Philip looked at me expectantly. Hadn’t I answered the question? What was the fucking question?
Maybe this was about Colin taking time off. Did Philip think he’d had to do that to watch Bailey for me? “I mean, I take care of her, if that’s what you mean. Colin doesn’t have to—”
“That’s enough,” Colin said sharply.
I looked down at my soup, feeling ridiculous but relieved. Philip said nothing.
A few minutes later our soup bowls were taken away and replaced with a plate of…what? I poked it with my fork. Round fish pieces. Ah, scallops. And even a corn mixture. I picked out the greens and fed them to Bailey.
Rose broke the silence. “The company’s going to New York next month.”
“Oh,” said Colin. “For how long?”
“Just a week,” she said.
Nothing, then Shelly said, “How exciting. Have you been?”
“Oh, yeah,” Rose said. “I love it there.”
She paused. We all did.
“The nightlife,” she added, “the shopping…” Then she trailed off.
Belatedly Shelly said, “Ah.”
We all ate.
I’d expected as much from myself, but Shelly and even Rose were good conversationalists. It shouldn’t be this awkward.
I scowled into my plate. The cloud of Philip’s derision had dampened any real gaiety. Even the white lily centerpieces seemed to wilt under his wrath.
The paper in my bra started to itch. I wriggled to surreptitiously fix it, but that only succeeded in getting Colin’s attention. The heat in his eyes would be fantastic later tonight. But for now I could hardly reach in my bra and remove a slip of paper with his eyes boring into me.
“So,” Shelly broke in. “You guys were raised in Chicago?”
I’d thought this was a nice neutral topic until I saw the glances exchanged between the three siblings.
“Yes,” Rose finally said. “We were raised in Chicago.”
Hmm, that wasn’t really a mystery. Why the sudden tension?
“Ah,” said Shelly. “Did you—”
“Next course,” Philip said flatly. Shelly’s eyes flared in surprise at the unsubtle change of subject, but she let it go.
The servers exchanged our empty plates for large plates of thinly sliced smoked beef and a small chopped salad of carrots and potatoes and green herbs. It was pot roast done fancy. It smelled divine.
But then another smell wafted to me, this one putrid. What the hell…oh no. I’d been caught in my own lie. Bailey had pooped, for real this time. And it would look weird that she’d gone twice so soon. Assuming they knew about babies, which they probably didn’t.
My palms itched. I glanced over and saw Shelly’s eyes widen as the smell hit her.
One by one they all turned to me. I tried for a smile.
“Sorry, guys,” I said in a small voice. “Turns out she’s got the runs.”
Shelly coughed into her napkin, but I was pretty sure it was only hiding a laugh. The bitch. This is serious, I should tell her. But, well, damn me, at least someone could enjoy this night. There was a reason we never saw spies with toddlers, I thought, and it started with what went in and ended with what came out.
I grabbed the diaper bag and one seriously stinky child and headed toward the bathroom. I hadn’t been entirely lying about the runs, turned out. Rich food didn’t agree with her tummy.
We worked our way through a bag of wipes to a clean, shiny bum, and were ready to head out. In the hallway I paused again. I glanced longingly at the study door. I really wanted to see that file.
Chapter Eighteen
It seemed like a detour like this was only asking for trouble, but then I’d never really found all that much luck on the straight and narrow either.
That decided it.
I used the key again to get into the room and set Bailey down on the rug by the chairs. I’d probably go to hell for using her in this farce, but she’d act as a distraction if anyone came in here. If we were caught, having her might actually be a great excuse—I could say I needed to give her a break from the high chair and that’s why I was in here. That wouldn’t really explain how we’d unlocked the door, especially without triggering his alarm.
Bailey pulled herself up using the leather armrest and gnawed on the corner. I turned on the lamp and went straight for the ledger. I flipped through the pages dating back before I’d moved in with Colin. Farther and farther back I went. They’d started to blur together, but suddenly some pages caught my eye because they all looked alike.
They all started with R. Sanders—Rick’s name. There were five different entries, for amounts ranging from $3,000 to $13,000. Holy shit. Rick had been playing around with a lot of money. And for some reason Colin had bought up these debts…and traded them in for me. I snorted. He’d got the bad end of that deal.