“Not by Forbes standards. But yes, we had some money. She did well in the divorce settlement, then when my father died, she was the sole beneficiary of both his estate and his life insurance.”
“Even though they were divorced?”
“Yes. He had a lot of guilt about divorcing her, and one way he assuaged that was to assure her that even though he couldn’t live with her anymore, he’d still take full financial responsibility for her, including updating his post-divorce will to ensure she remained his beneficiary. I suspect he planned to change the will eventually, if he married again or when we were older. Andrea and I were only teenagers when they divorced, and he thought he’d be around for decades. He ended up dying when he was fifty.”
“Brain aneurysm, right? Roxanne told me about it. Said it was caused by all his air travel for work. Pressure changes weakened his arterial walls.”
“Oh, for heaven’s sake. She invented that story because it made it sound like his abandoning her for work travel had led to karma smiting him down. Did you tell her to drop the nonsense and that air travel doesn’t cause aneurysms?”
“Are you kidding? I made a sad face and said ‘Wow,’ or something like that. No point in getting her mad at me. She described your father as a heartless, workaholic monster, which I’m guessing isn’t true.”
“It’s not. He was a good man, and he loved us.”
“She did give him credit for making a lot of money. Money, money, money.”
“Did she talk about her will?”
“You bet. Favorite topic. Told me all about her heartthrob young lawyer.”
“And about Andrea and me, I assume.”
“Yeah . . .” He paused. “Okay, I’m kinda losing my nerve here. Maybe—”
“Say it. I won’t be shocked.”
“Bombs away, then. She said her older daughter was a conniving devil who tried to make her believe she was crazy. She said you wanted a doctor to lock her up and dope her into a trance so you could take all her money.”
None of this was new to Natalie, but hearing it from Skyler scraped old wounds raw. What had he thought of her at the time—and what had he thought when he’d met her?
“Don’t worry,” Skyler said. “I figured it was fairy tales. But I’d act horrified or say ‘Wow, aren’t you being too hard on her?’ and she’d say ‘Nope, she’s bad news.’ She thought you became a psychologist so doctors would believe your lies about her and do what you wanted. Gotta say, Nat, an evil scheme that requires a PhD sounds like a lot of unnecessary work. You could have done something easier, like poison her. No dissertation required.”
Natalie gave a tired smile. “Too late now.”
“She criticized Andrea too but mainly about the guy she was engaged to . . . Forgot his name . . .”
“Austin Collier.”
“Oh yeah. Andrea was spending too much time with him, or she was secretly making wedding plans when she’d promised to wait until after Roxanne was gone to get married, or whatever.”
This was new to Natalie. “My mother didn’t want Andrea to get married before she died?”
“My sense of it was that she didn’t want more of Andrea’s time and attention going to Austin. She wanted her as full-time nurse until the last moment.”
“I didn’t realize that.” If their mother had been interfering with Andrea’s relationship with Austin, that was another possible reason for Andrea to want to hurry her death.
“She liked using her money as a chain around your sister’s neck,” Skyler said. “Andrea would come to pick her up, and she’d say things like ‘You’re late—every minute you make me wait is another hundred thousand dollars I’ll leave to charity instead of you.’”
“Oh, please. She didn’t want to donate any of her money. She always talked about how she would only pass money along her bloodline.”
“Yeah, she told me that too, but she liked yanking Andrea around. I could tell Andrea was trying hard not to upset her.”
“Did she tell you she was writing me out of her will?”
“Yup. I’m sorry, Nat.”
“She never said anything about softening toward me? About changing her will?”
“I’m sorry. She didn’t.”
Natalie’s heartbeats felt draggy and echoing, a bleak thumping in her chest. So much for hoping Skyler could be a second witness to what Wade Radcliffe had told his brother. “Did you ever see any signs that Andrea was manipulating her? Controlling her?”
“Seemed the other way around, actually.”
“She never said anything about setting aside some money for me? Not money in the will but a separate, small gift administered through her lawyer?”
