“Me neither,” I said. I too found it hard to believe that Royella, the pastor’s pious widow, had visited Table Mountain, the Indian casino. Taylor usually stopped there for a night on the way to Foxglove.
“I didn’t gamble,” Royella snapped. “We did charity work.”
Taylor abruptly put down her fork, clinking it against the chipped china. “Sorry to change the subject. But—”
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“No, please do,” Collin said. Royella slurped her coffee.
“Anyway,” Taylor said, addressing dad, “I wanna talk with you after breakfast.”
“Sure thing,” he said. “What’s on your mind?”
“Well,” she said, “I just wanted to talk about the will and the property and stuff.”
“Not this again,” he grunted as he ripped off a piece of scone.
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Accented Art
