What the Widow Knew

by Jonnie Jacobs

  We were nearing home when Jared returned my call.

  “Warren Larson sounds like a normal guy, albeit a bit of a dullard,” he said by way of introduction. “Hard worker, kept to himself, not especially social, but generally well liked. At least no complaints.”

  “Someone wanted him dead,” I pointed out. I was hoping it wasn’t Ariel.

  “Well, there was a kerfuffle a few months before he retired, something to do with a stolen client.”

  “Did you talk to the other person involved?”

  “He’s no longer with the firm, but I have his name. I’ll follow up on it. And I tried to get more information about this fortune he’s supposedly heir to.”

  “Supposedly?”

  “No, he is. It’s just that he seemed to lead such a modest life. It’s not the kind of thing you expect from a multi-millionaire.”

  “Modest? He had a beautiful house in a prestigious neighborhood.”

  “But no yachts or planes or horse ranches. Anyway, it’s true. Warren and his sister were the sole beneficiaries to an estate worth about fifty million. That’s twenty-five million each.”

  “Reduced for estate taxes,” I pointed out.

  “Still nothing to sneeze at.”

  “So true. How about his personal life—friends, interests, that sort of thing.”

  “Just getting started, boss, but I’ve got some names and a few leads to follow up on.”

  “Nice job.”

  “Thanks.”

  One final phone call for the evening. I managed to reach Warren’s sister, Nora, and set up a meeting for the next day at her house.

  FIVE

  The next morning I drove up to the security gate, gave my name to the guard, and was ushered through with a helpful “Take the first left, then the second right. The house is at the end of the cul-de-sac. You can’t miss it.”

  The Taylors did indeed live at the end of the cul-de-sac, the entire end of a private lane. The house, set back and up a long driveway, was a sprawling Mediterranean-style estate that looked to have a stunning view of hills beyond. They clearly did not live modestly.

  Nora greeted me at the door herself. I had half-expected a maid to answer.

  “I appreciate your taking time to see me,” I told her.

  “But of course.”

  I knew Nora had to be close to fifty but she didn’t look it. She was about my height with the fine, willowy bone structure of a model. She was dressed in a gray cowl neck sweater and wool slacks—the kind of fashionable (and no doubt expensive) clothing I don’t own myself. If I did, I certainly wouldn’t wear it to hang around the house.

  She ushered me into a large, high-end kitchen area with two stainless refrigerators, a commercial Wolf range, and a seemingly endless array of granite countertops.

  I was immediately struck with kitchen envy, and I don’t even like to cook. My own perfectly serviceable kitchen was adequate for my needs, but Nora’s took my breath away.

  “Would you like some coffee or tea?” she asked.

  “Coffee would be nice. Black.” I hesitated, cognizant of the fact that her brother’s death would be a touchy subject for her. “I’m sorry for your loss,” I said. “I know Warren’s death must have been a big shock.”

  “It was. Is. I’m having a hard time knowing what to make of it.”

  She busied herself putting fresh coffee grounds into a shiny chrome contraption. She pushed a button, and it began softly gurgling while she laid out a plate of shortbread cookies, which she set on the raised counter. I slid onto a bar stool and tried to keep my eyes off the cookies. They looked delicious. And fattening.

  “Tell me, Kali—is it all right if I call you Kali?” She didn’t wait for a reply, “How does it look for Ariel? I honestly can’t tell if she’s being overly dramatic or if she has reason to be worried.”

  “It’s hard to say. Do you think she had anything to do with your brother’s death?”

  Nora took her time answering. Finally, she said, “I’d hate to think so. Is that what the police are saying?”

  In spite of Nora being family, I had to walk the fine line of client confidentiality. And I suspected she was eager for whatever information I could pass on. “To be honest, I’m not sure. The police do have their eye on her, but a spouse is always someone they look at. Beyond that, it’s too early to tell.”

  “They do think there was foul play, though? When they talked to me they seemed to hint at that.”

  “They’re leaning that way, but it’s still an ongoing investigation.”

  Nora poured the coffee and handed me a cup, then took the bar stool next to mine at the counter.

  “Poor Warren. He was such a sweet man. It’s upsetting enough that he’s dead, but to think he might have been killed—murdered—it’s almost more than I can bear.” She wrapped her hands around her mug and blinked back tears. “I’m still trying to make sense of it all.”

  “Are you and Ariel close?”

  “I wouldn’t say we’re close—she’s nearer to my children’s age than mine—but we get along okay. You might say I was the one who introduced her to Warren, although I never in a million years imagined she’d end up married to him.” Nora gave a sardonic laugh. “Ariel does my hair, or did before she quit working. I gave Warren a gift certificate for his birthday. I thought an actual stylist might do a better job with his hair than the butcher barber he was using. Little did I know where it would lead. I never thought my brother was the sort to fall for eye candy, much less someone half his age.”

  His falling for Ariel was easier for me to understand than visa versa. “Were you surprised Ariel was interested in him?”

  She laughed. “You’re kidding, right? She was a hairdresser and he was successful, well-off, and available. He offered her the sort of life she could only dream about. I’m sure she was more than willing to overlook some of Warren’s flaws.”

