She turns to him. Cocks her head to one side. ‘Well, no I didn’t. Because I think it’s really a rather stupid one.’
‘Humour me, if you will,’ says Rick. He shoots Philip a look – back off.
Philip feels heat flushing his neck and face, but stays quiet. Bloody woman. She might look like a film star but she needs to drop the diva act.
Miss Betty looks from Philip to Rick. ‘Okay, fine. I don’t know where he was two nights ago. Out somewhere I’d expect, as he’s out most nights. I don’t monitor his movements that closely.’
Philip doubts that. Betty Graften seems like the type who’d monitor the movements of everyone in her household. And it seems strange that her grandson is driving around in an old station wagon, especially if she hates it so much he’s not allowed to park it near the house. He obviously comes from money. Why doesn’t he have a decent car?
As if reading his mind, Miss Betty leans closer towards him. ‘You’re sceptical, Philip? Well, that’s okay. But, you see, I expect my grandson to make his own way in life. I’m happy enough to let him come and visit with me for a while, but I don’t believe in handouts. People shouldn’t just be given everything on a plate. They need to understand the value of money, it’s important, so their trust funds don’t kick in until their twenty-fifth birthdays. Mikey has been out most nights since he arrived here. I assumed he’d gotten himself a job.’
It’s one way to explain it, thinks Philip. ‘Very wise.’
‘Yes, I thought so.’ She looks at Rick. ‘I assume you’d like to ask him some questions?’
‘We’d sure appreciate that, Miss Betty.’
‘Of course.’ Betty raps the bottom of her walking stick on the wooden floor three times. ‘Martha? Where is that girl?’
Martha comes scuttling into the room. ‘Miss Betty?’
‘Fetch Mikey. Tell him he’s got some visitors.’
‘Yes, ma’am.’
Philip takes a sip of his sweet tea. It’s really very good.
Rick clears his throat. ‘While we’re waiting for your grandson, there’s something else perhaps you can help us with. The security gatehouse has a record of Mikey arriving about a month ago, but after that there’s no record of him leaving or arriving. I’m assuming he has though, so I—’
‘I gave him my auto-device for the barrier,’ says Miss Betty. ‘I don’t have a car any longer so I have no need for it myself. I told him to put it in the wagon.’ She shudders as she says the word ‘wagon’。
Rick nods. ‘Makes perfect sense.’
‘Yes, it does,’ says Miss Betty. She glances at Philip, as if expecting him to disagree.
Philip says nothing. He wonders if the gatehouse has a log of the residents’ comings and goings. He doesn’t remember anything in the paperwork they signed about their movements being logged, but that doesn’t mean it wasn’t there. There was so much paperwork involved in becoming a resident. As he’s making a mental note to check, he hears the door behind them open. Turning, he sees a young, dishevelled-looking bloke hurry into the room.
‘Gram, you wanted me?’
Mikey Graften is nothing like Philip had expected. He looks shifty for starters. And although he’s slim and tall like his grandmother, he doesn’t have her poise. He stands slightly hunched over, which rather than making him look smaller, as Philip expects he’s trying to, exaggerates his long frame and makes him look more like a weeping willow sapling.
‘Mikey, these gentlemen want to talk to you,’ says Miss Betty, gesturing towards Rick and Philip.
‘What about?’ Mikey crosses his arms over his stomach. His gaze flits from his grandmother to Philip and then Rick.