Skyler raised one eyebrow—or both; she couldn’t see the other behind his angled bangs. “No. Why?”
It seemed futile to withhold information about the sixteen thousand dollars. She’d already told Gideon and Chapman, and if she did end up getting arrested, the whole city would know. Besides, details might jog Skyler’s memory. “The police found sixteen thousand dollars in cash, in an envelope in Dante Moretti’s filing cabinet,” Natalie said. “My name was written on the envelope.”
“Are you kidding?”
“They want to know what it means. So do I.”
“Wow. I wish I could help, but your mom never said anything about setting money aside for you. Any money at all. Sorry.” Skyler brushed his hair back. “You told me you and Andrea argued last night. What was that about?”
“I asked her about Dante and the money, hoping she knew something that would explain it. She got upset—furious—and threw me out.”
“That’s bizarre.” Skyler picked a lint ball off his sweater. “Sounds like she felt under attack from you, but I don’t have a clue why.”
Natalie debated if she should tell him the aftermath of that confrontation. No. She wouldn’t gain anything by sharing Andrea’s vicious accusations. If Skyler had no idea why Natalie’s questions had upset Andrea, he wouldn’t know anything useful about her lies or about the money that had passed from her to Dante.
“Why do you think she flipped out?” Skyler asked.
“I don’t know. There’s a lot I’m trying to figure out.” Natalie told him the information Gideon’s uncle had shared. “Whether or not Mom was sincere in planning—at least at that moment—to change her will, I have no idea.”
“All righty, my mind is blown,” Skyler said. “That’s not even close to what she told me. Could she have been fooling around? Thinking it was fun to whisper a big, fake secret?”
“Possibly.”
“Harsh. I wish I knew more. But my candid two cents is that she was full of it. Never planned to change the will. If she’d had some juicy new information about her will, she’d have hissed it in my ear, and she never said anything about splitting the inheritance. Sorry. I don’t want to hurt your feelings, but that’s my take on it.”
“Thank you for being honest with me.”
“Not a problem, and no worries—I’ll keep all this confidential. Any other questions for me?”
“No. Thank you for your help. I appreciate it.”
“Sorry it was a pitiful amount of help. Here’s one job I can do for you—I have a friend whose wife works at the same law firm as Moretti did. I’ll talk to her and see if she has any clue about that 16K. Maybe your mother did decide to leave you a little surprise off the record? Not sure how that works legally, but it’s got to be possible. I’ll see what I can dig up.”
“Thank you. That’s very kind.”
“No problem.” Skyler stood. “You look hammered. I’ll clear out so you can rest.”
She walked him to the front door. Skyler hugged her. “Hang in there. I’ll let you know what I find out.”
“Thanks.” She stood, too drained to even close the door, and watched as he walked away. She stayed there, breathing the brisk autumn air as his headlights lit the dark street, then swooped around the corner. The neighborhood went dim.
Chapt
er 28
Gideon shoved the vacuum into the closet and scanned his apartment for something else he could clean. He’d tried to contact Felicia, but they weren’t yet allowing calls or visits. He’d tried to answer work e-mails and had typed nonsense; he’d tried to work on the plans for the ribbed vaulting of his Lego St. Patrick’s cathedral and had designed a jumble; he’d tried to read a biography of James Madison and had gotten distracted by random imaginings about live-tweeting the Constitutional Convention. Cleaning was the only activity he seemed able to accomplish.
He headed into the kitchen and started scrubbing under the stove burners, his brain an electrical storm of worries for Felicia’s sanity and Natalie’s safety. What was Andrea frantically trying to hide with her lies about Natalie? If her lies didn’t work, what would she do next? And what if that Jonas Egan character came after Natalie again?
He couldn’t help Felicia right now, but what could he do that would help Natalie? Stand guard over her house? Follow Andrea or Jonas Egan around?
The murderer might be neither of them. The murderer might be in a psych hospital in Manhattan.
The doorbell rang, opening the gates on enough adrenaline to fill the Grand Canyon. Gideon threw his dishcloth into the sink and sprinted to open the door.
