Seconds later, Brian stomped in from the kitchen. “Hello, Aunt Mina.”

As he started toward her, Ivory gave a yowl and disappeared under the couch.

Brian had always been on the scrawny side, but in his forties he’d turned portly and thickened in the jowls. Nearly sixty now, he still had that shock of wavy hair, only instead of auburn it was nearly black. When men colored their hair, they always made it too dark. Like shoe polish.

At least he was predictable, you could say that for him. Always favored double-breasted jackets with brass buttons and cordovan leather loafers, like what he had on now. But fine feathers didn’t make fine birds.

“Did you at least look at the agreement?” he said, not bothering with Hello or How are you today?

“Shouldn’t you be at work?” Mina said, giving him a bland look and adjusting the afghan around her.

He looked back at her with that lethal combination of exasperation and bemused contempt. “It’s Saturday. I don’t work weekends, remember? And I told you I was coming over.” He shot his cuffs before folding his arms and narrowing his eyes at her. “You do remember, I told you I was coming back?”

Of course she remembered. But she’d long ago learned that with Brian, evasion worked out better than engagement. “I must have forgotten to write it on my calendar.”

Mina heard water running in the kitchen and the tink of bone china. The girl was washing up. She seemed awfully sweet, but Mina hoped she’d be careful. That gold-rimmed service that once belonged to her mother had only a few cracks and a single chip.

“So did you look at the papers I left?” Brian asked.

“Button your shirt, Brian,” Mina said. “And don’t you think you should be wearing socks?”

“Do you even still have them?” Brian asked.

“I’m sure they’re here.” Mina waved a vague hand, a gesture her mother had perfected to avoid answering inconvenient questions. “Somewhere.”

The water stopped running, and the old pipes thunked. A moment later the girl peered into the room from behind Brian. She was holding a dish towel. “I’d better be going,” she said. She snapped the towel and folded it smartly.

Mina pushed the afghan off her lap and started to get up.

“Don’t bother. I can let myself out,” the girl said.

“It’s no bother,” Mina said, following the girl out and pointedly ignoring Brian.

At the door, the girl turned to face her. “Would you mind if I came back another time? You see, I was starting to tell you about my work for the Historical Society. We’re mounting a new exhibit, and I’d love to talk to you some more about what it was like, working in the Empire State Building back then. That’s when the plane hit the building. We have surprisingly few first-person accounts.”

Mina forced a smile and said, “Of course. Come back any time. Though I hope you won’t be disappointed. My memory is not as reliable as it once was.”

“Who knows, maybe talking will bring back what it was like to work in that building.”

As if that were something Mina could forget. As the girl trotted down the steps, Mina could almost feel the Empire State souvenir that she’d slipped into her pocket growing hot.

Chapter Ten

“What building?” Brian asked, his voice startling Mina. She was still standing at the open door, watching as the girl made her way back to her mother’s house.

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“So what was she asking about?” Brian reached around her and pushed the door shut.

Mina went into the kitchen. The girl had left the dishes neatly stacked on the counter. “Just this and that.”

Brian was right behind her. “This and . . . ?” He shook his head. “So it’s her crazy mother who lives next door?”

Mina didn’t answer.

“That heap is an accident waiting to happen, if you ask me. If the inside is anything like the outside—”

She turned to face him. “Good thing it’s not your problem.”

He rolled his eyes. “So what did she want?”

Mina sighed. “Not everyone wants something, Brian.”

“Did you look at the papers I left?”

She wondered if he grasped the irony of this exchange. Annabelle had had such high hopes for her little boy. Instead, they’d gotten this.

“What papers?” she said.

“The papers I brought over last week.”

“Did you?”

“Don’t you remember? We talked. You promised you’d read them.”

Mina didn’t say anything.

Brian narrowed his eyes. “You forgot all about it, didn’t you? Or maybe you lost them? It’s okay if you did. I can print another copy. Or maybe the typeface was too small? Was that the problem?”

“There’s no problem.”

“Aunt Mina, I know we’ve had our differences over the years, and when Mom got sick, I was pretty useless.”

That took her aback. She hadn’t credited him with that much self-awareness. What was he up to?

“But this isn’t for me,” he went on. “It’s for you. Your money won’t last forever, and this would offer you financial security. You’d be set for life. Think of it as your silver safety net.”

Snake oil was more like it. And what business did he have sniffing around in her finances?

“Thank you very much, but I’m already set for life, or at least for what life I’ve got left. And if not, well, that’s not your problem, is it? Don’t worry, you’ll own the house when I die.”

“I don’t want this goddamned house!” Brian slammed his hand down so hard on the kitchen table that the salt and pepper shakers jumped.

Mina took a step back, her hand at her throat. Suddenly she felt very alone.

“Sorry, sorry!” Brian put up his hands. “I didn’t mean to yell. It’s just that talking to you . . . sometimes talking to you is like talking to a brick wall. Please try to think about it, Aunt Mina. You’d have security. A regular income.”

Mina sucked in her cheeks and stared at him. He shook his head and looked up at the ceiling, as if the good Lord Himself was up there, commiserating. She followed his lingering gaze to the scorch mark on the ceiling. That was from a few weeks ago when she’d ruined her mother’s teakettle and, in the process, set fire to the kitchen curtains.

Mina turned and opened the corner cabinet. One at a time, she hung each teacup on its hook and set each saucer on the stack. She closed the cabinet and turned back to him. “I’m sure I put those papers somewhere. We can talk about it next time you come for a visit.”

“If you can’t find them, I’ll bring another copy. We can sit down and read it together.” Brian was like a dog worrying a bone long after there wasn’t a shred of meat left on it.

Pivoting away from him again, Mina walked to the sink and turned on the tap. She ran the water hard, shook some Ajax onto the porcelain, and began to scrub it down. As she worked at a stubborn stain, her hand spasmed. She dropped the sponge, frozen by the painful cramp that contracted her hand into a claw. Damned arthritis. She flattened her hand on the counter, spread her fingers, and waited for the muscles to relax. She snuck a look over her shoulder to see if Brian had noticed. But he was already moving toward the door.

As she rinsed away the suds, she heard the front door open and close. At last he was gone. She turned off the water and stood there, holding on to the thick cool edge of the sink. Didn’t want the house? Pfff. She knew full well this house was the only reason he kept showing up and sniffing about. She and Annabelle had owned the house outright for years, ever since their mother died. Unencumbered. That single word had given Mina peace of mind, knowing all she had to do was pay the taxes and keep up with repairs.

Brian knew exactly how she felt. He couldn’t even look her in the eye when he’d spouted all that mumbo jumbo about a security net and regular income. She should have destroyed those papers instead of hiding them and feigning ignorance. She should have burned them. That’s what she’d do now.