There was silence while we drank. By unspoken agreement something had changed in the family chemistry and it seemed as if the Averys had closed ranks after their argument. I knew what was coming next, why Clay had called Quinn and me back into the room.

We knew too much.

Quinn and I were the sole source of any potential leak concerning Prescott’s death. The only ones who knew exactly what had happened, outside of Bobby, Win, and the family. Bobby and Win got a special exemption; we did not.

“I am so sorry you two had to be the ones to discover Prescott the way you did,” Clayton said in a smooth, take-charge voice. “I know it must have been a terrible shock. You did the right thing getting Bobby and Win down here. But I must ask you both—in fact, I must insist—that you respect our family’s privacy by not revealing how you found Prescott. That you leave him his dignity.”

Quinn nodded and I said, “We understand.”

“The announcement for public consumption will be that Prescott died in his sleep,” Clayton went on. “A heart attack, a peaceful death. In the bosom of his family, finally joining his beloved Rose.” He looked from Quinn to me. “Is my meaning clear?”

“Crystal,” I said.

“There is no need to … embarrass … him or us with any tawdry details,” Scotty said. “We appreciate your discretion.”

“And I know we can count on you both,” Clayton said. He turned and faced Bobby and Win. “I’m asking the same courtesy of you as well. I see no need for an autopsy, do you, Win?”

Win set down his wineglass. “You don’t want to know the cause of death?”

“He was ninety-five,” Clayton said. “Does it really matter whether he had a heart attack or a stroke—or maybe he tripped after perhaps imbibing a little too much alcohol at a party in his own home?”

“If that’s your wish,” Win said.

“It is.”

“Lucie and Quinn,” Clay said, “you don’t need to stay any longer while we handle … everything. Thank you again for what you did here.”

We were being dismissed.

“Our condolences once again,” I said. “If there’s anything we can do…”

“Thank you, but we’re fine. We’ll be fine,” Alex said. It was the first time she’d spoken since we walked into the room.

“We’ll see ourselves out,” Quinn said.

There was silence as we left. I couldn’t wait to get out of there. Halfway across the room the tip of my cane came down on something that crunched as though I’d just broken it. I froze.

“What the—?” Quinn said.

Before either of us could pick it up, Bobby came over and got it. A small—and now destroyed—hearing aid.

“This must be Prescott’s.” He held it up so everyone at the bar could see it.