  “His flaws?”

  “As a love interest, I mean.” Nora fiddled with the chunky silver bracelet on her wrist. “There’s his age, for one thing. The gap in their ages was significant. Besides, he never was the kind of guy women swooned over, and the added years didn’t help matters. Bottom line is he wasn’t . . .”

  She seemed to search for the right word before continuing. “He wasn’t much fun. As nice a guy as you’d ever want to meet. He was my brother and I loved him dearly, but I can’t say he was someone I wanted to spend a lot of time around.”

  “But you visited him fairly regularly from what I understand.”

  She ran a finger down the side of her cup. “Warren was in high school when I was born, and off to college a few years later, so we didn’t exactly have a shared childhood. He was more like an uncle than a brother. I felt a sort of duty to check in on him occasionally.”

  “Even after he married Ariel?”

  She hesitated. “Ariel can be a bit childish. She doesn’t always think beyond herself. I worried about him.”

  “You didn’t trust her?”

  “It’s not that exactly.” Nora tucked a loose strand of auburn hair behind her ear.

  “What then? You think she married him for his money?”

  “I’m sure it was a factor.”

  “How was it working out? Did they have a good marriage, do you think?”

  She shrugged. “Initially, I was sure it wouldn’t work but they seemed more or less happy, both of them.” She paused. “I did wonder, though, how long it would take before Ariel moved on. Or, at the very least, sought out the company of other men.”

  I was reminded of Detective Foley’s flirt accusation. “Do you think she had?”

  “I don’t know, but I wouldn’t be surprised.”

  A tall, dark-haired man in wool slacks and a leather jacket strode into the room. “I’m just on my way to—Oh, sorry, I didn’t know you had company.”

  He offered me a hand, and not so subtly gave me the once over . “I’m Peter. Sorry to intrude.”

  “My husband,�
� Nora said by way of explanation. “This is Kali O’Brien. She’s an attorney working for Ariel.”

  “Such a shame about Warren. He was all-around decent guy.” Peter kissed his wife on the check, and headed for the door. “I’ll be late tonight,” he told her. “Pleased to have met you, Ms. O’Brien.”

  Nora’s expression grew pensive as she watched him leave.

  “What does your husband do?” I asked.

  “Investments. Financial stuff.” She turned her attention back to me. “Sorry about the interruption. Did you have other questions?”

  “How did you learn about Warren’s death?” I asked her.

  “Ariel called me.” Nora’s voice broke. She set her coffee on the counter and briefly closed her eyes. “I couldn’t believe it. I still can’t.”

  “I lost my own brother not so long ago,” I said. “And even though we didn’t have the best of relationships, it’s left a hole inside me nothing can fill.”

  She nodded. “Warren and I might not have been especially close but he was still family. I’m going to miss him.”

  “When did Ariel call you?”

  “Right after the fire department left.”

  “The fire department?”

  “It’s apparently routine when a person is unresponsive. When Ariel called 911 they sent the fire department and paramedics. The medics left when they realized there was nothing they could do, but the head firefighter stayed until the coroner and the police arrived. At that point all I knew was that he was dead. I assumed it was his heart of something until the police interviewed me.”

  “And when was that?”

  “A couple of days later.”

  A door slammed somewhere upstairs, followed by the quick clatter of approaching footsteps. A young woman in a tennis skirt darted into the kitchen, grabbed a can of soda from the fridge, and took off again without uttering a word.

  “My daughter,” Nora explained dryly. “Now, where were we?”

  “You were telling me about when the police talked to you.”

  “Right. There isn’t much to tell except that was the first I heard they were looking into Warren’s death.”

  I gave into temptation and reached for a cookie. “When did you last speak to your brother?”

  “The day before he died. I dropped off some nut bread I’d made. An old family recipe he loved. We talked for a few minutes, and I left.”

  “Did he say anything then, or at any other time, that might shed light on who killed him?”

  She shook her head. “Warren was a kind and generous man. Who’d want to hurt him?”

  Who indeed? I thanked her for seeing me and asked her to call me if she thought of anything else.

  SIX

  When I arrived back at the office, Jared nodded to a chair near the door. “Someone to see you,” he whispered.

  The man in the chair was already on his feet. He was about my age, maybe a little younger. Chiseled face, dark hair, and a strong, athletic build. He was wearing jeans and a snug fitting dark blue tee shirt, and looked like he belonged at a photo shoot rather than in my office.

  “Ariel says you’ve been asking about me,” he said as he approached. “Steve Abbott. My parents live across the street from the Larsons.”

  I acknowledged his greeting with a gesture toward my office. “Why don’t you come in.”

  “Why were you asking about me? What is it you want to know?” His tone verged on hostility, or perhaps he was merely defensive.

  I settled into my chair. “I was asking about people in the neighborhood who knew Warren. People who might have seen something the night he died.” A slight fudging of the truth but it seemed prudent for now.

  “I don’t live in the neighborhood, my parents do.”

  “But you knew the Larsons.”

  Steve Abbot was still standing. He looked at me a moment, then finally pulled out the chair facing my desk and took a seat. “I helped them out now and then. Warren was old, not so able to lift stuff. And he was clueless when it came fixing things.”

