That explained why she had taken the case personally.
“Then Howard said?”
“‘You won’t make it to tomorrow.'”
Cold spread through me.
“What did you do?”
“I went inside.”
“Through the front door?”
“Back door. It was unlocked.”
Her eyes filled.
“Your mother was upstairs.”
“Vicky heard her.”
“I know.”
My voice sharpened.
“You know?”
“Your mother came down when she heard us.”
Denise began crying.
Not theatrically.
Quietly.
“She looked at me and said, ‘You brought him here.'”
My throat tightened.
“I told her I didn’t know.”
“What happened next?”
“Howard had papers from your father’s desk.”
“The ledger?”
“I think so.”
“Then?”
“Your father tried to take them.”
Denise wiped her face.
“They fought.”
I leaned closer.
“Did Howard hurt him?”
“He hit him.”
My hand clenched.
“With what?”
“A fireplace poker.”
My stomach dropped.
“Was Dad conscious?”
“Yes.”
She spoke quickly.
“He got back up. He told your mother to call police.”
