“I received a phone call from Lily.” Again he paused. “It was the day before she . . . ahem . . . anyway, she asked me to keep it confidential, but now that she’s gone . . . well, she wanted to come in and make changes to her will.”

“What?” both Harrison and Kate said at the same time.

Gordon nodded somberly. “I’m assuming, then, that you knew nothing about this?”

Kate looked at her father. His face had paled.

“No, nothing. Are you sure that’s what she wanted to meet with you about?”

“Quite sure. She specified that she wanted a notary available. I had to mention this to the police, of course. I wanted you to know.”

Harrison stood up, moving closer to where Gordon was sitting. “What exactly did my wife say?”

Color rose to Gordon’s cheeks. “I told you. That she wanted to change her will. The last thing she said before we hung up was, ‘I’d appreciate your keeping this between us.’”

Kate looked at her father again, trying to gauge his reaction. His expression was inscrutable.

“Is there anything else, or can we go?” Harrison asked, his voice tight.

“Just a few more things to sign,” Gordon answered.

After the papers were signed, the meeting ended, and Gordon came around from behind his desk, once again taking Kate’s hands in his.

“If there is anything, anything at all, I can do for you, please call me.” He let go of her hands and pulled her to him in a stiff hug. There had always been such awkwardness to Gordon, from the time they’d been children together.

As a child, he’d had few friends, and that continued throughout his teen years. Kate wasn’t sure that he’d ever had a girlfriend, certainly not when they were young. He had always been odd, eschewing jeans for checkered or printed golf pants along with starched shirts and bow ties when he wasn’t in his school uniform. Although she never felt completely comfortable around him, she also never failed to defend Gordon when others made fun of him, so while she had never thought of Gordon as one of her friends, because of their parents’ long-standing relationship, they’d been thrown together frequently growing up.

Once, at the Bartons’ annual New Year’s Day open house, when Gordon had just turned fourteen and Kate was almost thirteen, he’d cornered her.

The party was well under way when Gordon said, “This is boring. Come on. I’ll show you something interesting.”

“I don’t think so. Maybe another time.” As she edged away, he moved closer to her.

“Come on. You’ll like this. I promise.”

“I’ll like what?”

“My new art project. I’ve been working on it for months. Follow me.” He reached for her hand, but Kate clasped her hands together as he led the way out of the room.