He laid a sheet of paper on the table, right next to my mother’s brass key.

“Three checks were written directly to a shell company registered in Delaware,” Thomas said.

He looked at Patricia.

“A company registered in your name, Patricia,” Thomas said.

Patricia did not look at him. She looked at the grandfather clock in the corner of the room.

“I know nothing about that,” Patricia said.

“Your signature is on the corporate filing,” Thomas said.

“Mark handled the paperwork,” she said quickly, her voice rising.

Mark turned on his mother, his face pale now, the dark red flush completely gone.

“You told me to do it,” Mark said. “You said Claire would never notice.”

“I said no such thing,” Patricia whispered.

“You did!” Mark shouted.

The sound of his voice seemed to shake the dust from the heavy velvet curtains.

“You said Claire was too distracted by her grief to look at the books,” Mark said.

I watched him. I felt strangely cold, as if the winter wind had leaked through the window panes.

“I was grieving my mother,” I said.