The telephone rang.
"I'll get it," Grace said, returning from the kitchen with a
bottle of cider vinegar. Byron made a beckoning gesture for the
bottle.
"I got it," Peter said. "Holmes residence," he said, wiping his
lips on his sleeve. "Hi, Peggy. What's up? Wait, let me guess, a
problem with my stock sale already," Peter said with a smirk and
a roll of his eyes at Byron.
"His secretary," Byron said, identifying the caller to his wife.
"What?" Peter shouted, eyes suddenly wide with panic.
"What is it?" Byron asked, coming to Peter's side.
"Hello?" a voice called softly, from inside the house.
"All right, yes," Peter said. "I'll get there as soon as I can."
He hung up the phone and stared at the handset.
"Hi," Kate said, bounding cheerfully into the room. "I let myself
in." She froze in place when she took in Peter's aghast
expression as he turned away and faced the wall. He locked his
hands behind his neck and looked up at the ceiling.
"What the hell's wrong?" Byron said.
"What's going on?" Kate asked Grace, who replied with upturned
palms. "Peter?" Kate gripped his arm. "What is it?"
"Something back home," Peter said, avoiding every set of staring
eyes.
"Is it the stock sale, boy?"
He shook his head.
"Then what?" Kate asked, tugging his arm to make him face her.
He turned around and took her hands.
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