. “And thank you for your assistance with our terrible curse.”
“I’m here to do what I can,” Diana said. “And one thing that I cannot do is make any promise.”
“Understood,” Mr. Young said.
“Carolyn has told me of your experience,” Douglas managed to say. “Have you ever encountered anything like this?”
“No,” Diana told him. “Nothing. But I hope to learn something if I can be brought down into the room. I have a certain…knack.”
Carolyn turned as she heard Philip Young chuckle. “And what kind of knack would that be?” he asked.
Diana stared at him. “A knack that tells me who I can trust and who I can’t.”
Carolyn noticed the smile quickly fade from Philip’s face.
She didn’t like Philip Young any more than she liked his children. She’d known him for just a few minutes, but she’d already marked him as smarmy and untrustworthy. Even without Diana’s ability to read minds, Carolyn had known right away that she’d have to keep an eye on him. She’d have to ask Diana later if she had seen anything specific in Philip’s thoughts that she should be aware of.
It had been an unsettling few days. Ever since seeing David Cooke on the street outside her apartment, Carolyn had been constantly looking over her shoulder. She had called the police, of course. A massive manhunt was immediately enacted. Guards were stationed outside her house and followed her at a discreet distance for the rest of her time in New York. They had accompanied her and Diana and Huldah to the airport and were with them until just moments before they boarded Mr. Young’s private plane. There was no way David could follow them here. He had no idea where she was going. In a strange twist of fate, she suddenly felt safer coming back to Maine than she had when she left it.