“Take your time,” the tech said. “And you’re not in our way. We’ll be busy in here for the next hour, at least.”
Wonderful. I headed up the stairs to throw my pajamas and robe and a change of underwear for tomorrow into a bag, before I headed back down and stuck my head into the office. “I’m going. The fridge is full of leftovers from the funeral, if you get hungry. Please help yourselves. I’ll probably just end up throwing half of it away if you don’t.”
They exchanged a glance. “Thank you, Mrs. Kelly.”
“You can leave through the garage when you’re done. Just make sure the front and back doors are locked, and then hit the button for the garage door and get out before it closes.”
“We’ll do that,” one of them said. “Thank you, Mrs. Kelly.”
“Good luck. I hope you find something.”
They looked around, at the mess left by whoever had rifled through David’s office. “Oh, I’m sure we’ll find plenty. Whether it’s going to be helpful, is another story.”
Right. “My fingerprints are on a wineglass on the kitchen counter, if you need them.” As well as all over the rest of the house, obviously.
“Thank you, Mrs. Kelly,” the tech said. “That’s most helpful.”
The subtext was, now get the hell out of here and let us work. They probably wanted to go home for the weekend, too.
“See you.” I headed out the door to the garage and let them fend for themselves.
* * *
DAVID’S APARTMENT BUILDING looked just the same as it had two days ago: upscale, expensive, and snooty. The same young man was sitting behind the security desk, leafing through a magazine. When he saw me, he turned pale, and the magazine slithered off his lap and to the floor. It might have been deliberate. Maybe he was looking at dirty pictures.
“I’m going up to the penthouse,” I told him. “David was buried today. The house is still a mess after the funeral. And I need some peace and quiet.”
He swallowed and nodded.
“Does the restaurant—” on the first floor of the building, “—deliver upstairs?”
“Yes, ma’am.” His voice squeaked and he had to clear his throat. While he did, he kept nodding. Over and over. “They sure do.”
“Wonderful.” I gave him my best smile and watched him color. Not bad for an old lady. “Thank you.”
“Yes, ma’am.” He cleared his throat, and kept clearing it as I headed for the elevator. Sweet boy.
Upstairs, I dumped my overnight bag in the hallway, and headed directly into the living room, where the view at night, through the floor-to-ceiling windows, was everything I’d hoped for. After a quick phone call downstairs, to order a serving of chicken and broccoli to be delivered, I opened a bottle of David’s wine and curled up on the white leather sofa and let out a breath I felt like I’d been holding all day.
It hadn’t been the worst day of my life—the day I lost my mother was probably at the top of that list, and the day David told me about Jacquie was a close second—but it was up there. Knowing I’d be on display all day, that everyone would keep watching me for signs of grief or guilt, had kept me on my toes, and between Jacquie’s performance at the funeral and the confrontation with Daniel when I got home, I’d been a nervous wreck by the time the reception started. And then to have Detective Mendoza show up, to say that someone had made an anonymous phone call essentially accusing me of murder... well, it would have been enough to rattle anyone.
Thankfully, he didn’t seem inclined to think I was guilty. I’m sure I was on the suspect list—I would have to be—but although I probably had the most obvious motive, I didn’t get the feeling he was gearing up to arrest me. Unless he was just giving me enough rope to hang myself...
It was a disconcerting thought. And quite likely. In fact, why else would he be so nice, and even a bit flirtatious, with me? He couldn’t possibly be interested. Not only was he a decade too young, but there was that wife and kid he had. And besides, wasn’t there rules about getting involved with suspects? My far-from-vast knowledge of the intricacies of police work had come from watching TV, so it wasn’t like I knew a lot, but I could swear that that had been a plot point in a few movies I’d seen: the cop’s involvement with one of the suspects, and how unethical it was.
So yes, he was probably just leading me along by the nose, waiting for me to do something incriminating so he could swoop in and arrest me.
If the crime scene team found my fingerprints all over David’s office, would that be enough for an arrest warrant?
I mean, they would. It was inevitable. I hadn’t spent much time there, but it was just a few days since I’d been standing at the desk, manipulating the Rolodex, and writing down names and phone numbers for Mendoza.
Hell, it was just one day since I’d used the fax machine to send David’s account statements to Diana. I’d even used the phone extension to call and tell her they were coming. My fingerprints were all over that room. If nobody else’s fingerprints were found, would Mendoza arrest me?
The doorbell tore me out of my reverie, and none too soon. I put the glass down and padded barefoot to the door to receive my dinner. And because I was feeling rebellious, and because I’d already cleaned my share of platters and silverware today, I just grabbed a fork from the drawer and ate straight out of the carton while I watched the Millennium Falcon get sucked up by the tractor beam.
