In Their Blood by Sharon Potts Page A

unclear or inadequate wills.”
    “Well, my parents were very clear. Their wills state that I’m to be Elise’s guardian. You’re only a backup.”
    Dwight’s face reddened. “But, but you’re not responsible.”
    “Well, Dwight, I’m afraid there’s nothing about me being responsible in the wills.”
    “It’s implicit. A guardian must be responsible. He can’t be gallivanting halfway around the world.”
    “I’m not leaving. I’m staying here. At home.”
    Dwight didn’t speak for a minute. Was this how his uncle looked before a judge when he realized he was losing his case? “You know, Jeremy.” His uncle’s voice had softened. “You’re a young man. Why would you want to saddle yourself with the burden of taking care of a teenager? And, of course, your aunt and I are far better qualified. Think of your sister. What’s best for her.”
    “That’s exactly what I’m doing.” Jeremy stood up.
    “Do you really believe I’m going to sit back and let you do this?”
    “I’m touched by your concern over Elise’s well-being, Dwight. Though I’m sure rubbing elbows with your influential new neighbors on Lotus Island would have been nice for your career, too.”
    “Get out of here, Jeremy.” Dwight’s chin was trembling. “But I’ll be watching you. Any sign that you’re not adequately fulfilling your obligations and I’m filing a motion to replace you as guardian.”
    “My parents would be glad to know that. Glad you’re watching out for Elise.” Jeremy saluted his uncle from the doorway.
    Jeremy drove a couple of blocks away from his uncle’s office and pulled the car into a 7-Eleven parking lot. His uncle. His goddamn uncle. But at least that was done. Jeremy was ready for the next part of his plan.
    He found the business card at the front of his wallet. Detective Judy Lieber. Should he call her? Let her know he wasn’t the slug she’d concluded he was?
    No. He put the card back. His dad used to tell him talk was cheap. The only way to impress others was through your actions.
    Through your actions.

Chapter 7
    The offices of Piedmont Coleridge Miller, known universally as PCM, were located on the thirteenth floor of a downtown Miami office building. Some buildings had done away with the fate-tempting number thirteen, but not the chrome-and-glass one that housed Jeremy’s mother’s CPA firm. “Superstition is nonsense,” she had once said. “Can you imagine what the world would smell like if we all wore cloves of garlic around our necks?”
    Maybe that wouldn’t have been such a bad idea for her.
    “Can I get you something, Jeremy?” Bud McNally’s secretary studied him from behind outdated glasses with rhinestones at the corners. After giving Jeremy a powerful hug in the reception area, she had brought him to the partner’s office to wait.
    “I’m good, Gladys. Thanks.”
    She hesitated in the doorway. Jeremy had known Gladys since he was little— her hair had been a steely gray even then. Jeremy used to sit in the staff room doing his homework while his mother finished some important project. Gladys would soundlessly appear with a granola bar with chocolate chips. “Don’t tell your mother,” she would say, then disappear.
    “I just want you to know,” she said now. “Your mother—” She looked down at her clumsy rubber-soled shoes. “I’m just so sorry, Jeremy.”
    “Thank you, Gladys.”
    She wiped her nose with a tissue she pulled out of her pocket. “Well, I guess I’ll go and get after Mr. McNally. Make sure he knows you’re waiting.” She left him alone with the office door open.
    Jeremy sat uncomfortably in the modern leather chair, the top button of his shirt closed, tie tightened, and his suit jacket cutting off circulation in his arms. He tried to block the emotion that had built up inside. He needed to keep his head.
    An expensive-looking navy pinstriped suit jacket hung from a hanger on a brushed steel coat rack. Framed diplomas and