I.L. Wolf - Her Cousin, Much Removed

by I. L. Wolf

  “I get from your tone of voice that that’s supposed to be insult,” he said. “But I don’t see it.”

  “Venetia, you know how I told you about my family?”

  “Of course. Your parents, you had an older sister, your sister lives in another country now, and your parents died a while back. When you were in college.”

  Higson let out a hoot. “College? Are you kidding? College? You said you went to college?”

  “Marlene went to college,” said Marlene, “so I had to go college.”

  “That was an oddly confusing sentence,” Venetia said. She got up and added some sugar to her coffee, not because it needed it, but because she needed something to do.

  “Marlene, obviously, is not my birth name. It’s an identity I assumed when I moved to town.”

  “You’re getting closer but not exactly there.”

  Venetia whipped her head to look straight at Higson. “Why do you care so much? Seriously? What does it matter to you how she tells me or if she tells me? That should be between me and Marlene.”

  “My reasons are my reasons,” he said.

  “That seems awfully convenient,” said Venetia. “You can have yours but she can’t have hers?”

  “It’s OK, doll, you don’t have to defend me.”

  Venetia put the coffee down on the table, and rested her hands on top of Marlene’s. “I know the kind of person you are, Marlene. I know it. The person he’s trying to get you to be, that’s not you.”

  “Oh come on,” said Higson. “At least with the Women’s Channel you can use the remote and change it to something that’s not nauseating.”

  “Once again, your insight is really remarkable,” Venetia said. “This guy is the worst. How could you ever have anything to do with him?”

  “Now that’s funny,” said Higson. “That’s funny. She begged me.”

  “Woody,” Marlene said, “I’m telling her. Why can’t I do it in my way?”

  “Because you’re taking forever. Because I don’t feel like being nice right now. Because I should be getting a huge payout from that Delenda’s death—”

  “Heartwarming,” said Venetia.

  He narrowed his dull eyes at her, and continued, “and thanks to some screw-up of a lawyer, I might not get it. Yet here you are, my little devotee, disavowing the man who made you.”

  “Wait, is he saying that he’s your father?”

  “What, are you using her as a ventriloquist’s dummy? Throwing your voice?” he said.

  “There are many words you could use to describe Venetia, but that’s not one of them.”

  “How old do you think I am?” Higson said.

  “I don’t know,” Venetia said. “You look weathered.”

  “How nice of you.”

  “Now I have to ask if you’re serious. Do you think I’m concerned about your feelings?”

  “No, doll, he’s not my father, we’re not related. That family I told you about? I never had it. I never had one.”

  “And cue the sob story,” Higson said. “We all have problems.”

  “Look, you wanted me to tell her, I’m telling her. You can’t have it both ways.”

  “Fine.”

  “I was left with a neighbor for a couple of hours when I was about three or four by the person who said she was my mom. I don’t remember it. But she never came back.”

  “That’s horrible,” said Venetia.

  “A bleeding heart,” said Higson. “Figures. My story’s twice as sobby, I promise you.”

  “If you don’t shut up,” Venetia said, “I will happily call the police department and let them know that you actually seem to have a very solid chance of being the person who murdered Delenda.”

  “If you think I am, you’ll do that anyway,” he said.

  “That’s true.” She looked at him, eyes narrowed, head angled. “Shouldn’t you be more angry about that possibility?”

  “There‘s a lot that I know that you don’t,” he said. “So I’m good.”

  “Anyway,” Marlene said, “considering that you were insisting I tell her, you’re sure not making it easy.”

  “Yeah, well, whatever.”

  “The neighbor turned me in to social services, and that’s how I grew up. Higson’s family, such that it was, was the fifth family I lived with. Or sixth. Not sure.”

  “Such that it was?” he said. “Come on, we took you in, we clothed you, we fed you. My family was good people.”

  “I got fed if I stole for them. They had me running cons by the time I was twelve.”

  “Life skills,” he said.

  “Turned out that they weren’t actually even licensed to have foster kids, but Woody’s grandfather—”

  “Rest his twisted, clever soul,” said Higson.

  “Had forged the documents to get a girl about my age. He figured a girl would do better with some of the cons he had going. He was right.”

  “That’s horrible,” she said. “Seriously awful.”

  “And how do you know it’s true?” said Higson. “She told you she grew up a liar.”

  “Liar or not, it’s a terrible story.”

  “It is a terrible story,” he said. “And not a word of it is true.”

  “Marlene. Seriously? Is he lying now?”

  She sighed a big sigh. “No, he’s not lying. Fine, no, what I said wasn’t true.”

  Venetia stood. She snatched her coffee cup from the table, crossed the room in about three steps and dumped it down the sink. “Whatever. That’s it, whatever. Maybe he’s right about you. Actually, it looks like he’s exactly right about you, and so is Detective James.”

  “What does he have to do with anything?”

  “What do you think? He’s the one who told me about your cons, Marlene.”

  “You knew?”

  “I knew something. But I didn’t believe it, I thought there had to be a real explanation. I know you better, you’re not like this. Except apparently, you are exactly like this.”

