“Why didn’t you tell me?” I asked.
He looked genuinely uneasy.
“Because I didn’t want suspicion to become an accusation before I had something solid, and because I knew how much you wanted your marriage to work.”
His concerns had started the previous spring, when Preston asked me to sign a broad authorization granting him control over certain financial matters.
I’d called Dad before signing, and he’d advised me to request a more detailed explanation.
Preston remained irritated for days afterward.
Now I wondered whether refusing had prevented something far worse.
Before Jonathan could answer another question, his phone rang.
He listened carefully and stepped into the hallway.
When he returned, he explained that someone claiming to represent the Whitcomb company’s insurer had contacted the hospital seeking information about my admission and visitors.
The hospital refused to disclose anything.
Dad looked thoughtful.
“They aren’t simply trying to control the story,” he said. “They’re trying to find out what we know.”
