PERSONAL TRU$T

By William Reston Hunt

The body of Margaret Brewster is found outside her home the day after a blizzard that had been predicted for three days. A suspicious death to some, it sets in motion the administration of her estate by Steven Mott, an experienced but imperfect bank trust officer and attorney, who sees the Brewster estate as simply another mundane account t

• Language: English
• Publisher: Veris Auctorem LLC
• Release date: Apr 4, 2022
• ISBN: 9798985073911

Book preview

Chapter 1

Mortem

Friday, February 25, 2000

Its birth had begun two miles above the earth when a water droplet froze onto a dust particle. Falling at three miles an hour, the ice crystal was transformed into a hexagon-shaped snowflake as it passed through water vapor, its unique features determined by the atmosphere’s temperature and to a lesser extent by its humidity.

It was one of several quintillion snowflakes falling that night, its journey to the ground taking about 45 minutes, its precise landing spot determined by the quirks of nature.

Other snowflakes had preceded it and found their final resting place in the accumulating snow. So had the immobile figure covered by snow and making whimpering sounds near a limestone rock that protruded from the South Carolina soil.

Eerie silence, deafening silence, underneath the insulating shroud of the now departed blizzard, where the snowflakes would eventually join the elderly woman in death.

Chapter 2

You Can Bank On Us When You’re Dead

Monday, February 28, 2000

The man entered his cubicle and made his way around all the files and boxes on the floor. The amount of paper seemed to increase exponentially, usually at night when no one was present, although he had no proof of this phenomenon. He had just turned on his computer when to his surprise his phone rang, early for a Monday morning especially after a weekend to remember.

Trust division, Steven Mott. How may I help you? he said to his first caller of a new work week.

Morning, Steven.

Well, good morning, Herb, he replied in a tone more pleasant than his thoughts.

Can you come to my office? We have a new estate that I need to discuss with you.

Sure, Herb. Give me about five minutes, okay?

No problem, he said and hung up.

Steven cursed under his breath with the news of another new estate, but more deaths were common in cold weather—hence the phrase dropping like flies. He glanced at his cubicle wall above his phone at the list of estates assigned to each administrator, the bank officer responsible for ensuring the bank properly discharged its duties as executor. The last four had been divided between his colleagues Tom Murner and Barbara Scott. As head of the estate settlement area, he felt obligated to take this one. He finished logging onto his computer and then headed to the kitchen to get a cup of coffee before going to the boss’s office.

Like Steven, Herb Hastert was an early riser, but unlike Steven he typically left the office shortly before 5:00 in the afternoon to get a head start on rush-hour traffic. His morning modus operandi was to first read the local paper and then The Wall Street Journal before beginning the usual round of meetings and phone conferences that were the obligations of a manager of a bank trust department.

He finished the last section of the morning’s Journal, then stood and walked to the window of his corner office on the seventh floor of Kensington National Plaza, the tallest building in downtown Franklin. Looking down Main Street at the snow-covered lawn surrounding the Gallagher County Courthouse, he wondered what it was like to die in a blizzard. He had read about street people in northern cities and hikers in the Great Smoky Mountains National Park dying of hypothermia and had heard that sometimes the victims would hallucinate and feel extreme warmth and disrobe, paradoxically and tragically expediting their own deaths. He wondered if the lady’s last minutes had been painful; it was certainly not the preferred form of death from anyone’s point of view. He heard a knock and turned to see Steven standing in the doorway.

Come on in, Steven.

More new business, huh, Herb?

Yes, I’m afraid so, Herb said with a contrived tone of compassion as he took one last look outside before sitting down. Estates were a profitable line of business for the bank and death, after all, was a fact of life. Kensington National might as well profit from it just as well as the next bank.

What will has matured this time? Steven asked as he sat down in front of Herb’s massive mahogany desk. Unlike Steven’s, it was virtually free of files and papers.

Brewster, Margaret Brewster. A widow who returned to South Carolina just a few years ago. I never knew her but I read Rob’s file this morning.

How did she die? he asked, more out of civility than for any meaningful information. Usually it was immaterial how the client had died. The most important bits of information to an estate administrator were the nature and value of the assets, the dispositions under the will, and the acquiescence of the beneficiaries to the expressed intentions of the decedent.

