Part 8 (2/2)
”Yes, Victoria said there was a policy for a million dollars, and we're the beneficiaries, and I saved about three thousand dollars, so I'll be fine.”
Jill relaxed, rea.s.sured. She'd made William get life insurance when the girls were young, though they hadn't had a million-dollar policy. It seemed odd.
”Jill, can you tell me how to set up a budget? How to run the house, like Dad did?”
Jill saw room to strike a bargain. ”Yes, but if I do, you have to do something for me. I want you to meet with a psychologist, a really great woman. ”
”A shrink?” Abby moaned.
”You've had a terrible loss, and there's no shame in therapy. I had plenty after my first husband died. Give it a chance is all I ask. She'll see you anytime this week.”
”Okay,” Abby answered, after a moment.
”Thanks, sweetie.” Jill felt a wave of relief.
”So wanna come over? You said you were alone. We can order Chinese.”
”Tonight?”
”Why not?”
Jill felt her mood lift. She had answered all her patient email, returned all their phone calls, and done the laundry. She was going to take a swim, but she could do that anytime. ”Okay, sounds good,” she said.
But Jill didn't know what she was in for.
Chapter Twelve.
It was almost dark by the time Jill got to Philly, surprised to find that William had lived in one of the best parts of Society Hill. His house was a stunning contemporary column, with a concrete-and-gla.s.s facade, and she climbed the steps in astonishment, ringing the bell. Abby opened the door in her flowing boho dress, sweeping into Jill's arms.
”Jill, I'm so glad you came.”
”Me, too, sweetie.” Jill let her go, gesturing at the modern facade. ”This is your house? It's amazing.”
”Now you know why I want to stay. Come in.” Abby moved aside, and Jill followed her through an all-white entrance hall to a dramatic living room, with walls of ma.s.sive gla.s.s sheets and beige leather sectionals, arranged around a state-of-the-art TV and entertainment center.
”Abby, where did your Dad work?” Jill asked, mystified. She set her purse down on the couch. ”He wasn't still a drug rep, was he?”
”No, he was doing really well on his own, making investments with his friend Neil.” Abby smiled, with pride. ”Dad has a Mercedes, and he bought Victoria a BMW, so she could drive back and forth to visit us. He got me the old Datsun, you saw, but it was all I wanted. She's a rescue car.”
Jill didn't get it. ”But even if you have the money, are you sure you want to live here, by yourself?”
”I already do. Dad was on the road, sometimes four nights a week.”
”Why, if he wasn't a rep anymore?”
”For business.” Abby shrugged. ”He went lots of places, to New York and other cities. You know how Dad was, he kept his business to himself.”
Jill bit her tongue. William kept everything to himself. ”So you would be here alone?”
”No, my boyfriend was here. Santos.” Abby's face fell. ”He helped me a lot with the house, he was older.”
Jill had guessed that the boyfriend was older. Santos must have been the raggedy-looking guy on Abby's Facebook page. ”How old was he?”
”Thirty.”
Jill masked her disapproval, worried at how vulnerable Abby was, especially now. ”Honey, I don't know if you're safe, living here alone.”
”Sure I am. We have a burglar alarm, and Dad had a gun.”
”He did?” Jill blinked, surprised. That would have been a new thing for William. They'd never owned a gun, at least she didn't think they did, but there was so much about William she never really knew. ”But you, in this big house, honey? It's too much for you.”
”Why does everybody keep telling me I can't do things, even you?” Abby's eyes turned pleading. ”You never did that before, Jill. You were the one person, all my life, who told me I could do whatever I set my mind to.”
”It's not that I don't think you can, it's that I don't know why you want to.”
”Why wouldn't I want to find out who killed my Dad?”
Jill let it go, for now. ”Okay, now, where did your Dad keep his bills and things?”
”Upstairs, in his office. It's really his man cave. Come this way.” Abby turned and led the way to a transparent staircase leading to a light-filled hallway on the second floor, then opened a door. ”Here's my bedroom. The other is Victoria's room, but only Pickles sleeps there. He likes it in the daytime.”
Jill looked inside Abby's bedroom, speechless, for a moment. It was a replica of the one she'd shared with Megan, traditionally decorated with a blue hook rug, a comforter covered with forget-me-nots, and matching curtains.
”I know, it's crazy but I wanted to make it feel like home, so I wouldn't miss everything so much.”
”Did it work?” Jill asked, pained.
”Kinda.”
”Good for you.” Jill touched her arm, realizing that the divorce had cost Abby her family and her home, neither of which could be replaced by an empty gla.s.s column, a veritable house of air.
”Here's Dad's office.” Abby walked ahead, and Jill found herself in a stark, masculine office with a dark-patterned carpet. There was a black leather sofa and a side chair with lacquered end tables, and a sleek walnut desk with a black Herman Miller chair. ”He paid all the bills in here, and I have to learn about that stuff if I'm going to take over. The file cabinet has lots of the old bills.”
”Okay, but I have an easier way.” Jill went over to the laptop. ”When we were married, we used Quicken, which is a program that pays all the bills. Mind if I check the laptop?”
”Go for it.” Abby stood aside, and Jill sat down at the desk and tapped a key, feeling odd about intruding into William's life. The laptop came to life with a vacation photo of a grinning William, Abby, and Victoria, and Jill cringed, looking up at Abby, to see if it upset her.
”You okay, honey? We can do this another time.”
”No, I'm fine, go ahead. I already checked his email but I didn't see any hate mail, psycho girlfriends, or anything suspicious.” Abby pointed to the side table. ”That's where the police found the bottle of whisky. It was Glenfiddich, but there was no gla.s.s. If Dad had the killer up here, whoever it was took both gla.s.ses when he left.”
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