Flash Point. Metsy Hingle

Peter pointed out.

      “Yes, I know. I saw a man get shot.”

      Peter winced. “Talk about an unpleasant welcome home. I’m sorry, Kelly.”

      He didn’t know the half of it, she thought. Eager to change the subject, she said, “This really is a nice picture. If you do decide to take another family portrait, I’d recommend using the same photographer.”

      “All right, I can take a hint. I won’t pry.”

      “Thank you,” she murmured, grateful that he hadn’t pressed her.

      “Unfortunately, the photographer who took that relocated to L.A. about five years ago. I don’t suppose you’d be interested in the job?”

      “I appreciate the offer, but besides not having my equipment, I don’t expect to be here very long. You shouldn’t have problems finding someone else though. Even an amateur photographer would have an easy time of it, since you and your family are so photogenic.”

      Peter groaned. “Whatever you do, don’t let Meredith hear you say that,” he said, dropping his voice to a conspiratorial whisper. “A few years ago, she was on this kick to become a model and nearly drove all of us crazy.”

      Kelly saw no point in informing him that she already knew about his sister’s modeling aspirations since Meredith had paid her a visit in New York, positive that Kelly had some inside track. Meredith had been a female steamroller, she recalled. And despite the fact that the two of them had been acquaintances and not friends, she had made a few phone calls on Meredith’s behalf. But after Meredith had landed a few print ads, she’d disappeared almost as quickly as she’d appeared. “Is she still modeling?”

      “Not at the moment. She’s all wrapped up in opening a boutique in the French Quarter. But with Meredith, one can never be sure. She’s my sister and I love her, but the woman has had nearly as many careers as I’ve had cases.”

      “Now, that I don’t believe,” Kelly informed him.

      “All right. Maybe I’m exaggerating. But my sister has a short attention span. I’ll let her know you’re in town though, because I’m sure she’ll want to see you. Where are you staying?”

      “The Regent Hotel.” But Kelly didn’t really expect Meredith to come by to see her. Why should she? The two of them may have attended the same school, but that was the only thing they’d had in common. Meredith’s family had been able to afford the private school tuition. Whereas, she had been there by means of a scholarship. But even without the monetary differences, her living situation and her ability to see things that others couldn’t had set her apart from Meredith and the rest of her classmates. She remembered all too well that on those few occasions when she’d let something slip, the other girls had been freaked out.

      “I’ll make myself a note to give Meredith a call and tell her you’re here.”

      “Actually, Peter, it’s probably not worth mentioning. I mean, I don’t expect to be here long. In fact, once we’re finished our business, I’ll be heading back to New York.”

      “And if I let you leave without telling Meredith you’re in town, she’ll kill me,” he said as he put down his pen and stuck a sticky note to his phone. “Besides, if I know my sister, she’ll convince you to extend your visit for a day or two.”

      She wouldn’t count on it, Kelly thought silently.

      “But be forewarned. Meredith’s like a puppy with a bone where this boutique of hers is concerned. She’ll probably drive you nuts talking about it. I know I’ve learned more than I ever wanted to know about women’s fashions and accessories and marketing.”

      “You don’t approve of her opening a boutique?” Kelly asked.

      “I’m all for it—if that’s what Meredith wants and it makes her happy. It would be nice to have her stick around this time,” he said. “But then, that’s enough about my sister. I’m sure you want to get this business with Sister Grace’s will out of the way. So if you’ll have a seat, I’ll get a copy and go over the particulars with you.”

      As surreal as it seemed to be chatting with Peter Callaghan like he was an old friend, the reminder of why she was in his office in the first place was sobering. Kelly sat down in the chair across from his desk. “I was surprised to learn that Sister Grace even had a will. I just assumed whatever she had would go to her order or to the church.”

      “Most of it did. But Sister Grace came to my father a few years ago and asked him to draw up a will with some specific bequests. As you probably know, my parents were very fond of her,” Peter began. “And although I didn’t know her as well as they did, l did like her. I’m sure she’ll be missed by a great many people.”

      “Yes, she will,” Kelly murmured. And she already missed the nun more than she’d ever dreamed she would miss anyone.

      “The terms of her will are pretty straightforward. Sister Grace had very little in the way of assets. She left directions that any personal savings she had at the time of her death be given to the Catholic church and earmarked for use in the education of children.”

      Which is what she would have expected of Sister Grace, since the nun had put a great deal of stock in the importance of education. She’d called it the great equalizer.

      “With the exception of a few items that she left to other nuns in her order, Sister Grace left the remainder of her personal possessions to you. I’m afraid their value is more of a sentimental nature than a monetary one.”

      “I understand.”

      Peter opened the file folder on his desk and pulled out an official-looking document. “I’ll dispense with reading the entire will and just skip to the part that pertains to your bequests, if that’s all right with you.”

      “That’s fine,” she told him.

      “To my former student and beloved friend, Kelly Santos, I leave my rosary given to me by my own mother when I took my vows. I also leave to her my watercolor titled Serenity, which has brought me much pleasure…”

      As though in a daze, Kelly sat in silence while Peter read from the will. The pain and emptiness she’d felt upon learning of Sister Grace’s death washed over her anew. Only years of learning to discipline her emotions stopped her from blubbering like a baby in front of the attorney.

      “…Finally, I leave to Kelly Santos all my correspondence and journals to do with as she wishes. It is my hope that she will remember me with fondness when she reads them and that through my words she will someday discover the bonds of family that she so richly deserves.” Peter put down the document and looked across the desk at her. “You were obviously very special to her.”

      “She was very special to me, too,” Kelly told him.

      “I’m sorry for your loss, Kelly.”

      Not trusting herself to speak, Kelly nodded.

      “We have the items she mentioned here and can turn them over to you now if you wish. Or if you’d prefer, I can arrange to have everything shipped to you in New York.”

      Kelly swallowed past the lump of emotion in her throat. “I’d like to have the rosary now. And if it’s not too much trouble, I’d appreciate it if you would just ship the rest of the items to me in New York. I’ll reimburse you for any shipping charges involved.”

      “I’ll see to it.” He buzzed his assistant, gave her instructions about the shipping and had the rosary brought to his office. “May I?” he asked, indicating the plain satin pouch that contained the rosary.

      “Of course.”

      Peter opened the pouch and emptied the prayer beads into his palm. The clear crystal beads and pewter crucifix glimmered beneath the light of the desk lamp. “Very pretty.”

      Kelly thought of all the times she’d seen Sister Grace