Everybody Rise by Stephanie Clifford Page B

they?”
    â€œThere’s a grand jury. Your father is being investigated by a grand jury,” Barbara said.
    Evelyn stood up so fast that the chair’s wooden legs shrieked over the floor. “A grand jury? How long have you known about this?”
    â€œWell, this is an ongoing investigation,” Dale said.
    â€œYes, I understand that. But how long have you known about the grand jury?”
    â€œMonths,” Barbara said.
    â€œBarbara, many grand jury investigations go on for months,” Dale said, his voice sharp. “It doesn’t mean it’s going to go anywhere.”
    Evelyn gripped the chair’s back. “This doesn’t make sense.”
    â€œIt doesn’t,” Dale said. He’d modulated his voice now, and it was all brown sugar. “I’m sorry we’re just springing it on you now, honey. We didn’t think it would go anywhere, and we still don’t, but the government’s been leaking things to the press, and it was bound to get out.”
    Barbara turned from the window. “This shouldn’t have happened,” she said. Her hand was shaking, but her body was still. “This shouldn’t have happened.”
    â€œWell, it did happen. It is happening.” Evelyn was trying to keep her voice even, but it kept modulating unpredictably as though someone else were controlling the volume knob. “It happens that Dale Beegan is being investigated by a grand jury. It happens that maybe you should mention that to your child before several months have gone by. Maybe that would be a good idea.”
    â€œWe didn’t think it was necessary—” Dale said.
    â€œWell, it was. It was necessary.”
    â€œEvie, don’t get all worked up. The investigation seems stalled in its tracks except for this one unemployed fellow making false claims. We thought we’d talk to you about it in person because we knew you were coming down for the party—”
    â€œAnd what a lovely party it will be!” Barbara cried, ridding herself of the slight Baltimore accent that she sometimes sank into when tired or angry, and plowing into her Sag Neck chatelaine voice, long Katharine Hepburn vowels mixed with the nasality of Ethel Merman. “Now, Evelyn, what do you say, shall we go to the Channings’ party in our Fourth dresses and pretend as though nobody knows your father is being investigated for—what would it be? Money laundering? Bribery? Doesn’t that sound like a lark? I’m sure Sally Channing will be just delighted to see us there, this trio of Dale Beegan and his wife and daughter, and give us a warm welcome. Sally’s friends will be delighted to see us, too, after reading the fascinating newspaper accounts of how the United States government says you’ve been breaking the law.”
    â€œBarbara. That’s enough. I told you, if you want to skip the party, you can,” Dale said.
    There was something especially troubling in what they had said, swirling above the upside-down idea that her father was being investigated by a grand jury, above the tension in the room, above the dreadful day that was ahead where Evelyn would either be forced to go to this party or forced to stay home with her furious parents. That was it. Newspaper accounts. If this was getting coverage, all her friends could potentially know about it already. They could’ve been e-mailing it around in the days since Lake James; she could practically see Nick’s message: “Looks like someone’s life is less perfect than she’s pretending.” Camilla, too, might be a newspaper reader, and even if she wasn’t, with the way everything went online and spread quickly these days, there was no controlling or predicting what would be read by whom. Evelyn would be laughed at. “This is in the papers?” she said in a small voice.
    Her mother let out a high-pitched “Ha!”
    Her father ran his tongue over