“Her car’s at the mechanics, but she shouldn’t be behind the wheel as shaky as she is. You’ll likely have to take over with the funeral director. I did what I could.”
“Thank you, Joseph. I appreciate your help. I’m sure things are chaotic at Wharton right now. That’s a lot of weight to carry.”
He softened abruptly at her tone. “Lucky for me I’ve got that home gym, I guess.”
The joke made Tara wince, since she knew Faye had wanted the spare room for a baby. There had been some difficulty, though Faye hadn’t said whether it was a physical problem or a disagreement about becoming parents, and Tara hadn’t pried. Faye was a private person.
“If I can help out at Wharton, I’d like to,” she said.
“Not unless you secretly got an engineering degree.”
He knew full well what she did for a living, but she ignored the slight. “I did help a computer-chip company with the crisis plan that got them through a plant closure.”
“I don’t see how that fits,” he said.
Crisis plans covered executive deaths and other contingencies, but Joseph was too harried and worried to hear that—or for her to mention that Faye had wanted to hire her. “How about if I stop in one day to talk about that?”
“No need,” he snapped, then seemed to realize he’d been rude. “If you’d like a tour, our HR person gives them to our bigger customers. Call ahead.”
“I’d like that,” she said, bristling at his dismissal, though she managed a smile. Rise above. Be your better self.
He turned toward the elevator, but she moved in front of him. “Before you go, can you tell me more about the accident? I really don’t know much.”
“There’s not much to know.” His eyes flitted to the side, avoiding her.
Zing. Her instincts flared. There was more here. She held her tongue, knowing Joseph would be compelled to fill the silence. It was human nature.
He licked his lips, shifted his weight, then blew out a breath. “Evidently Faye was driving your father back from his poker game when it happened.”
“Faye was driving?”
“I know. Abbott was possessive about the Tesla.”
“My father always drove.” It was about control, she knew, not about any protectiveness about a particular car.
“But the Tesla was special. He traded in the Prius early.” Her father was a frugal man who drove his cars forever, no matter how much her mother complained that it made him look cheap. He was never showy about his wealth. Tara had respected that about him.
She remembered something else he’d said that bothered her. “You said evidently. You didn’t know what Faye was doing?”
“I’d gone back to the office. It’s quiet after hours, so I get more done...” He was tense and stiff, which likely meant he was hiding something. Without knowing his baseline gestures, she couldn’t say for sure. Reading micro-expressions was more art than science.
As good as she was at this—her clients sometimes asked if she was psychic—her exhaustion and distress were interfering with her instincts, not to mention how off she felt returning to Wharton.
“They found her car at Vito’s,” Joseph continued. “Perhaps she was eating there and ran into your father.” The poker game took place upstairs from the Italian restaurant.
“But it was Monday night. That’s Faye’s TV night.” Faye had told Tara about the guilty-pleasure drama she loved and had to watch real-time because she didn’t know how to use the fancy DVR Joseph had bought.
“Then he called her. I don’t know,” Joseph said impatiently. “The point is she lost control on that bad curve where the hiking trail starts, went over the rail, down the embankment and into the trees.”
She knew the spot. Her boyfriend Reed had crashed his motorcycle there the night Dylan had insisted she ride with him because Reed had had a couple beers. They’d found Reed limping along the shoulder. He’d cracked two ribs and broken his collarbone.
Now she pictured her father and Faye flying over the barrier, tumbling down the slope, landing with a crash.
No. Don’t think of that. Focus on what’s wrong. “Why would Dad ask Faye to drive him? Why not one of the poker guys? And why did he need a ride? Had he been drinking?”
“I told you all I know,” Joseph said, barely hiding his frustration. “Ask Faye when she wakes up. If she wakes up.” He took a sharp breath in reaction to his own words, revealing the pain he’d been holding back, then strode to the elevator, where he