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breath. He needed cooperation from Rachel if he were going to get anywhere. "Believe it or not, I felt as if I'd been hit by a two-by-four when I heard what Grassley, the attorney, had to say. Just hear me out. Then I'll leave if you want."
    Rachel looked as if she were counting to ten. Finally she nodded. She waved him to the sofa and pulled the desk chair over for herself. She sat, planting her hands on its arms and looking ready to launch herself out of the chair at the slightest wrong word.
    He sat on the edge of the sofa, trying to pull his thoughts into some sort of order. He was a logical person, so why couldn't he approach this situation logically?
    Maybe he knew the answer to that one. Grief and guilt could be a powerful combination. He'd never realized how strong until the past few weeks.
    "You have to understand—I had no idea all this was festering in my mother's mind. She didn't talk about her childhood, and I barely knew her father. I'd been here once, before I came for my grandfather's funeral."
    She nodded. "You told me that. I thought then that there must have been some breach between your mother and your grandfather."
    So she'd seen immediately what he'd have recognized if he weren't so used to the situation. "I never knew anything about it. My father may have known, but he died when I was in high school."
    "I'm sorry." Her eyes darkened with sympathy, in spite of the fact that she must still be angry with him.
    "My mother had always been—" He struggled to find the right word. "Secretive, I guess you'd say. After my father died, she started turning to me more. Change the lightbulbs, have the car serviced, talk to the neighbors about their barking dog. But she never shared anything about her finances or business matters. I knew my father had left her well off, so I didn't pry. That's why I didn't have any idea she still owned the property here."
    "I suppose she let the attorney take care of anything that had to be done. I'm surprised he didn't urge her to sell—to my grandfather or anyone else." Her voice was tart.
    "He did, apparently, but he said she'd never even discuss it. She didn't with me until her illness." It had been hard to see her go downhill so quickly, hard to believe that none of the treatments were doing any good.
    "What was it?"
    "Cancer. When she realized she wasn't recovering, that's when she started to talk." He paused. "She'd left it late. She was on pain medication, not making much sense. But she said what I told you—that her father had insisted he was being cheated, that everyone was out to take advantage of him."
    "That sounds as if he felt—well, that he thought he was being persecuted. How can you know that any of what he told her was true?"
    "I can't. But she thought there were things about his death that had never been explained. She regretted that she'd never attempted to find out. She demanded my promise that I'd try to learn the truth."
    His hands clenched. He'd told Rachel more than he'd intended. If she knew about what had happened then—but that was ridiculous. She'd been a child twenty-two years ago. At most, she'd oppose him now out of a need to protect her grandfather's reputation.
    "I can understand why you feel you have to honor her wishes," she said, looking as if she chose her words carefully. "But after all this time, how can you possibly hope to learn anything?"
    "I thought I might talk to your grandmother—"
    "No!" She flared up instantly at that. "I won't have my grandmother upset by this."
    A step sounded from the hallway, and they both turned. "That is not your decision to make, Rachel." Rachel's grandmother stood in the doorway, her bearing regal, her face set and stern.

    * * *
    Rachel's throat tightened. Grams, standing there, hearing the suspicions Tyler was voicing. She'd like to throw something at him for causing all this trouble, but that wouldn't help.
    "Now, Grams…" She had to think of something that would repair this situation. Protecting