Peter stared at the door and not at him. "I've never had a secret life, y'know. I'm not like you."
The FBI and football were hardly a secret. His family never came to any games, even if he was featured in the newspaper. His father and brother were always too busy for trivialities like that. Mitch disowned him once John joined the FBI. Red-hot fire rushed into his blood. "You could have left Dad in the dust years ago to do your own thing."
The tsk in his brother's voice echoed their father's. John's lip curled as Peter said, "While you were outside playing football, I was stuck inside making sure Dad's books were balanced."
Perhaps there was another side to their story, but feeling sympathy for Peter? He crossed his arms. "You could have come outside."
"No, I couldn't. If I didn't comply, he'd have gone after either you or Victoria, leaving none of us the option for fun."
John froze. Peter had no right to talk about their sister as if he was protecting her. He hadn't cared what happened. "You weren't some hero. Vicki's dead, just like our mom."
"I don't want to bring her up," Peter said. "Mom didn't die. She walked out the door and never came home."
John lifted his chin. Peter sounded like their father, and he'd not let his guard down. No, now was not the time. He refused to share his plans with Peter and argue with his brother about the past. He looked at his watch. In twenty minutes, whoever Peter hired to speak would start. Their father didn't have one person here who truly mourned for him. He glanced at the door. "We should go. Why aren't you speaking?"
"Why aren't you?""
Did you need me to answer that?"
Peter nodded. "The funeral is tomorrow. That's where my strengths have to be. I am glad you're here."
John stilled. Strengths were for important matters. "Why? Are you giving the eulogy then?"
"Someone has to. You have every right to speak if you want."
No. Peter was welcome to pretend to care, but if John spoke he'd accuse his father of murder in front of the enormous crowd. John refused to be that spectacle. His father didn't deserve that he humiliate himself on top of everything else. "Absolutely not."
Peter breathed deep and got to his feet. "Then it has to be me."
Standing as well, John shook his head, his hand on the door. "No, it doesn't. The church can be silent or we can just let the President have his say and whoever else wishes to tell us how Dad was a wonderful, salt-of-the-earth type of guy."
Peter's dark eyebrows quirked. "Salt of the earth? Who would say that?"
He smiled. At least Peter wasn't a complete fool. "I'm sure someone."
Peter lowered his face and kept his voice low. "I'm tired of fighting, John."
They never spoke, so they never fought. John pressed his lips together. Peter had a plan. He shouldn't care, but what if his brother was telling the truth? John opened the door. "Me, too. I'm not staying for the hired performer tonight. I'm exhausted. Bye."
Peter walked behind him. "I'll see you tomorrow."
John's gaze landed on Alice as she slipped out the front door. He sighed. The only light in this place was now gone. John stared at the room full of strangers as Peter walked away with his girlfriend on his arm. John's hands clenched. He'd show up tomorrow. Whatever Peter thought their father might bequeath him left him with nothing but guesses.
Chapter Four
Alice picked up her phone and then put it down. She'd call her mother after she checked into the hotel. She handed over the SUV keys to the valet and ignored his nose curl. She'd still tip the man, but so what if she didn't drive a Maserati like the customer behind her?
She filed the paperwork and tucked her phone in her purse as the late afternoon sky suffocated the air. Her mother had told her to call right after the wake, but if she dialed, Ellie would chirp louder than the wild parrots in the palm trees above her head. Ellie Collins could wait.
The tropical paradise of this deluxe hotel offered a stark contrast to the funeral home. The clear blue sky with spots of white clouds and happy birds in palm trees helped steal the tension from her body.
She strolled past the fountain and into a marble-floored lobby. The Biltmore was iconic old Miami, built in the 1920s with lofted ceilings, an inner courtyard famous for its outside seating, unlimited Bellinis for Sunday brunch, and one of the best spas in the country. Her heels sank into the plush red carpet as she walked toward the mahogany desk to check in.
She gazed through the French doors to the outside tropical paradise which enticed her with the sound of bubbling water. For one night, she was living it up, and she intended to take a long swim in the morning in that perfectly blue pool.
A dip in the waters would help her forget all about John Morgan and that wake. Tonight, she'd dream that John Morgan's lips touched hers. Of course they hadn't, but her lips tingled with a long-ago high school memory.
Her mother would tell her to never see or think about John Morgan. Ellie had serious issues with the House of Morgan that extended to all of their children. Mom hadn't even been sad when Vicki died. Instead she'd been stoic and not said a word as Alice cried that her childhood friend was dead.
She sighed. Perhaps she needed to think of happier moments.
Above her head the pillars to the high, painted ceilings overwhelmed her sense of awe. This place smelled like money, which was strange for her, since Alice needed to budget.
With a nose twitch, she shook her head and realized that thought came from Jennifer's little jab about her black dress. Normal people budgeted and, once in a while, splurged. The super starlet didn't get to judge her life.
She reached the desk and waited for the man behind it to finish his phone conversation and then speak to her.
Finally his gaze met hers as he ended his call, and she told him, "I'm checking in. Alice Collins."
"Ms. Collins." Another man behind the counter stepped forward as the original clerk stepped back. He wore a red uniform, but his was more formal. The clerk stepped aside, and the hotel manager with a pin on his name badge waved his hand to his right. "We're happy you chose our hotel for your overnight stay. There is a gentleman here to see you."
Impossible. Her dad was in Homestead packing up his house, and her brother was still in the Marines. As that was the extent of the men in her life, she shook her head, "A gentleman? Who is he?"
"I'm not at liberty to answer, ma'am."
"Did you ask what he wanted?"
He averted his gaze. "It wasn't my place."
She swallowed. With a thump, she released the handle of her black rolling suitcase and leaned on the counter. "And you didn't get his name to share with me?"
"I cannot say."
It had been a tiring day. She kept her tone even and said, "So he could be some crazy person."
"I assure you, he's not."