Well, that is an interesting question, Herb said and looked around his office for effect, in the process surveying the numerous wall plaques and certificates reflecting his banking and civic involvement and honors. His eyes returned to Steven. It seems that Mrs. Brewster froze to death.

Froze to death? Kensington National’s typical decedent was elderly and died of natural causes such as cancer, heart attacks, strokes, and the proverbial old age. Hypothermia was most unusual. Steven turned and looked out the window at the snow as if it were the dastardly culprit who had committed this heinous act.

That’s correct. Her body was discovered outside her house in Kerry County on Saturday afternoon.

Do you know how it happened? I mean, what the heck was she doing outside when everyone had known for days the blizzard was on its way?

All I know at this point is what the woman, Eleanor..., he snapped his fingers as though to summon up the answer. Well, I can’t remember the last name but it’s in Marlene’s voicemail to me that I’ll forward to you. I haven’t returned the phone call yet—that will be your job, he added as though such action was beneath him. If the account is accepted, you will administer it, won’t you? You are the head of estate settlement and this should be a good estate.

Of course, Steven said, not wishing to say no to the boss and knowing that to Herb good was the equivalent of profitable. Left unsaid was that it would be more convenient for Tom to administer this estate because he lived in Dennison County, situated between Gallagher and Kerry counties. I’ll review the file this morning. By the way, do you know when her service will be?

The lady’s message didn’t say, only that a funeral home in Butler will be handling the arrangements, and I don’t remember the name. But don’t worry about going because the will appointment was Mrs. Brewster’s only connection to the bank, and apparently she had no family for us to express our sympathies to. Your time will be better spent here in the office.

Second-guessing the Herbivore’s judgment was not Steven’s style, especially when his annual performance evaluation was coming up soon. Yet he wanted Herb to know that he was becoming more sales oriented, the bank’s new culture.

I was just thinking that this would be an opportunity to meet one or more of the beneficiaries and sell them on an investment management or trust account, he cautiously suggested.

No, Herb said with a smile of satisfaction. The entire estate goes into a foundation and we are named the trustee. We’ve already got the business.

Steven nodded and Herb turned to the few papers on his desk, a signal the meeting was over and his thoughts had already turned to something else.

Chapter 3

Where There’s A Will….

Monday, February 28, 2000 (cont.)

Steven’s first task would be to put everything else on hold while he reviewed Rob Walsh’s estate planning file for Mrs. Brewster and had Valerie Hill, the administrative assistant for the three estate administrators, retrieve the original will.

Original wills and trust agreements were maintained in a fireproof room referred to as a vault, even though there was no massive steel door that most people might visualize upon hearing the term. Kensington National’s trust vault was located on the first floor of Kensington National Plaza in a corner next to the sewer pipes. This often led trust staff to refer to the vault as being in the bowels of the building.

Over 2,000 original wills and related legal instruments were stored in metal, fireproof filing cabinets that sat on six-inch raisers— just in case any pipes leaked. In adjoining filing cabinets were jewels, coins, and other tangible personal property awaiting distribution or resolution of court proceedings. Their total value at any given time might be more than $1,000,000.

Steven was almost to Valerie’s cubicle, or half-cubicle as she would describe it when she complained about her lack of space, when he met Barbara Scott arriving at work.

Good morning, Barbara, Steven said in a welcoming manner.

She shot him a quick glance and kept on walking toward her cubicle. Mornings were not usually kind to Barbara, a night person whose mood swings any time of the day were legendary within the division, leading some to say she owned stock in Bitterness, Inc.

What’s good about it? Barbara said over her shoulder as her oversized frame barely made it through the doorway of her cubicle adjacent to his. There’s a foot of snow on my driveway and all the drivers are stupid! she said and then added, But I’ll be okay after I deal with all the gripes and demands of our beneficiaries.

He followed her to her cubicle and watched as she placed her bags in a spare chair and hung up her coat. He never understood why she had to carry so much stuff to and from work. It sure wasn’t the account files she was taking home to work on—she put in her eight hours and then called it a day.

Well, look at it this way—it could be a thick sheet of ice and you could have driven off the road into a ditch.

She ignored his comment and went about her business as though he were not present. He wondered what it was this time: another broken romance, probably, or a potential one that never materialized once the guy got better acquainted with her idiosyncrasies. She was hard enough to work with even with the threat of unemployment hanging over her head; pity the poor guy who had no leverage over her.

