“What did he say?” Luke asked curiously.
“He’s never believed she’s really pregnant. Thinks her brother put her up to it. I don’t know. But if there is a child, and it’s Greg’s, then he or she is a Wren. I just need to know, and so does Carter . . . and Emma.”
“Sounds like you’re putting things in order.”
“A little late, but yeah. We need to.”
The elevator doors suddenly slid open and Emma and Ben burst out as if they were being chased by wild animals. “Looks like I gotta,” she said.
“I’ll let you know what Peg says.”
“Good. Thanks. Maybe . . . why don’t you stop by the cabin afterward and fill me in?” she asked.
“See you then,” he agreed.
“Where’s Carter?” Emma demanded as Andi ended her call.
“In his office.” She inclined her head toward the door to the room she’d just left.
“What are you doing here?” Ben asked.
“I work here.”I could ask you the same thing, she thought. Ben seemed to consider himself a fourth partner.
“You’ve been here all day?” Emma looked chagrined. Andi had to think hard to remember the last time Emma had come to the office.
Andi moved past both of them toward the elevator. “I just talked to Carter about Mimi Quade. I’m going to contact her to find out if she’s pregnant with Greg’s child.”
“You are?” Emma stared at Andi with consternation. “Are you okay with that?”
“Well, yeah. We have to be. Scott said she was pregnant with Greg’s baby and wanted a DNA test. I say let’s find out.”
Andi pressed the Down button and luckily, the elevator car was still on their floor. As she stepped inside, she added, “Talk to Carter. There’s a meeting scheduled at the lodge tomorrow. I’m planning to be there and Carter thinks you should be, too.”
The elevator doors whispered closed and Andi let out a pent-up breath. No time like the present, she thought. She pulled up the contact list on her phone and punched in the number Greg had given her for Mimi months earlier in a show of good faith about his commitment to their marriage. “Ask her anything,” he’d said. “It’s over.” Of course, she hadn’t made the call. Hadn’t believed she ever would, until now.
*
Scott Quade sat at the kitchen table inside the apartment he was currently sharing with his sister. He’d had to move in with her after the incident with the landlord at his last place. Could he help it if his date had gotten completely wasted and walked out of his unit naked? It wasn’t any kind of reason to kick him out, but hell, he was behind on the rent anyway, and it was kind of understood that if he just left, the skinflint bastard who ran the place wouldn’t come after him for October’s rent. The security fee, which was only about half the month’s rent anyway, would be used instead, and there would be no cleaning fee returned. Scott had made certain of that.
Now he was accessing the neighbor’s unsecured Wi-Fi from his grinder of a laptop. It was embarrassing that he had such an ancient piece of equipment, that he couldn’t afford a tablet. He was damn lucky to have a smartphone, although he was behind on that bill as well. He’d always crowed about being a master of the get-rich-quick scheme, but the shitty truth was none of his ideas had panned out yet.
Mimi was gasping on the phone, her eyes practically bugging out. Scott threw her a dark look. He was really over her histrionics, though this time there seemed to something else going on. The girl was damn near hyperventilating.
What? he mouthed to her, but she turned away to look out the teensy, dirt-smeared window above the sink, her cell phone at her ear.
“Uh-huh . . . okay, yeah . . . uh-huh . . .” was all she was saying, but she looked about to faint. “Okay, then.”
“What?” Scott asked again as Mimi dropped the phone on the counter with a clatter.
“OMG! You know who that was? Andrea Wren! Greg’s wife!”
“She fucking called you?” Scott stared at his dim-bulb sister.
“Yes! What does she want? OMG,” she muttered again and began chewing on her thumbnail like a pit bull on a bone.
Scott held himself back from yanking her hand from her mouth. He also hated the way she verbalized texting shortcuts, but she was his meal ticket. She might not realize that fact, but he sure did. “Well, good. It’s about time they got back to us. That fucking Carter’s been refusing my calls. Goddamn Wrens.”
“Don’t say that. You know how much I loved Greg.”
Scott’s black mood slipped into further decline. “They screwed you over, Meems. All of ’em, not just Greg. And now you’re goddamn Ebola.”
“What do you mean?”
“You’re the plague, ding dong. The fucking plague.”
“But I’m not pregnant anymore,” she said in that little baby voice that made his teeth hurt.