Chapter 2 - THE BOY I THOUGHT WAS THE PROBLEM
Leonard Pierce was sixty-one.
Dorothy’s late sister’s only son.
I remembered him vaguely from a funeral when I was twelve.
Back then, he had been the loud relative who complained about parking and smoked beside the church doors.
Now he was sitting handcuffed on Dorothy’s front porch.
Not arrested yet.
Detained while officers sorted through a story with too many moving pieces.
Alex stood near the driveway with another officer.
I stayed beside Dorothy’s ambulance.
“You knew him?”
She nodded toward Alex.
“For six months.”
“You told me he delivered a package.”
“He did.”
“That wasn’t how you met?”
“No.”
I stared at her.
She looked ashamed.
That frightened me.
“Dorothy.”
She lowered her voice.
“Alex is my grandnephew.”
“I understand that now.”
“No.”
She gripped my hand.
“I knew before he knocked.”
I stopped.
“What?”
“He wrote me.”
“When?”
“Last winter.”
Alex had grown up in Worcester with Leonard.
Dorothy had not seen him since he was a toddler.
Leonard and Dorothy stopped speaking after her sister’s estate was settled.
“What happened between you and Leonard?”
Dorothy looked toward the house.
“Money.”
Of course.
Her sister, Joan, had left Leonard a modest inheritance.
Dorothy served as executor.
Leonard wanted an early distribution.
Dorothy refused until probate finished.
He accused her of stealing.
They never recovered.
“What does that have to do with now?”
“Alex wrote because Leonard was in trouble.”
“What kind?”
Dorothy’s eyes filled.
“Gambling.”
My stomach tightened.
“Leonard?”
“Yes.”
“How much?”
“I don’t know.”
“Did he ask you for money?”
“Many times.”
“And Alex?”
“He asked me not to give it.”
That surprised me.
The paramedic closed the rear ambulance door halfway.
“We need to transport.”
I climbed in with Dorothy until the hospital asked family to take over.
There was no close family.
So I went.
Alex followed in his own car after police allowed him to leave.
Leonard went somewhere else.
At the ER outside Boston, Dorothy was admitted for dehydration, low blood pressure, and evaluation of bruising.
No broken bones.
No stroke.
No major infection.
The attending physician said she was lucky.
I did not feel lucky.
Alex waited in the hallway.
I walked toward him.
“Why didn’t you call police?”
He looked at the floor.
“My dad said if I did, he’d tell them I was the one stealing from her.”
“Were you?”
“No.”
“Then why would you care?”
His jaw tightened.
“Because I signed things.”
I stopped.
“What things?”
“Bank forms.”
“What kind?”
“He said Aunt Dorothy wanted me helping with bills.”
“Did she?”
Alex looked through the hospital-room window.
“Some.”
That answer was not good enough.
“What did you sign?”
“Authorized user forms. A utility account. Online banking reset.”
My chest tightened.
“You helped your father access her accounts.”
“I thought she agreed.”
“Did she?”
“At first.”
That complicated it.
Dorothy had invited Alex in.
She had let him help.
Maybe even given permission.
Then something changed.
“When?”
He rubbed his face.
“Three weeks ago.”
Exactly when I noticed her disappearing.
“What happened?”
“Aunt Dorothy found a transfer.”
“How much?”
“Forty-two thousand dollars.”
I stared.
“To whom?”
“My dad’s company.”
“What company?”
“Pierce Home Services.”
I knew the name.
Small general contractor.
Roofing.
Siding.
Repair jobs around the county.
“Did Dorothy authorize it?”
“No.”
“How did he do it?”
“Through the banking access.”
“And you knew?”
“After.”
“What did you do?”
“I told him to put it back.”
“Did he?”
“No.”
“Why not tell Dorothy?”
“I did.”
That surprised me again.
“She already knew.”
“What did she say?”
“That she was calling a lawyer.”
“Then?”
“My dad found out.”
Three days later, Dorothy stopped answering calls.
I felt sick.
“You were still coming here.”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“To check on her.”
“Why did she tell me you were her boyfriend?”
His face flushed.
“She thought it was funny.”
I stared.
“You’re joking.”
“No.”
“She told me you two were in love.”
“She told me she wanted to see how long before you came over and interrogated her.”
That sounded exactly like Dorothy.
I almost laughed.
Almost.
“She knew I was suspicious.”
“Yes.”
“Then why keep me outside?”
Alex looked miserable.
“Dad.”
“What?”
“He told her if anyone came inside, he’d stop letting me visit.”
My skin tightened.
“Letting you?”
“He had the house key.”
“Why?”
“Dorothy gave me one.”
“And he took it.”
“Yes.”
“When did he start locking her downstairs?”
“Three days ago.”
“You knew?”
He closed his eyes.
“Yes.”
My anger came back hard.
“And you left her there.”
“I brought food.”
“That is not an answer.”
“I know.”
“Why?”
“Because he said he’d move her somewhere I couldn’t find her if I called police.”
I stared.
“You believed him.”
“Yes.”
“That doesn’t excuse it.”
“I know.”
Good.
At least he did not ask me to forgive him.
I sat across from him.
“What was the will?”
He looked toward Dorothy’s room.
“She changed it.”
“From what?”
“Dad was getting almost everything.”
“And now?”
“Not anymore.”
“Who is?”
He looked at me.
“A senior housing charity. A scholarship fund.”
Then he hesitated.
“And you.”
I stared.
“No.”
“Not the house.”
“What?”
“She left you the house.”
I almost stood.
“No.”
“She said you were the only person who treated it like her home instead of an asset.”
I looked through the glass at Dorothy.
Suddenly Leonard’s behavior had another dimension.
Not just money already stolen.
Future money.
The house alone was worth nearly six hundred thousand dollars.
“When did she sign?”
“Three weeks ago.”
“Who knows?”
“Her lawyer.”
“Leonard?”
Alex looked away.
“He found the draft in her desk.”
I closed my eyes.
Then a hospital social worker approached.
“Rachel?”
“Yes?”
“Dorothy would like you inside.”
I went in.
She was pale.
Tired.
But more herself.
“Alex told me about the will.”
Dorothy frowned.
“That boy talks too much.”
“Why me?”
“You cut grilled cheese correctly.”
I laughed despite myself.
Then she became serious.
“Rachel.”
“What?”
“Leonard didn’t lock me downstairs because of the will.”
My stomach tightened.
“Then why?”
“He was looking for something.”
“What?”
She looked toward the closed door.
“My husband’s records.”
“Your husband?”
“Walter.”
Dorothy had been widowed twenty years.
Walter had worked for the city building department.
“What records?”
She swallowed.
“Inspection files.”
“Why would Leonard care about twenty-year-old inspection files?”
May you like
Dorothy looked directly at me.
“Because one of them proves the accident that killed Alex’s mother wasn’t an accident.”