Well, speaking of the weather, Barbara, guess what?

Yeah, what?

One of our will clients in Kerry County froze to death in the blizzard, and I’ll be handling her estate. I talked with Herb about it just a few minutes ago.

Really? So another will has matured. No wonder the other departments call each of us Dr. Death. By the way, what lawyer prepared it? she asked as she examined her cheat sheet taped to the inside of the overhead cabinet and then entered the multiple passwords into her desktop computer.

Steven ignored the computer security policy violation.

Well, I haven’t seen the will yet so I don’t actually know. In fact, I’m going to have Valerie go get it now.

The puzzled look on her face showed the furrows of age and the thick layer of make-up trying to camouflage them.

I thought she was taking this week off.

Oh, you’re right. I guess I’ll have to ask Rita to get it. I’ll talk to you later, he said and headed to trust operations to find Rita Glover to go with him to the vault.

He was almost to her cubicle when out stepped Trudy McGinnis, known to Steven and some of the other more conscientious officers as the Drag Queen. The sobriquet had been awarded to her for being the mouth of the south and the most gregarious of Gallagher County, who was so busy talking and consuming others’ time that she was a drag on productivity.

Trudy spotted Steven out of the corner of her eye and stopped in the hallway to block his passage. Grinning, she said, You’ll never guess what happened to Mike and I last night!

Good grammar was not her forte, Steven noted for the umpteenth time as the human magnet started pulling him into a meaningless conversation. He started to ask if Rita was in but it was too late because Trudy quickly continued.

We’d been cooped up all weekend ‘cause of the blizzard, you know, so we decided to go out fer some bar-b-que last night and took his pickup ‘cause it gets better traction on snow and ice. You understand.

Steven politely stopped to listen but he watched her lips move and eyes dart about without really hearing what she was saying. Maybe Rita would step outside her office or perhaps someone else would come along and save him.

Well, I warned Mike about takin’ the pickup ‘cause he had been havin’ trouble with the alternator, but he just insisted that we take it ‘cause it would be safer. You understand, don’t you? she asked and paused, one of the Drag Queen’s few hesitations.

Steven thought she was waiting for an answer. He opened his mouth to form a response when she went on.

Well, wouldn’t you know it. We leave the restaurant, get in the truck, and it won’t start! I bet he worked on that thang fer 30 minutes ‘fore admittin’ it wasn’t goin’ to start, and here we are three miles from home with snow on the roads and no-bidy in the restaurant that we know. What’re we supposed to do now? I just know’d our evenin’ out was ruint.

Steven’s patience, what little there ever was, was about gone. He wanted to tell her to just shut up and get back to work, but he knew there would be hell to pay somewhere down the line if he exploded. He decided to take the high road and display a firm but polite demeanor. He had to get the Brewster will and get to work.

Trudy, I’m sorry to interrupt your story, but I need to get with Rita and get a will out of the vault right now. I’m really in a hurry. Maybe I can hear the end of the story later, okay? A century later would work just fine for him but he diplomatically stifled that thought.

There was no noticeable disappointment on her face due to Steven’s rejection. He assumed the reason was because there were others, several others, she could and would tell the story to before the morning was over. But he was wrong.

Well, you won’t be seein’ Rita today ‘cause she had to stay home with a sick grandchild. You know her daughter is divorced and in college, and she takes the kids to daycare ‘cept when they’re sick, and the little girl is sick today. I think her name is Eva or somethin’ like that. Do you know what it is? It’s nothin’ serious, just a little temperature.

He hoped the kid had more than just a little temperature because otherwise she might be dead.

Let’s see…who is Rita’s backup? he asked and immediately regretted the question when he saw Trudy’s smile.

I’m her backup, so I’ll go with you. Just give me the will removal form and we’ll be off, okay? Hey, now we’ll have time fer me to finish my story.

Chapter 4

Planning For Death

Monday, February 28, 2000 (cont.)

His ordeal with Trudy behind him, Steven sat at his desk and reviewed the Last Will and Testament of Margaret Lyons Brewster, late of 362 Perimeter Drive, Lawrence, South Carolina. The will had been executed by her on December 15, 1999, in the offices of Clarke & Clarke, a firm in Butler, the county seat of Kerry County, but now just a suburb of the larger Lawrence. One of the two witnesses to the will was Alvin Clarke, Jr., and according to the letterhead of the attached cover letter, Alvin Clarke, Sr. died in 1984. Even after 15 years the son had his deceased father’s name on the firm’s stationery.