  “We were only having fun with you, chickee,” said Higson.

  “Really? Chickee? That’s ridiculous. Don’t call me that. All of this seems to be hilarious to you. How funny do you think it will be to Julian?”

  “You can’t say anything to him,” said Marlene. “Promise me you won’t.”

  “I’m not promising anything. You pulled me along for the last however long, and I have no idea why.”

  Again, Marlene and Higson exchanged glances.

  “What? What is that about? You know I shouldn’t have asked you to follow Dane—”

  “What does she know about Dane?” Higson said.

  “What do you know about Dane?” said Venetia

  “I asked first,” said Higson.

  “OK, I’ll ask you both outright. Are either one of you planning to hurt me?”

  “I wasn’t,” said Higson, “but that’s no guarantee that that won’t change.”

  “I appreciate your treating that question with the seriousness it deserves. Again, am I in danger?”

  “Of course not,” Marlene said.

  “Eh,” said Higson.

  “Then I’m leaving. You know Marlene, I came here tonight to get keys to try to rescue you. Rescue you, from, I guess, this guy. But I don’t even know who you are anymore.” She grabbed her gear and knocked the chair over in her rush for the door. “No, no, that’s wrong. I never knew who you are, did I?”

  Marlene said nothing, and for the second time in a day, Venetia stormed out of a room where she wasn’t actually captive, but it sure felt that way.

  Chapter 19

  As she picked her way back to the car, going the way she came in, Venetia fumed. Marlene was a liar, and for all she knew, the whole marriage to Julian, kind, sweet, affable plant guru Julian, was a farce. Detective James had probably been right about why she was at the hospital, too. Maybe she was planning steal a new identity and run. Julian was a saver, he had plenty of money.

  At least there was no way s
he’d get away with his retirement, if Venetia did anything, it would be to make sure of that. Back at her car, she got in and slammed the door. Whatever they were hatching, they could explain it to Detective James. She didn’t care.

  But why had Marlene used the brown cup?

  She stuck the key in the ignition. It didn’t matter, she was probably trying to warm her up. Worse, though, was that bit about Shane.

  Shane Palint. Who was serving life without parole for Brenna’s murder.

  It had all gone pretty quickly after they found Brenna’s body, discarded in a small cluster of trees off the highway. There was the gas station attendant who said he saw Shane pull up to a pump, leave the engine running, and go around the corner to make a call. There was the witness at a diner who claimed she saw Shane and Brenna arguing, and another at Brenna’s building, the one she was leaving on the day she was killed, who said Shane looked menacing, that he shoved her into the car.

  None of it was true, though. Venetia tried to tell them that, first the officers, and then the prosecutors, but they took her suspicion of Brenna’s husband as over-identification with her client and brushed her off. Besides, Alden Sway couldn’t possibly be involved, he was somewhere else doing something else, and everything was completely airtight.

  Too airtight, in Venetia’s opinion. Every moment quietly documented, every second absolutely with an explanation. Whose life is like that?

  Neither side even bothered to call her for the trial, and she watched it happen. Alden with his widower’s mask barely hiding the smug below; Shane, confused and underrepresented handed his fate with very little fanfare. She knew she couldn’t go back to the law.

  She was finished.

  Pulling into her parking lot, she found her spot and turned off the car. Maybe, to some degree, Shane’s sentence was her fault. Brenna swore to her that she had those documents that would dismantle the public’s view of Alden, and she’d said he knew it. But where were they?

  If only she’d found them, that kid wouldn’t have gone to jail. Of course, there was the possibility that there were no documents, as hard as she’d looked for them, as much as the police said they had as well, they were nowhere to be found.

  She made her way up to her apartment. The stairs felt endlessly long, impossible. She was so tired, and the week had been so crappy.

  Listening at her door for a moment, she realized that she was hoping, strongly, that Mason wouldn’t be there tonight. She checked the time. No, he wouldn’t, he’d be on the air.

  Which brought back Cadby James’ parting barb. The press leak. Would Mason really do that to her?

  Once inside, she locked both locks and went to the bathroom. Her face was streaked with dirt from her crawl through the potting shed, and here and there branches scratched her skin during her trek to the back.

  Fabulous, she thought. She washed her face, dried it slowly and went back to the living room, settling on the sofa. Three minutes later, she popped back up, darted toward the desk and turned on her laptop.

  Maybe she wasn’t rocking the real world sleuthing, but she certainly knew her way around a search engine. She had missed something, and missed something big.

  Starting with the obvious, she decided to look up Brooks. If someone had enough money to offer millions to get her tossed in jail, it had to come from somewhere.

  It took less time than she expected, and she was oddly disappointed by the efficiency. It was interesting, nonetheless.

  Brooks Chale sold his internet startup for millions. Hundreds of millions. Closer to the B end of the alphabet, in fact. Not only was he ridiculously rich, even richer than the net worth that Alden copped to in the divorce, but, apparently, he was smart.

  Huh, she thought. Wouldn’t have known it.

  She pictured him wearing his worn shirt in the parking garage, his hands up. Based on what she was finding, not only could he have doctored that video he gave Detective James, he didn’t have to be anywhere near the source to get it.

