Going to the Bad by Nora McFarland Read Free Book Online Page B

the opposite stairs to the other wing.
    â€œCome on,” he said.
    I hurried to catch up with him. “Thanks for letting me see Erabelle. I figured you’d throw me out.”
    He continued toward the end of the hallway. “I’m not taking you to Miss Erabelle. It’s Mr. Warner who wants to see you.”
    â€œI’m pretty sure he was the one saying good-bye back there.”
    Frank stopped at the door at the end of the hall and knocked. “We have a special going today. Two Mr. Warners for the price of one.”
    â€œCome in,” called a voice from inside the room.
    Frank opened the door and held it for me. This room was the mirror of Warner’s in the other wing, but the furniture here matched the house perfectly. It made it even odder that the windowpanes had all been covered in long curtains blocking the views. It was as though the two Mr. Warners had each chosen to subvert the architect’s vision in competing ways.
    â€œHere’s Miss Hawkins, sir.” Frank’s use of sir amplified an air ofsubservience that had been lacking when he’d spoken with Erabelle.
    The tall, dark, and handsome man I’d seen earlier looked up from a laptop. “Let’s keep this between the two of us, Frank. Until Dad gets better, I’d rather not burden him with needless information.”
    â€œOf course, sir.” Frank closed the door on his way out.
    â€œThanks for seeing me.” The man closed the laptop, making sure to shield the screen from my view. “I appreciate how busy a professional journalist must be.”
    â€œYou’re the son? The one who lives in New York?”
    â€œLeland Phillip Warner the second, at your service.” He stood.
    Junior appeared to be in his early forties. An old-fashioned men’s sapphire ring sat on his right ring finger. It achieved the almost impossible task of making him look like both a dandy and a thug.
    â€œPlease feel free to call me Phillip or even Phil.”
    I refused to be flattered by his informality. “Home for Christmas or the funeral?”
    My tone didn’t disturb him. “After our earlier interaction in the hallway, Frank warned me you had no filter.” He crossed to a sideboard. “But don’t bury Dad yet. He’s a tough old goat and may pull through this.”
    â€œIt’s obvious you’re taking over. Maybe you’re the one who shouldn’t bury him yet.”
    Junior removed a bottle of Scotch from inside the cabinet. “The last thing in the world I want is to take over. Do you know what will happen if my father dies?”
    â€œYou’ll become one of the richest men in California.”
    â€œThat’s the problem right there.” He poured liquor into a highball glass without ice. “I don’t want to be one of the richest men in California. I want to be a moderately well-off man in New York, which, thanks to my robust allowance, I already am.”
    He raised an empty glass. “Have a drink with me?”
    â€œNo thanks.”
    â€œI know it’s early, but I’m on East Coast time.”
    I waited as he took a sip of the liquor before saying, “Youexpect me to believe you’d rather not inherit? That you actually prefer to be a grown man on your father’s financial leash?”
    â€œI don’t appreciate being compared to a dog.” He took another drink and tried to change the tone. “Frank said you’re a shooter. That must be a fascinating career.” I didn’t answer so he said, “Do you mind if I call you Lilly?”
    â€œYou’ll do better with me if you come right out and say what you want.”
    He nodded. “Why did you come here today and is it related to my sister in any way?”
    â€œIt has nothing to do with Mary or what happened to her last year.” Now that I’d spoken with Warner, there was no reason to keep Junior or Erabelle in the dark about my