“Because I asked. See, who would have thought? Maybe one year does make a difference.”
That shut Maggie up for a moment, however fleetingly.
“No.” She shook her head. “No way. Mum sitting on some secret stash of money? It just doesn’t hold water.”
“The letter said ‘fortune.’ That might not necessarily mean money.”
“Fine. If not money, what was all that stuff about this mysterious fortune not being inherited?”
“Good point. The poison-pen also said we’d have to be skillful to find proof . . . Maybe there’s hidden meaning to the choice of words.”
“Sure, could be. But that’s a whole lot of maybes. Just throw the stupid letter away, forget you ever saw it.”
“Right, sure! You don’t fool me for a second. I give it two days before you run over to Dad’s and ransack the place.”
Maggie flicked her lighter and lit up her cigarette at last, taking a nice long drag and puffing a cloud of smoke up toward the ceiling.
“Fine,” she conceded. “We’ll invite everyone here for dinner tomorrow. You grill the food, I’ll grill Dad and get some answers just to be sure, but I know it’s a total waste of time.”
“Perfect. We can order pizza or something and question Dad together. But we’ll have to be careful; Michel will be there.”
4
RAY
October 2016, Croydon, south of London
Ray wondered why his kids couldn’t just come to his place for dinner. As much as he loved seeing them, he was a homebody and far too old to change that now. No matter, he thought, as he took a herringbone blazer from the wardrobe. He could pick up Michel in the old Austin, which he hardly ever drove these days, ever since a Tesco Express had opened within walking distance.
Ray was under doctor’s orders to get in fifteen minutes of walking per day at the very minimum to keep his joints moving. Truth be told, he didn’t care all that much about that these days. He really didn’t know what to do with his body anymore, now that he was a widower. Nevertheless, he checked his reflection in the mirror, pulled in his stomach, and slicked back his hair.
Ray wasn’t too bothered by aging, but he did miss the thick mane of hair he’d had as a younger man. With the countless millions the government spent on pointless wars, it was a wonder they couldn’t do something useful, like discover a way to grow back hair. If he could travel back in time to his thirties, he would convince his wife to apply her scientific skills to growing back hair instead of working as a chemistry teacher. She would have found the magic formula, making a fortune so that the couple could coast through their golden years, living it up in palaces the whole world over.
Ray had a change of heart and grabbed his gabardine coat instead. On second thoughts, his wife hadn’t made it to their golden years, and globetrotting alone as a widower would be absolutely unbearable. And why travel at all if you’re a homebody?
Tonight would mark the first time Maggie had invited them over to her place. Why was that? Could it be she planned to announce her engagement? Ray immediately wondered if he could still fit into his dinner jacket. Worst-case scenario, he would go on a diet, which meant they’d have to leave him enough time to lose five or six pounds. Ten at most. He was in pretty good shape, apart from a few soft edges here and there. It was nothing he couldn’t handle. Problem was, Ray wouldn’t put it past Maggie to tie the knot the very next weekend, what with her lack of patience. What in the world would he offer them as a wedding gift? Noticing the grayish bags under his eyes, Ray pulled the skin under his right eye a bit tighter with his finger. The puffiness did disappear, but he looked ridiculous. Maybe he should just stick a couple of pieces of tape under his eyes. That would crack everybody up. Ray tested out the look and made funny faces in the mirror, laughing to himself. Feeling chirpy, he snatched up his baseball cap, jingled his car keys in the palm of his hand, and popped out of the door with a sprightly gait that belied his age.