“Jesus,” Eli said again and picked up a mug. He examined what was in it, took a sip, and set it down like the contents were radioactive. “I’m sorry Sasha and I didn’t make it, but we had a couple of friends lined up to move her furniture out of her place and bring it to the house. But considering a murderer was lurking around Hawthorne Castle, I think I’m glad we didn’t go. Someone really killed Prescott—a ninety-five-year-old guy? Who would do that?”

“Bobby is zeroing in on the family. Everyone seems to have a motive and it’s mostly related to money,” I said.

My brother’s eyes flashed and we stared at each other. “Sounds familiar,” he said.

“Let’s not go there. What’s past is past.”

“Someone hit him over the head in his wine cellar,” Quinn said. “We found him on the floor. Lucie forgot her phone down there so we went back to get it. By the time we arrived we were too late, so there was nothing we could do. He was already dead.”

“Prescott Avery. He was a multibillionaire. He had everything. And Hawthorne…” Eli shook his head in wonderment. “That place is incredible. Any architect would have killed to be on the team that designed it. Not literally, I mean.” He paused. “You guys want some coffee? I can make a fresh pot. Grab a seat. Pull up those stools over there.”

“We’ll pass on coffee,” I said. “But thanks, anyway.”

Quinn dragged two high-backed stools across the room so the three of us were sitting around Eli’s drafting table.

“I hope you won’t have to stay here too late,” I said.

“I have a deadline to show a client drawings first thing tomorrow. It will take as long as it takes,” he said. “So what brings you guys here? Something besides Prescott.”

“Two things,” I told him. “I don’t want to hold you up since you’re busy, but yesterday afternoon Prescott told me Leland had a safe-deposit box.”

“Which we cleaned out,” Eli said right away. “Car titles, will, marriage license, my selective service card, for some reason. His and Mom’s birth certificates. The usual stuff.”

“Not that one. Another safe-deposit box. Where he kept things he didn’t want Mom to know about.”

In the poignant silence that followed, I knew my brother was thinking the same thing that had gone through my mind. What more could our father have hidden that we never knew about?

But more important was this: did we want to find out after all this time? They say the heart can’t hurt if the head doesn’t know. Did we want to know?

My brother gave me a wary look. “Where is this safe-deposit box?”

“Apparently at Blue Ridge Federal.”

“You’d think Seth would have told us about it.”

I nodded. “You’d think.”