"Actually, there's something I wanted to ask you. I saw a suit at the mall. Could you come take a look with me? You know I've been wearing the same one for three years."
Sonia went quiet. Then her tone turned impatient.
"Uncle Rick is seriously ill and you're in the mood to go shopping for clothes?"
"We're going to have plenty of expenses down the road. Save where you can. You're a grown man. What does it matter what you wear?"
"Forget it. We'll talk about it when we have the money. I'm busy right now."
Her voice was harsh, but brittle underneath, threaded with the kind of panic that comes from guilt. The line went dead the second she finished speaking.
I watched her give instructions to the delivery clerk. I watched the two of them stroll arm in arm into a steakhouse, sitting side by side, raising their glasses in a toast to their brand-new home.
The two of them left with flushed faces, swiping my card at a hotel nearby.
I glanced at the hotel, then turned and walked away.
Not long after I got home, the private investigator sent over the information I'd requested.