Steven raised his head and stared at his simple, unadorned cubicle wall in front of him. Father and son in practice together, he almost said aloud. He placed the document on his desk and turned and looked out the window behind him, a habit he had developed when he needed to let his thoughts flow.

The clear blue sky was a welcome relief to the inclement weather of the past several days. Sunlight sparkled on the snow in the parking lot across Hadley Street. With warmer temperatures on their way tomorrow, he knew that Barbara’s driveway would soon improve if not her attitude.

He could see the historic York Building standing majestically adjacent to the bank’s parking lot with its National Register plaque strategically located to the left of the entrance for all who entered to see. Built in the 1920’s and renovated in the early 1980’s when investment tax credits were available, it now housed two prominent Franklin law firms—Taylor & Winningham and Smith, Crouch & Dishman.

But for events beyond his control, he might now be practicing law in such a building and realizing his childhood ambition of working with his father, a man he had idolized from the time he had first understood what it meant to be an attorney.

During his third year in law school, Steven’s father had convinced his partners to amend the firm’s nepotism policy in anticipation of Steven joining the firm. Shortly before Steven graduated, however, his father left the firm under embarrassing circumstances, and it was clear that a Mott was no longer welcome at the firm of Pemberton, Mott & Neal in Steven’s hometown. Forced to pursue other opportunities elsewhere, he left South Carolina with no intentions to ever return.

Voices nearby reminded him of the task at hand, and he turned back to his desk and started reading the will. Skimming through the nine pages, he quickly confirmed what Herb had indicated: Kensington National Bank was the sole executor, and the entire estate including the household contents were to be sold and the proceeds given to a foundation that the bank would administer as the sole trustee. Because the foundation’s income would be distributed to benefit public schools and schoolteachers in Kerry County, South Carolina, he guessed that Mrs. Brewster had been a teacher.

He picked up Rob Walsh’s estate planning file for Mrs. Brewster and began a review of the familiar documents and forms that Rob, as the new business development officer, always completed when he assisted people with their estate planning. A subtle method of gaining will appointments for the bank, the estate planning service was not only complimentary but also beneficial to most persons who consulted Rob and implemented his suggestions.

Depending upon the size of the estate, tens of thousands of dollars could be saved from taxes by the use of key provisions in a will. Proper language could also ensure protection for dysfunctional relatives or those who exhibited spendthrift tendencies or had the misfortune to marry the wrong person.

Rob’s notes showed that Mrs. Brewster had been a referral from Beth Saunders at the First National Bank in Lawrence. First National was too small to have its own trust department, so it referred its wealthier customers to Kensington National and indirectly received a percentage of Kensington’s fee in return.

Rob was always interested in the person’s motivation in seeing him and typically made an entry to that effect. Steven spotted it in the second paragraph: Age 76. Recently diagnosed with breast cancer. Most likely terminal. Reason she called Beth about estate planning.

Steven knew from multiple experiences that a cancer diagnosis was a compelling reason to get one’s affairs in order. He remembered Evan Drummond who had executed his will on a Tuesday, one month after being diagnosed with pancreatic cancer, and died the very next day. One never knew.

Turning a page he saw that his suspicions about her career were correct. Both she and Mr. Brewster (deceased Nov. 17, 1997) were educators, Rob’s notes read. She taught elementary school math for 30 + years. Mr. B—a high school principal in Lee County, Florida. No children. Mrs. B an only child.

The assets and liabilities form was next and contained spaces for real estate, stocks, bonds, mutual funds, bank accounts, life insurance, and other categories of financial assets to be listed. An aversion to risk was evidently one of Mrs. Brewster’s traits because she did not own any securities or mutual funds and had virtually all her wealth in bank accounts and CDs and in her house.

From prior experience, Steven knew that the values assigned to the bank accounts were probably fairly accurate because Rob would have asked her to either find out these amounts before coming to their meeting or to simply bring copies of her latest bank statements with her.

Typically, Rob would write in a zero or None if a listed category of asset did not exist, but he had left the Life Insurance entry on the form completely blank. Steven made a mental note to follow up on that.