For an eye-blink, his addled mind identified the visitor as Natalie, but recognition immediately escalated to fear. Andrea. She’d come to bring bad news about Natalie; why else would she visit Gideon? “What’s happened to Natalie? Is she all right?”
“Yes, but I need to talk to you. Let me in.”
Fear lifted partway; he could still feel it, but it wasn’t crushing his rib cage. “Uh . . . sure, come in.” Had she decided to repeat her lies about Natalie to Gideon? Why?
She stepped hurriedly over the threshold and clapped the door shut.
“May I take your coat—your cape?” he asked. She was wearing a black hooded cape that covered her to the ankles. Either it was cutting-edge fashionable, or she was auditioning for A Christmas Carol.
She ignored the question and sat on his couch. Warily, he joined her. “What’s going on?”
“You care about Natalie, right? I know she cares about you. That’s obvious.”
Gideon was tempted to ask how Natalie had made it obvious, but he kicked the question to the back of his thoughts. “Have you changed your mind about the lies you told the police about her?”
“Natalie’s in danger. Do you want to help her?”
“Yes. What can you tell me? Truth only, please. I’m out of patience for nonsense.”
Andrea’s gloved hands repeatedly tweaked the clasps on her cape. “She needs to get out of Ohneka for a while.”
“Who is she in danger from?” Gideon asked. “What do you know?”
“I know she needs to leave. You need to get her out of here. Take her to Hawaii or something.”
“Take her to Hawaii! You’re kidding. I’ve never even taken her to a movie, and I’m supposed to sweep her away on a tropical vacation?”
“You want her,” Andrea said coldly. “And you’re a reasonably handsome guy who isn’t a creep and who has a good job. She’s a lonely old maid. It’ll be the most thrilling thing that’s ever happened to her.”
“Seriously? Not only do you insult her, but you borrow insults from 1932?”
Andrea shrugged. “She’s not that old, I guess, but lonely. Desperate for a man.”
“I don’t think you know your sister very well. She’s—”
“I’m trying to help her.” In Andrea’s throat, a vessel throbbed so perceptibly that a nurse could have taken her pulse by looking at her. “I’m here risking myself to help her. Take her away for a few weeks until I can settle things down.”
“Until you can settle what down? Do you know who killed Camille Moretti?”
She turned her face toward the wall shelf. Gideon doubted his Lego models interested her. She didn’t want to meet his eyes. “No,” she said.
“So you’re changing your story about Natalie being the murderer?”
“I never said she killed anyone. Shut up and listen. Natalie has done some stupid things. I don’t blame her. It was hard for her, getting rejected by our mother. But she’s in debt to dangerous people, and they’re fed up with her stalling. I would have paid what she owed long ago, but she wouldn’t admit to me that she was in trouble—she still won’t admit it; she claims she’s clean, hasn’t abused drugs in years, which is ludicrous. You need to get her out of here. With a little time, I can pay off her debts plus some extra to calm things down.”
“If you know she’s in danger, why aren’t you talking to her directly?”
“She won’t listen to me.”
“She won’t listen to you? Or you don’t want to talk to her because that would include admitting to her face that you lied to the police about her?”
“You hardly know her! How could you know what she’s done?”
“I haven’t known either of you very long, but she seems a lot more credible.”
Andrea gave him a derisive glance. “Because you’re infatuated with her.”
“No. Because you strike me as manipulative and hungry for drama, and she doesn’t.”
Andrea flushed. “I don’t care what you think of me.” She unfastened her cape, reached underneath it, and brought out a thick envelope. “I know she can’t afford Hawaii, and you probably can’t either, so here.” She slapped the envelope onto the couch cushion between them. “That will more than pay for the best Hawaiian vacation you’ve ever dreamed of, including airfare. And separate hotel rooms if you want to be prudish.”
