Scenes of Passion Read Online Free PDF Page A

old dad decided to leave it all to me—all twenty-five million, if—” Matt took a deep breath “—I can show that I can run the business within a three-month time period—which started last week. If I can’t—adios to everything. The executor of the estate will shut down the business, auction off the factory, and all the money will go to charity. If that happens, I’ll get nothing. And if I get nothing, your job—and everyone else who works for YPCC—will be terminated.” He looked at her. “How’s that for a catch?”
    Maggie nodded again, her eyes serious. “That’s some catch. What exactly does the will stipulate?”
    Matt opened the car door. “I’ve got a copy inside. I’ll let you take a look at it.”
    She got out of the car, too, staring up at the house. “You know, Matt, all those years we were friends, I never went inside your house.”
    â€œThat’s because my father hated Angie,” Matt told her. Angie had taken Mr. Stone’s crap and handed it straight back to him. “He would’ve really liked you, though.”
    â€œIs that a compliment or an insult?” she asked with a laugh.
    â€œOh, it’s a compliment,” he told her. And wasn’t that strange? He and the old man would’ve finally agreed on something.
    Maggie followed him up the path to the office door and into the house.
    The outer office was large and spacious, with rows of file cabinets along one wall. There was a huge oak conference table in front of enormous bay windows that looked out over the water. The hardwood floors glistened, as did the intricate wood molding that surrounded the windows and door. It was a modern office with computers, copy machine and fax, but the feel of the room was Victorian. It was gorgeous. And in the daytime, with the view of the sun sparkling on the water, it would be even more beautiful.
    Matt led the way to a dark wooden door and, pushing it open, he turned on the light.
    Maggie had to laugh, looking around at the late Mr. Stone’s private office—Matt’s office now. “Oh, Matt,” she said. “It’s you .”
    He grinned.
    Thick red carpeting was underfoot. The walls were paneled with the same dark wood as the built-in bookcases. Row upon row of books lined the wall, and Maggie glanced at the varying titles and subjects. Mr. Stone had a few books on astronomy, several on geology, an entire shelf of medical books on cancer, many titles on the Second World War, but the vast majority of the books in the room were fiction—mysteries.
    Matt’s father had been into whodunits. He had always seemed so practical and down-to-earth, with no time for nonsense of any kind. She just couldn’t picture him biting his fingernails in suspense as he read faster and faster to find out who was the killer.
    The inner office had big windows but they were shuttered with elaborately carved wood. The centerpiece of the room was a massive cherry desk and what looked like a black leather Barcalounger behind it.
    Maggie slowly circled the desk. It was quite possibly as large as a queen-sized bed, its rich dark wood buffed to a lustrous shine. She picked up the single item that rested on its clean surface—a photo of Matt at about age six, clinging possessively to his smiling young mother’s neck.
    â€œWhy didn’t you come to his funeral?” she wondered.
    He turned away.
    â€œI’m sorry,” she said swiftly, putting the picture down. “I shouldn’t have asked—”
    â€œI saw him about two weeks before he died. I was in the hospital—it was back when I was sick. Somehow he’d managed to track me down and he came to see me.”
    He was leaning against the door frame now, arms crossed. His pose was relaxed, but Maggie could see tension in his jaw. And she could hear it in his voice.
    He laughed, but it didn’t have anything to do