The last asset listed was Mrs. Brewster’s house, shown with a presumed value of $160,000 but which could be way off the mark because many older persons did not have an accurate sense of how much their houses had appreciated in value.

With no liabilities shown, the total of her assets equaled her net worth of approximately $2.2 million. Not bad for a schoolteacher but then no kids or grandkids to help the Brewsters spend their money.

Rob had made a note suggesting that Tom be made the administrator because he lived near Kerry County. Because Herb generally followed Rob’s advice in such matters, Steven wondered why Herb had wanted him to take the account.

Reading further, Steven saw that the Clarke firm had participated only when Mrs. Brewster executed her will; the document had been prepared by Rob’s favorite Franklin attorney, Leon Forbush, a friend who shared Rob’s love of reciprocity such that each one’s career was enhanced.

There was nothing in the file about the woman named Eleanor mentioned by Herb, but Steven recalled Herb’s promise to forward her voicemail message. He turned to his phone and saw that his voicemail light was blinking to indicate a message was waiting. He dialed in and listened as first Marlene and then Herb introduced Eleanor’s message.

He had pictured Eleanor as an elderly woman, probably a neighbor or one of Mrs. Brewster’s friends from the senior citizens center, so he was surprised to hear the pleasant voice of a younger woman, perhaps younger than his own 40 years. Her message was brief but covered most of the basics at this early stage:

Hello, uh, my name is Eleanor Chandler and I’m calling to let you know that Margaret Brewster died over the weekend. I found… I found her body outside her home yesterday afternoon. She must have frozen to death, poor thing. I’m not a relative, but if I can help you can call me on my cell phone, and she gave the number. There was silence for a few seconds and then she continued. Oh, before I forget, McCutcheon’s Funeral Chapel in Butler is handling the arrangements. Thank you.

Steven played the message once again before saving it, this time noting the inflections in her voice and writing down the telephone number so he could call her later. There was no hint of emotion or stress in her voice; she was matter of fact, doing her duty to let the bank know it had another estate to administer. Yet he wondered how she had known to call the bank, especially just one day after the apparent date of death. He could only guess that Mrs. Brewster had been close to this woman and felt comfortable confiding in her, yet rare were the times when an unrelated person contacted a named corporate executor so soon after the death.

He turned his attention to the estate administration checklist and confirmed that much of the data gathering process had already been completed by Rob. Although he could be a horse’s ass at times, there was no doubt that Rob was thorough and effective as a salesperson and an estate planner.

With Mrs. Brewster’s house now presumably unoccupied, he would schedule a visit in the very near future to make sure it was secure and to otherwise conduct some due diligence.

Having devoted enough time to this new estate for one day, he turned his attention to his other accounts.

Chapter 5

Snowbanks

Monday, February 28, 2000 (cont.)

More traffic on the roads on his evening commute meant more competition in finding a way around the snowbanks created by road crews where snow had been scraped off the streets during the weekend. Steven had already seen traffic cops working two accidents, and now in the distance he could see another flashing blue light that was soon followed by the red glow of brake lights from traffic in front of him.

Frustrated with another delay, he decided to take an alternate route, one that included a hill or two, but that would be no problem for the SUV with all-wheel drive. He took the first right and went north two blocks to another commercial artery and passed by the office of a mortgage company owned by the bank he had worked for in Atlanta before moving to Franklin 11 years ago.

Native South Carolinians, he and Lisa and Kristen had moved to Atlanta right after he passed the bar exam to put some distance between him and his father. His father’s death three years later had seemed like an appropriate juncture in his life to return to South Carolina and start a new career. But his family’s return had been a divisive event in their marriage, with Lisa at first wanting to stay in Atlanta and Steven feeling the emotional pull of his home state.

In raising Kristen, her child by a previous marriage, Lisa had grown close to other mothers in their social circles, and they lunched together and participated in the Junior League. Lisa wouldn’t admit it, but the small-town girl had grown accustomed to the offerings of the large city, and Franklin was not an Atlanta.

Their conflict had gotten so bad that at one point they had discussed the possibility of separation or even a divorce, and he had discreetly consulted a divorce attorney and secretly set up and funded an account at another Atlanta bank. Eventually Lisa had agreed to move to South Carolina but only after a falling out between her mother and sister led the sister to move away from their hometown. The constant pleading of her mother to return to South Carolina had been too great for Lisa to ignore.

