Naomi seemed to understand the silence.
“I gave him access.”
Evelyn whispered, “Why?”
Naomi’s voice became unsteady.
“He said you asked him to retrieve some original insurance documents from your father’s estate files.”
“I never did.”
“I know that now.”
My chest hurt in a way that had nothing to do with surgery.
“Why didn’t you call me?”
“Because he knew exactly what to say.”
“What does that mean?”
“He knew the name of the insurer. He knew which cabinet the documents were in. He knew the estate attorney’s name. He knew things I assumed he only could have known if you had told him.”
Luca had always been observant.
I used to admire that.
He remembered wine vintages, investor birthdays, the names of people’s children.
He listened.
Apparently, he had been listening to more than I realized.
Naomi continued.
“I met him at the house. Opened the study. He said I could leave because he needed time to go through several folders.”
“How long was he there?”
“Maybe forty minutes.”
“And he found the envelope.”
“I didn’t see him find it.”
“But?”
“The next morning, he called me asking whether your father had ever discussed a separate property trust.”
I frowned.
“A what?”
“That was my reaction.”
Phoebe cut in.
“Exact words, Naomi.”
Naomi paused.
“He asked whether Mr. Vale had ever established ‘a private family trust connected to the Ridge property.’”
Nobody spoke.
The Ridge property.
That was what my father called the estate before I renovated it.
Not because it was its legal name.
Because the house sat above a long eastern ridge overlooking the mountains.
Very few people still used that phrase.
Luca certainly hadn’t.
He called it the estate.
Or, recently, apparently, his house.
I lowered myself into a chair.
“What did you tell him?”
“That I didn’t know anything about a trust.”
“Did you?”
“No.”
Phoebe’s voice sharpened.
“Jessi, do you?”
“No.”
Evelyn shook her head.
“Neither do I.”
Naomi continued.
“After that, Luca started asking questions.”
“What kind?”
“About older records. Property maps. Your father’s former attorney. Whether you had ever signed documents related to mineral rights or conservation easements. Things like that.”
I stared at the rain-spattered kitchen windows.
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
“I should have.”
“Yes.”
The word came out harder than I intended.
Naomi went silent.
I closed my eyes.
Anger was easy.
So was betrayal.
But neither one answered the question.