  Brenna’s brother was some kind of tech genius. Not that Venetia would have pegged him for it. Even if she considered herself not one to judge.

  Thinking about the bombshell that was Marlene, she wondered if maybe she should be one to judge. Wrapped completely in scrolling page after page about Brooks, his picture always small, his words nearly annoyingly modest, she didn’t register the knock at her door.

  The knock came again, louder this time.

  Venetia didn’t believe in weapons, but as she scanned her tiny apartment, she wished that she had a better developed sense of violence. She stuck an eye against the keyhole. Detective James. Through the distorting glass, she couldn’t quite see if he was carrying a warrant or looking contrite. Hoping for the second one, she slowly unlocked the door.

  “And to what do I owe what probably won’t be a pleasure?”

  “Nice to see you too. Can I come in?”

  “It depends, why are you here?”

  “I could really tell you much more confidentially inside your apartment.”

  “But the question is whether you’d want to be in such cozy quarters with a person you thought had something to do with her own cousin’s—”

  “I thought you weren’t actually related.”

  “I told you it was fuzzy. Murder,” she finished.

  “So this is what you’re like when you pout?”

  “Don’t false accusations, from an officer of the law no less, rate higher than a mere pout?”

  “Venetia, I need to come in to talk to you.”

  “What, you’re not going to have me escorted to the station again? Have my place thoroughly searched? And now we’re back to Venetia?”

  “You’re a slightly frustrating person,” he said.

  “Given how things went this afternoon, you seem awfully casual with a suspect,” she said.

  “OK. Venetia, I am sorry that you are upset that I had to interrogate you this afternoon.”

  “First of all, that’s not actually an apology. That’s one of those fake apologies which doesn’t apologize for anything, it really only calls me overly sensitive. Secondly, it was your choice to interrogate me. I’ve cooperated. The threats weren’t necessary.”

  “Yes, they were. And if you don’t want to let me in, I won’t be able to explain to you why.”

  “Huh.”

  “I knew that would get you,” he said, the slanted smile sneaking out of his serious cop demeanor. “You’re too curious.”

  “Fine,” she said, stepping aside. “But don’t think we’re all peachy.”

  “You do realize that I’m an officer, right? In the midst of an investigation? Not just a pal you’re spatting with?”

  She waved vaguely in the direction of the chairs. “I suppose you’re right on that count,” she said.

  “My personal opinion of you can’t get in the way of the investigation.”

  “You have a personal opinion of me?”

  “Yes. I think you’re a good person who’s not doing enough with her brain.”

  “Great. Thanks.”

  “I mean you’re a smart person, and you were a darn good lawyer. I’ve done my homework.”

  “So you said.”

  “No, I mean I thoroughly did my homework, Venetia. Watering plants seems like it might not exactly be the challenge you need.”

  “So now you’re a life coach?”

  “Can you unbristle for a minute?”

  “Why? Besides, it’s insanely late at this point, and I’m in the middle of something,” she said.

  He followed her gaze toward the computer. “I see that. You know about Brooks then.”

  “Yeah, I know about Brooks. If you think we’re going to be chatty-chatty, Detective James, you’re really far off base.”

  “Dane Froxen came to me with some information, and I had to follow it through.”

  “That’s not exactly news. I told you I figured that it had come from Dane.”

  “He insisted I let him watch me
questioning you. So I put on a show.”

  “Well bravo. It looks like you may have missed your calling in the theater.”

  He ignored the barb. “What about him in his professional capacity? How is he, as a lawyer?”

  “.”

  “He’s not really the lawyer of the year. Or former partner of the year.”

  “I’m getting that vibe. How much do you know about his practice?”

  “We haven’t worked together in years, Detective, you know that.”

  “But when you did?”

  “It was a bunch of different things, some estate and probate work, some small business, real estate. Sometimes he handled some of the related issues in my family cases.”

  “Was he working with other law firms when you worked together?”

  “I don’t know if I get what you mean.”

  “Consulting for them? I’m not sure of the term.”

  “Of counsel? Where you work with the firm but don’t actually work for them?”

  “Yes.”

  “Not that I know of,” she said rising. “I’m going to have some tea. Do you want some?”

  “Sure,” he said.

  “Don’t take it as a gesture of friendship,” she said as she disappeared into the kitchen, “My parents raised me too well to have it myself and not offer it to the person sitting in my living room.”

  “That was a little on the harsh side.”

  “You accused my boyfriend of leaking information, with the implication that it would be information he got privately from me. I’m still at harsh.”

  “So Dane wasn’t of counsel at Bloaerd & Associates when you shared a practice?”

  Venetia put down the kettle, only half full of water, and came back to the living room. “He’s what?”

  “Should I take that as a no?”

  “Say that again, Detective.”

  “You’re not willing to go back to Cadby?”

  “No. Not yet, anyway. Say it again.

  “Dane’s listed as of counsel on Bloaerd & Associates’ letterhead.”

  “Since when?”

  “That’s what I’m trying to find out.”

  “Because he can’t be of counsel there. Or at least he couldn’t have, not when we were in practice together.”