"Bea, let it go," I said, but she didn't.
"Just how many visits to the reflection room did it take you to turn into a momma's boy? Oh, let's play a game. Is it higher or lower than the number it took King?"
Ben's features hardened, aging him from the young grad student he was to a world-weary middle-aged man.
"What does the reflection room have to do with Mom's money?"
"You tell us, Ben. We'd really like to know."
I put a hand on Bea's. "Let it go, Bea. Please. We don't know anything."
"What do you suspect?" Ben asked.
"It's nothing. Bea's drunk. I'll take her home now."
"Stay. King should hear this too."
"No, I think we should go. I've seen enough of King today. Take care of the bill, Ben, will you?"
"Not this time," Ben raised a hand and signaled someone to come forward.
I scanned the room, looking for who he signaled while trying to get Bea to her feet, but she was dead weight.
