He disconnected and saw that in the meantime Jarrett had phoned him. He listened to the message.

“Griff, my boy, I was wondering if you could make time to come by the house this afternoon. I’d like to speak to you when you have a moment.” Jarrett’s tone was cordial and courteous, but it was a command nonetheless.

He’d known that was coming. “May as well get it over with,” Griff muttered.

He got out of the car and walked past the two stone griffins, up the wide and shallow steps, past the fountain, its dry marble bowl filled with scattered lilac petals.

Today he went to the front door, knocked and waited for Mrs. Truscott to let him in.

“Mr. Arlington asked to see me.”

Mrs. Truscott nodded. She looked tired, older. For once there were no acerbic comments, no disapproving looks. She almost seemed to avoid his gaze.

There was no sign of anyone as they crossed the parquet floor and walked up the marble staircase. Granted, there was usually neither sight nor sound of anyone, but the house felt oddly empty.

“Where is everyone?” Griff asked.

He fully expected to be ignored, but she answered, “Mr. Marcus is golfing with friends. Mr. and Mrs. Shelton are lunching out today. Miss Muriel is showing Mr....Brian around the grounds.” She added almost in afterthought, “Miss Chloe didn’t come last night.”

Golf, lunch, or otherwise MIA. In other words, life as usual.

Eyeing Mrs. Truscott’s rigid back, Griff impulsively asked, “Were you aware that, according to the police, Mrs. Cameron faked her references to get the job here?”

She turned. “That was thirty years before, when she first came over from Scotland!” Her expression was a mix of disbelief and disgust. “No one with half a brain could believe Aggie Cameron had any part in taking Brian!”

Griff found he was inclined to agree with her. “It seems unlikely, doesn’t it?” He wanted to ask her about Nels Newland but they had reached Jarrett’s study.

As on that first afternoon, Jarrett stood at the arched windows gazing down on the star-shaped courtyard. He turned at Griff’s entrance and smiled. His smile seemed genuine, if less easy to read.

“Griff. Come in, my boy.” His expression changed as he took in Griff’s bruised face. “What happened to you?”

“Oh, I, uh, fell,” Griff said.

“Good Lord. Off what? A skyscraper? You must have knocked yourself cold.”

“I guess so, yeah.” Griff’s glance fell on the seating tableau where he had lunched with Jarrett and Pierce his second day on the estate. An unopened box for a 35mm Nikon digital camera sat on the low table. His heart sank.

Following his gaze, Jarrett said, “It’s for you. To replace the one you lost on the bridge. If you prefer a different make or model, please say so.”

“No,” Griff said. “I don’t. And I can’t. Really. That’s far too expensive a gift.”

Jarrett’s smile faded. “It’s not a gift. It’s to replace the camera you lost.”

“Yeah, but mine was old. And it wasn’t a great camera to start with.”

“No, but I insist,” Jarrett said. “You lost your camera through my negligence. Old or not, it’s my responsibility to replace it.”

Presumably Michaela hadn’t come clean about her role in the accident on the bridge. Griff said, “Honestly, it’s not necessary.”

“Of course it is,” Jarrett said with a shade of impatience. “I don’t want to hear any argument. Now sit down, my boy. We need to have a talk.”

This was the Jarrett Arlington who had successfully run the Arlington empire for six decades. Griff took a chair and waited.

Jarrett sat down across from him. “I won’t beat around the bush, Griffin. Brian is adamant that he doesn’t want this book written.”

Griff started to speak, but Jarrett went on. “And, realistically, given the circumstances of Brian’s disappearance, there really isn’t a story.”

“Respectfully, I don’t think many people would agree with that, sir. I mean, for one thing there’s the story of how Odell Johnson sat in prison for twenty years for a crime he didn’t commit.”

Jarrett stopped smiling altogether. “Pierce is working with the authorities on behalf of Johnson. But let’s remember that Johnson is not blameless in this. We all have to assume responsibility for our actions.”

Griff was disconcerted to realize how much he didn’t want to argue with Jarrett. First Pierce and now Jarrett. Since when had he lost his appetite for a fight? He said, “Or our non-action. Which seems to me to include Brian. Doesn’t it bother you that he deliberately let you believe for years that he was dead?”

Jarrett’s blue eyes studied him. “I’m afraid Brian is correct. You’re not inclined to write a sympathetic account of his story.”

“I haven’t heard his story.”

“I know this is disappointing for you. I know you’ve put a great deal of time and energy into this project. You’re a conscientious lad and a responsible journalist, and I know you felt you could do some real good with this book. But if you write it now, you will not do good. You may do great harm.”

Griff sighed. “Mr. Arlington—”

Jarrett leaned forward, his expression intent. “Brian is not like you. He’s not tough or resilient. He’s a survivor, yes, but for him survival comes at too high a price. He isn’t ready—can’t—face the past yet. And that’s what this book would force him to do. At least that’s how it appears to him now.”

Griff stared out the window and shook his head.

“I’m sorry, Griffin. I truly am. I almost wish—” Jarrett broke off and said instead, “I liked you from the minute you walked into this room. That’s the truth. Tell me what you think this book would have earned you—best-case scenario—and I will pay you not to write it. Name your price.”

Name his price? For an instant Griff let himself consider. Best-case scenario? Twenty grand? A hundred grand? He didn’t even know what the best-case scenario was.

He said with an effort, “That’s very generous. Beyond generous. I appreciate that you’re trying to be fair about this. But it isn’t just about the money.”

“Of course. It was to be your big break. I do understand. But my grandson doesn’t want this book written. And that’s all that matters to me. If you insist on writing Brian’s story, I will do what I can to stop it being published. I don’t want to threaten you. I would very much prefer that we handle this privately between ourselves. I would prefer that you come out of this financially ahead. I would like us to stay friends. I mean that sincerely.”

“But?”

Jarrett looked genuinely regretful. “But I will stop you from publishing that book. I will do it by fair and legal means, but I will do it. I will do whatever it takes to protect my grandson.” His gaze was ice blue and unwavering. “If you go to war with me, you will come out of this with nothing.”

Griff stood. “Okay. Well, then we both know where we stand.”

Jarrett rose too. “Put aside your disappointment and anger for a moment. If you’re sensible, practical, you could come out of this with enough to live on for a year or two while you choose another project. Or write a novel. All young writers want to write novels, don’t they? Don’t let pride determine your future. Take the advice of an old man, don’t let ego get in the way of a smart decision.”

Griff was silent. He felt that he was in the right, but was he being foolish? Prideful? If he tried to face down the Arlingtons, he could come out of this with nothing. Maybe worse than nothing. Maybe he would be persona non grata to all of publishing if the Arlingtons pushed hard enough.

Watching him, Jarrett said, “In fact, don’t decide anything now. Take the day. Take the night. Sleep on it. Then give us your answer before you leave tomorrow. Let’s work it out as friends. We were friends just a little while ago, weren’t we?”

Griff opened his mouth, but it was very difficult to say what he felt in the face of that persuasive charm. Somewhere along the line he had let himself start liking Jarrett.