He saw the entrance to Bavarian Hills, carefully made the turn, and immediately felt the packed snow underneath the tires. The city snowplows had not made it here, and many of the residents had parked their cars on the street, unable or unwilling to make it up their snow-covered driveways. In contrast, he had spent an hour the day before shoveling the snow off his driveway for which he was now paying with soreness in his shoulders and a stiff back. Two minutes later, he drove up his driveway and into the garage, and parked Lisa’s Pathfinder SUV beside his Honda Accord.

Their house sat in a wooded cul-de-sac at the end of the subdivision with a working farm behind them. This location afforded Steven the solitude he had longed for during their years in Atlanta, solitude now enhanced by the muffling effects of snow on a cold, winter’s evening. Enticed by the thought, he stepped out through the open garage door and around the corner to their large backyard where he looked across its expanse from the Noltes to his left and the Millers to his right. The half-moon overhead joined with the trees to create shadows across the frozen snow, and the only sound he could hear was a cow’s bawl as she sought her calf in the field beyond the fence.

He sucked in the cold air and exhaled to see his breath. A cold weather enthusiast, he had welcomed this snowfall and the extension of his favorite time of the year, a time when nosy neighbors and their barking dogs stayed indoors. Spring would soon come and give rise to neighborhood activities and intrusions, not to mention his springtime allergies.

He heard the sounds seconds before the kitchen light came on, two female voices straining within. His mood changed with their arrival, and he walked into the garage and closed the door and then entered the mudroom where he was welcomed by Kristen’s shrieks and Lisa’s shouted reply. He walked around the corner and into the kitchen and saw them staring at each other, wild-eyed, like two tigers about to attack each other.

It’s just for a little while and he has a jeep, Kristen pleaded.

Young lady, you are not leaving this house, not with snow and ice still on the roads!

Well, dad made it to work and back, and Adrian is just as good a driver as he is! Kristen shouted.

Steven wondered if Adrian was the boy with the blue hair. No, that was Kyle, he remembered.

Kristen, don’t be silly! Adrian has been driving for only a year. How can you say he’s a better driver than Steven?

I didn’t say he was a better driver. I said he was just as good!

Lisa turned to him with a look of exasperation and jabbed her finger at the air.

She’s not leaving this house with a boy, she said and left the room.

Steven was not surprised that Lisa walked out before their dispute was resolved; she had a very low tolerance for stress and in his opinion was unable to deal with Kristen or with any conflict in a calm, firm, manner. He looked at Kristen and started to tell her that he agreed with her mother when she spoke up and saved him the effort.

Okay, I’ll call and tell him I can’t go, she said and walked away.

Steven hung up his topcoat before going up the stairs and into the master bedroom where he closed the door behind him.

Have you had a great day, honey? he asked Lisa as she stepped out of the bathroom.

Very funny, she said. We both want to get out of the house and do things but can’t, so we’re driving each other crazy just so we have something to do.

Early in their marriage she would have been receptive to a hug and maybe even a kiss at a time like this, but rebuff after rebuff had told him their marriage had passed that exit. He watched her walk into the closet and then he turned and emptied his pockets on the small desk in the corner.

Do you go back to work tomorrow? he asked as he took off his shirt.

Are you kidding? In this weather?

But it’s supposed to be in the 40s tomorrow, Lisa, and the snow will probably melt enough to make the roads passable. There are people out there looking for a house, and you’re the one to help them.

She stuck her head outside the closet door before answering.

Steven, are you so concerned with money that you would want me to risk my life? I just don’t believe you sometimes. Surely we’re not having that much financial trouble. Anyway, I’ve already called the office and left word that I won’t be in tomorrow. On Wednesday, I’ll just double up on my work, so that night you and Kristen will have to fend for yourselves for dinner.

Okay, he said and stepped into the closet with her to swap his work clothes for his casual ones. He saw Lisa standing sideways in front of the full-length mirror, wearing just a bra and panties. He felt the stirrings of an erection as he recalled the early years of their marriage when she was slimmer and readily showed affection for him. Even now with a slight weight problem, especially in her hips, she remained a pretty woman to him.

Incidentally, how many houses have you sold so far this year? he asked. Last year you sold, what, six? But you didn’t start until August, right?

Right. I think it’s three. Yes, three so far, she said somewhat distractedly.

She was eyeing an outfit that told Steven they were going out to dinner,