The kitchen smelled of corned beef and cabbage. So did the dining room. The living room, too. The whole house smelled of it. It was a Duffy family tradition going back as far as Ryan could remember, which was his grandfather’s funeral. Just as soon as the body was in the ground, they’d file back to the house and stuff themselves, as if to prove that nothing was depressing enough to ruin a good meal. Somebody always brought corned beef and cabbage. Hell, anyone who could turn on an oven brought corned beef and cabbage.
Dad didn’t even like corned beef and cabbage. Not that it mattered. Dad was gone. Forever.
“Your father was a good man, Ryan.” It was Josh Colburn, the family lawyer. He’d been every family’s lawyer for the last fifty years. He was no Clarence Darrow, but he was an honest man, an old-school lawyer who considered the law a sacred profession. It was no wonder his dearly departed client’s last will and testament had made no mention of the stash in the attic. Colburn was the last person Dad would have told.
He was back in the buffet line before Ryan could thank him for the kind words.
Apart from the guests’ black attire, the post-cemetery gathering had lost any discernible connection to a funeral. It had begun somberly enough, with scattered groups of friends and relatives quietly remembering Frank Duffy. As the crowd grew, so did the noise level. The small groups expanded from three or four to six or eight, until the house was so crowded it was impossible to tell where one group left off and the other started. The food had broken whatever ice remained — tons of food from mutton to whitefish, dumplings to trifle. Before long, someone was playing “Danny Boy” on the old upright piano, and Uncle Kevin was pouring shots of Jameson’s, toasting his dearly departed brother and days gone by.
Ryan didn’t join in. He just kept moving from room to room, knowing that if he stood still he’d be locked in conversation with someone he had no interest in talking to. In fact, he had no interest in talking to anyone. Except his mother.
Ryan had been watching her closely all day, ever since that eulogy that had moved everyone to tears — everyone but Jeanette Duffy. She had a detached look about her. In some ways it seemed normal. She wouldn’t be the first widow to walk numbly through her husband’s funeral. It was just so unlike his mother. She was an emotional woman, the kind who’d seen It’s a Wonderful Life at least fifty times and still cried every time Clarence got his wings.
Ryan caught her eye from across the room. She looked away.
“Eat something, Ryan.” His aunt was pushing a plate of food toward him.
“No, thanks. I’m not really hungry.”
“You don’t know what you’re missing.”
“Really, I’m not hungry.” Through the crowd, he tried to catch his mother’s eye again, but she wouldn’t look his way. He glanced down at his four-foot-ten-inch aunt. “Aunt Angie, does Mom seem okay to you?”
“Okay? I guess so. This is a very tough time for her, Ryan. Your father is the only man she ever — you know. Loved. What they had was special. They were like one person.”
He glanced at his mother, then back at his aunt. “I don’t suppose they would have kept any secrets from each other, would they?”
“I wouldn’t think so. No, definitely not. Not Frank and Jeanette.”
Ryan was staring in his mother’s direction, but he’d lost focus. He was deep in thought.
His aunt touched his hand. “Are you all right, darling?”
“I’m fine,” he said vaguely. “I think I just need some air. Will you excuse me a minute?” He started across the living room, toward the front door, then stopped. He sensed his mother was watching. He turned and caught her eye. This time she didn’t look away.
Ryan worked his way back through the crowd toward the dining room. His mother was standing at the head of the table full of food, busily cutting a piece of corned beef into toddler-sized pieces for some youngster. He stood right beside her, laid his hand on hers, speaking in a soft voice. “Mom, I need to talk to you in private.”
“Now?”
“Yes.”
She smiled nervously. “But the guests.”
“They can wait, Mom. This is important.”
She blinked nervously, then laid down the carving knife beside the plate of bite-size beef. “All right. We can talk in the master.”
Ryan followed her down the hall. The door flew open as they reached the master suite. An old man came out, zipping his fly.
“Sorry,” he said sheepishly. “Damn prostate, you know.” He hurried away.
They entered together. Ryan closed the door, shutting out the noise. Like his own old bedroom, the master was a veritable time capsule, complete with the old sculptured wall-to-wall carpeting and cabbage rose wallpaper. The bed was the old four-poster style, so high off the floor it required a step-stool to get into it. He and his sister Sarah used to hide beneath it as kids. Dad would pretend he couldn’t find them, even though their giggling was loud enough to wake up the neighbors. Ryan shook off the memories and checked the master bathroom, making sure they were alone. His mother sat in the armchair in the corner beside the bureau. Ryan leaned against the bedpost.
“What’s on your mind, Ryan?”
“Dad told me something the night before he died. Something pretty disturbing.”
Her voice cracked. “Oh?”
He started to pace. “Look, there’s really no delicate way to put this, so let me just ask you. Did you know anything about some kind of blackmail Dad might have been involved in?”
“Blackmail?”
“Yes, blackmail. Two million dollars, cash.” Ryan checked her reaction, searching for surprise. He saw none.
“Yes, I knew.”
He suddenly stopped pacing, stunned. “You knew what?”
She sighed. It was as if she were expecting this conversation, but that didn’t mean she had to enjoy it. “I knew about the money. And I knew about the blackmail.”
“You actually let him do it?”
“It’s not that simple, Ryan.”
His voice grew louder. “I’m all ears, Mom. Tell me.”
“There’s no need for that tone.”
“I’m sorry. It’s just that we haven’t exactly lived like millionaires. Now Dad’s dead, I find out he was a blackmailer, and there’s two million dollars in the attic. Who in the heck was he blackmailing?”
“That I don’t know.”
“What do you mean, you don’t know?”
“He never told me. He didn’t want me to know. That way, if anything ever went wrong, I could honestly tell the police I didn’t know anything. I had nothing to do with it.”
“But you were happy to reap the benefits.”
“No, I wasn’t. That’s why the money’s still in the attic. To me, it was tainted. I would never let your father spend a penny of it. Your father and I had some doozy fights over this. I even threatened to leave him.”
“Why didn’t you?”
She looked at him curiously, as if the question were stupid. “I loved him. And he told me the man deserved to be blackmailed.”
“You believed him?”
“Yes.”
“So that’s it? Dad says the guy deserved it, so you let him keep the money. But you wouldn’t let him spend it. That’s crazy.”
She folded her arms, suddenly defensive. “We reached a compromise. I didn’t feel comfortable spending the money, but your father thought you and your sister might feel differently. So we agreed that he would keep it hidden until he died. Then we’d leave it up to you and Sarah to decide whether you wanted to keep it, leave it, burn it — whatever you decide. It’s yours. If you can spend it in good conscience, you have your father’s blessing.”
Ryan stepped to the window, looking out to the backyard. Uncle Kevin was organizing a game of horseshoes. He spoke quietly with his back to his mother. “What am I supposed to say?”
“It’s your call — yours and Sarah’s.”
He turned and faced her, showing no emotion. “Guess it’s time I had a little talk with my big sister.”