Nelia Tyler joined Drayco in looking out the window of the car at the Massaponax sandstone gate with its Gothic columns and pointed arch. Beyond, lay a flat expanse of late-winter grass dotted with markers serving as marble and stone flowers.
Nelia said, “We seem to do this too often.”
He knew what she was referring to, the ending of the first case they’d worked together and a cemetery like this one. When Nelia called earlier in the day and learned where Drayco was headed, she offered to ride with him. He wasn’t sure at first if he should accept, but having her solid, quiet support made him glad he’d said yes. He pushed aside the little nagging voice asking why he hadn’t invited Darcie.
His cellphone rang again. This time, he rolled down the window and started to throw the phone out, but Nelia slipped it out of his palm. She checked the incoming number and frowned. “You’ve labeled this contact as UAB.”
Drayco took the phone from her. He pictured the distinguished man with the Greek nose he’d seen from afar twice, as the voice spoke. “I know this is not the most opportune time to call, dear nephew.”
“I’m surprised you aren’t here.”
“Who says I’m not?”
Drayco turned his head sharply, looking all around them. There were a few cars parked several yards away, but they appeared to be empty. “Been trying to get you for two days, Brisbane. All of a sudden, you stopped taking my calls.”
“I’m not sure how I could help you.”
“You could tell me whether my mother is alive or dead, for starters. And where she and Iago are.”
“I’m afraid I don’t have that information for you.”
“You don’t know, or you won’t say?”
“I mean that I don’t have that information for you.”
Drayco rubbed his eyes. “How am I supposed to live with that?”
There was a long pause on the other end. “Some day, Scott, you and I will sit down and have a chat. It’s difficult to feel whole when the tapestry of your life is riddled with rips and tears. You deserve a complete picture.”
“Why the call now?”
“I wanted you to know I’m setting up a music scholarship at your alma mater, the University of Maryland. It’s in honor of you and your mother, but it will be in your name. Hers can’t be attached to it, for obvious reasons.”
“I’m touched, Brisbane, truly. But I have an even better idea. You reimburse Imogen Layford and all the other victims of Maura’s lottery fraud.”
After several moments of silence, the other man replied, “That can be arranged.” Then he added, “Oh, and don’t be surprised if UMD gives you a call to play a recital there as a thank you. I’ll be watching.”
He hung up and Nelia, who’d overheard part of the conversation, asked, “Watching you play or watching you in general?”
“Probably both. I doubt I’ve heard the last from Uncle Alistair, one way or the other.”
Nelia chewed on her lip. “I’ve been thinking. Which brother would you say was harming the most people? Jerold scamming elderly women out of money or Edwin watering down their meds?”
“If you go by intent—money—they’re even. If you go by results, that will be for the police, the government, and the courts to shake out.”
“What about Iago? Won’t Brisbane be afraid he gives away sensitive information about his operations?”
“Iago is even more loyal than Greyfriars Bobby, that terrier who spent fourteen years guarding the grave of his dead owner. Iago won’t breathe a word about Brisbane.”
“But why spirit Maura away, alive or dead?”
“He’d been her bodyguard for so long, it must have been hard to stop. That, and the fact he loved her.”
It was Nelia’s cellphone that rang next. She looked at the number and thrust the phone back in her pocket. “It’s just Tim. He can wait. This is more important.”
They watched the figure of a man striding toward the cemetery and through the gate. Nelia reached for Drayco’s hand and gave it a squeeze. “I’ll be here,” she said.
Drayco walked to the man’s side, and they both gazed down at the gleaming new tombstone sitting beside a much older marker. A new tombstone for an empty grave. Brock laid some pink roses he’d brought on both grave sites.
Drayco asked, “You know she might still be alive, don’t you?”
“Not to me, she isn’t. Besides, if and when she is no longer living, we may never know. I think it’s important to have this marker here. Casey should be reunited with her mother at last.”
“We lost her, found her, then lost her again.”
Brock squinted up at the sun. “She was never ours to lose.” He looked over at Drayco briefly. “I’m actually sorry I didn’t try to see Maura. When she was in jail.”
“I thought you hated her.”
“Maybe I was still angry. But how could I hate her when she gave me you?”
Drayco pulled two necklaces out of his pocket, the ones with the half-hearts that said Miz and Pah. Brock looked at them in shock. “Where did you get those?”
“I saved one you threw in the trash years ago. The other I found among Maura’s things in her apartment.”
“I bought them for us when we got married. I can’t believe she kept hers.”
Drayco held them up in the air. “You know, Sarg calls me junior and Benny calls me boy-o, but you call me Scott.”
“Of course. You’re my son.”
A strong breeze made the two necklaces dangling in Drayco’s hand jingle. He handed them to Brock, who slipped them into his pocket.
Drayco took the lilies tucked under his arm and placed some on the new tombstone, but stopped in front of his sister’s grave. “You brought Casey pink roses, right?”
Brock nodded. Drayco laid the remaining lilies on Casey’s grave—next to a bouquet of yellow callas already there. Who’d put those there if it wasn’t him or his father? Out of the corner of his eye, Drayco caught sight of a dark limousine as the window rolled up and the limo drove slowly away.
He watched it until it disappeared down the road, surprised that he didn’t feel an urge to run after it, then turned to his father. “You play any one-on-one hoops lately, Dad?”
The corners of Brock’s lips turned up in a rare smile. “Don’t think for a minute I’ll go easy on you. A foul’s a foul, and I call them as I see them.”
Brock draped his arm around Drayco’s shoulders as they walked away from the graves. This time, there was no little paper message scrawled in a child’s hand, no heartfelt cry of loss and abandonment. And maybe if and when he played that concert in Maryland, his father would be front and center, watching.