“You are out of your mind. Natalie would never go for this, and even if she did, neither of us can fly to Maui on a whim. We have jobs, and there’s an ongoing police investigation. They might not want—”
“Who cares what they say? She’s not under arrest. They can’t stop you. Don’t ask permission. Just go. If you think she’ll refuse, don’t ask her. Just take her, surprise her, don’t let her know what’s happening until you’re at the airport.”
“There is no way we can leave without—”
“Don’t worry about your stupid jobs! I’ll get you new jobs. I’ll pay for whatever you need.”
I’ll get you new jobs? Did Andrea think her bank account could erase the consequences of their flaking out on professional responsibilities?
“Don’t you care about her?” Andrea asked.
“Yes,” Gideon said flatly. “Do you?”
“Why else would I be here? I could mind my own business and let her die.”
“You could tell the police what you know. If you know the guys to pay off, you know who’s after her. What are their names?”
“I can’t tell you that. It’s too dangerous.”
“You’ll shield drug dealers, knowing they’ll kill your sister if they can?”
“This isn’t my fault!” Her agitation was mounting; Gideon sensed she was struggling not to shout. “I didn’t start it. It’s none of your business anyway. Do what I told you. You know you want to do it. Get her out of here!”
Déjà vu regarding his enigmatic conversations with Felicia tripled Gideon’s frustration. “If you care about Natalie, tell me what’s going on. Do you know who killed Camille?”
Andrea jumped to her feet, grabbed the envelope, ripped it open, and dumped the contents on Gideon’s lap. Hundred dollar bills, fifties, twenties. Stray bills floated to the carpet around his feet.
“See that? See how rich I am?” Her voice squeezed tight, then split. He looked up to see tears cascading down her face. “I can give you this and not miss it. I can give you more than this. Do you want a Ferrari? I could buy you a Ferrari!”
“I don’t want a Ferrari.”
“Whatever.” She cleared tears off her cheeks with hard swipes of her gloved hands. More tears flowed. She retreated a few steps and turned her back on him.
Gideon wasn’t a tear expert, but her crying seemed genuine, not theatrics me
ant to soften him. She was scared for Natalie, but she was lying about why. “Andrea,” he said. “Whatever secrets you’re keeping can’t be worth more than your sister’s life. Tell me the truth. Let’s fix this the right way, not try to dodge it with some hare-brained scheme to whisk Natalie to Hawaii.”
Her shoulders jiggled; she was trembling. “I’m doing everything I can.”
“No, you’re not.”
She spun to face him, her cape whirling around her legs. “If you’re too selfish to help her, say so. Don’t waste my time.”
“Who’s after Natalie?”
She moved toward him. Anger writhed in her dripping eyes, so much anger that Gideon prepared himself to ward off a slap. “You’re useless.” She snatched her money off his lap. “I’m leaving.”
“Wait,” Gideon said as she bent to gather bills off the floor. If she walked out of here with her secrets, what proof would he have for the police that they’d had this conversation? He couldn’t even prove she’d been here. She’d kept her tight leather gloves on the whole time, so no fingerprints. This late at night, he doubted any neighbors had seen her.
He needed to stall.
He started helping Andrea gather scattered twenties and fifties. “Listen, I want to help Natalie. I’m not completely opposed to Hawaii.” He picked up a hundred-dollar bill and stacked the money he’d collected on the couch cushion next to him. “Sheesh, this is a lot of cash.”
Andrea slapped the money she’d collected on top of his stack. “Do what I ask and it’s yours.”
He started removing bills from the pile one by one and setting them in a new stack, pretending to count them but focusing none of his attention on keeping track of the numbers. “I could buy us matching hula skirts to go with our matching aprons.”
“So it’s a deal?” The relief in her voice was the most appealing tone Gideon had heard her use. “You’ll get her out of here for a couple of weeks?”
“I don’t know,” Gideon said. “Does that Ferrari offer go along with it?”
“I didn’t say I would buy you one. I said I could. Keep Natalie safe, and I’ll be grateful. When I’m grateful, I’m generous. You’ll be happy.”
Not a Word Page 28