  “Nice of you.”

  He shrugged. “I like to be helpful.”

  “Do you have a job, Steve?”

  He leaned forward, hands on his knees. “What kind of question is that? Of course I do. Got to work to live.”

  “What is it you do?”

  “I’m a physical trainer by day and I tend bar in the evenings.”

  “Interesting combination. Sort of a ying and yang thing.”

  He grinned. “I’m an interesting guy.” He grew serious.” Why don’t you tell me why you were really asking about me. Ariel said you asked specifically, by name.”

  “Are you married, Steve? Girlfriend?”

  He rocked back and laughed. “You think I’ve got a thing going with Ariel? That I helped her off her husband? Is that where you’re going?”

  “Do you? And did you?”

  “This is nuts.” He pushed himself to his feet. “Nice meeting you, Kali. Maybe I’ll see you around.”

  With that, he was gone.

  And Jared was at my door. “What was that all about?”

  “I’m not sure. What did he say when he showed up here?”

  “Just that he was here to see you. He paced around the outer office for awhile, then sat, drumming his fingers on his knee. Who is he?”

  “Steve Abbott. He’s the son of one of the Larsons’ neighbors. He helped Warren with house repairs and such, but there was also apparently neighborhood gossip about him and Ariel. She must have told him I’d asked about him. Seems like a bit of an overreaction on both their parts.”

  “You think there’s more there than meets the eye?”

  “If there is, he just underscored that fact.”

  ~*~

  I’d no sooner walked in the door at home that evening, weaving my way past an excited springer spaniel than Ariel called. “The police want to talk to me,” she said in a soft voice.

  “Where are you?”

  “At the police station.”

  “Don’t talk to them until I get there.” I made a quick apology to Loretta, who wasn’t buying any of it, and headed out again.

  I gave my name to the desk sergeant and was led to an interview room. Ariel was seated on one side of a metal table across from two cops. One of them was Detective Farley whom I’d met before. The other was a younger female cop, unknown to me. Ariel looked small and frightened.

  Farley nodded at me. “Okay, your lawyer’s here. Let’s get started.”

  “Not so fast,” I said. “I want to talk to my client first. Alone.”

  “We just want to go over a few things, “ Farley said. “She’s in the best position to help us figure out what happened.”

  “So my client is free to go at any time?”

  The female detective looked at Farley for a moment, then they both rose. “You’ve got ten minutes,” she said.

  As soon as they were gone I sat down opposite Ariel. “Tell me what happened.”

  “The cops showed up at my door and said they had a few more questions. I thought they meant right there, but they said they needed me to come down to the station. They brought me here in the back of their car.” She wrapped her arms around her chest. “Am I being arrested?”

  “I don’t know. Have they read you your rights?”

  She nodded. “They didn’t make it sound like any big deal though. I said I wanted to call you anyway.”

  “You did the right thing. Have they said anything else to you?”

  “Nothing important. They said they were sorry to bother me again, and stuff like that. And the woman cop brought me a soda while we waited for you.”

  Good cop, bad cop. Did they think people never watched TV?

  Ariel appeared to be near tears. “I’m scared. What’s going to happen?”

  “Let’s see what they have to say. Just don’t answer any questions until I tell you it’s okay.”

  The two detectives returned and flipped on their recording devic
e. They read their names, Ariel’s, and mine into the machine, along with the date and time.

  “Tell us again about the night your husband died,” the female cop said.

  Ariel looked to me. It was a tough call. It was clear from the Miranda warning they had enough to hold her. It was also possible her explanations could clear her. I opted for caution.

  “She’s already done that. Do you have new evidence?”

  Farley looked directly at Ariel. “Do you have a prescription for Valium?”

  Ariel looked at me again, nervously. I nodded to go ahead and answer. The cops could check that easily enough if they hadn’t already.

  “Yes, but I haven’t taken it in ages.”

  “What about codeine?”

  “I did, at one time.”

  “When was that?”

  “Last year.”

  Not all that long ago, I noted. “Why is that important?”

  “The toxicology results are back,” Farley said. “Warren Larson had significant amounts of both drugs in his system.”

  “What?” Ariel and I reacted in unison.

  “Along with the abrasions and bruises on his body, the evidence strongly suggests foul play.” Farley stood and the female cop followed suit. “We’re working with the D.A.’s office on this. I’m confident that in the event we issue a warrant, they will find it sufficient to prosecute.”

  Ariel whimpered, a half gasp that never left her throat.

  “Is she free to go?” I asked.

  “For now. But don’t leave town.”

  SEVEN

  I drove Ariel home, which gave us time to go over what we’d learned, and for Ariel to stop shaking. I waited until we were at her house, however, for the real conversation we needed to have.

  “May I come in? I think we need to talk.”

  Ariel nodded. She was still whimpering and breathing unevenly. “I’m so scared. This is like a nightmare. What’s happening? It makes no sense.”

  I made tea while Ariel “freshened up.” When she joined me in the kitchen I handed her a steaming cup and we sat at the table.

  Ariel cradled her mug with both hands. “I’m scared,” she said again.