Eventually I fell asleep, right there on the sofa, and when I woke up, sunlight was pouring through the floor-to-ceiling windows. Everything appeared a lot brighter than it had last night. The world looked brand new and shiny, and it was the first day of the rest of my life. All I had to do was make sure I didn’t end up in prison for murdering my almost-ex husband, and everything would be fine.
But that might be easier said than done, I admitted as I faced myself in the bathroom mirror, with toothpaste foaming about my lips. Someone seemed to be trying to pin David’s death on me.
Was it because I was convenient and had a compelling motive, or was it personal? Was someone out to get me personally?
Hard to believe. Not only am I mostly nice, but I didn’t think I’d truly pissed anyone off enough that they’d kill David just to ensure I ended up in prison.
Sandra had probably resented me for stealing her husband away. But that was eighteen years ago. A bit long to be holding a grudge.
Although, when she and David had their fling recently, she might have believed he’d leave me and come back to her. And when he didn’t...
Well, when he didn’t, it hadn’t been because of me. It was because of Jacquie. So if Sandra wanted to kill David and frame someone for murder, she should be framing Jacquie, not me.
Except nobody in their right mind would believe that Jacquie killed David. Not before she got her hands on all that lovely money.
And we were back to me, and my extremely compelling motive.
So no, I couldn’t think of anyone who hated me enough to want to see me behind bars. It was much more likely that the killer wanted David out of the way, and I was the most convenient scapegoat.
I already knew who the suspects were. Nick, for love of Jacquie. Kenny and Daniel, for love of money. And now, maybe Krystal and/or her boyfriend, because of David’s disapproval of the match.
Krystal didn’t need David’s approval to marry her boyfriend, though. And she had her own income, so even if David threatened to cut her out of the will, she’d survive.
Nick was young, and good-looking. He could just wait for Jacquie to outlive David, or get tired of him. I doubted it would take long. Nick could find someone else to sleep with in the meantime. I didn’t think he’d have a problem getting laid.
That left Kenny and Daniel. Money is always a compelling reason to want someone dead, and they had asked David for capital to start a business, but David had said no. How much did they stand to gain when he died?
Enough that it made sense to kill him?
Anton Hess would have a copy of
the will on file in his office, although chances were good he wouldn’t share it with me. But David must have had a copy, too. Had he taken it with him when he moved out of the house in Hillwood, or was it still in the office at home?
It took me less than an hour to turn David’s penthouse upside down. There was no will. I went through the drawer in the kitchen again, and found only what I’d found last time: old mail, paid bills, bank and credit card statements, and the like.
A couple of file boxes in the back of the closet looked promising, until I took the lids off and realized they only contained copies of business files. Something David had brought home during the past couple of months, probably, since he left the house in Hillwood. I flipped through them, but couldn’t see anything out of the ordinary. And since David’s clients’ financial matters are confidential, and certainly none of my business, I didn’t look closely. Just close enough to see that there was no copy of David’s will in either box.
Back to the house in Hillwood it was, then, for a thorough search of the office there. I had to do that anyway, since the CSI team had told me to look for anything missing. Now I wondered, for the first time, whether whoever had torn the office apart, had been looking for the will. He or she had been looking for something, and the will made as much sense as anything else.
I had lost sight of Daniel after he’d threatened me and then pushed past me into the house yesterday afternoon. I’d gotten busy with Rachel, and then other people had started showing up. But Daniel would have had time to go into the office to look around. And he’d certainly seemed angry enough with me to be willing—or happy—to frame me for murder.
If he knew he stood to inherit something, but he didn’t know how much, he might have wanted a look at the provisions. Especially if there was some sort of timeline on this bar purchase he and Kenny wanted to make. Probate can take some time, but if they knew the money was coming, they might be able to keep the deal alive on the assurance. And between the hurry and the temper Daniel had been in yesterday, he might have left the office looking the way it did.
Looked like it was time for me to leave the castle in the sky and return to reality. I cast a last, longing glance at the floor-to-ceiling windows and the skyline beyond, and turned toward the door.
Chapter 14
BACK IN HILLWOOD, everything looked the same. Including the office.
The CSI team had left a liberal sprinkling of fingerprint power on every flat surface, and the bright light of day exposed every tiny detail of destruction I had missed last night.
I stood in the doorway with my hands on my hips, surveying the terrain and realizing that it would take me the rest of the day just to clean this one room up. Meanwhile, the sun was shining outside and someone was trying to frame me for murder.
It didn’t seem like a good use of my time.
But maybe I didn’t have to.
I fished the phone out of my purse and dialed Detective Mendoza’s number.
“Mrs. Kelly.” He didn’t sound happy to hear from me.
“Good morning, Detective,” I said brightly.
“So far,” Mendoza answered. My eyes narrowed. I hadn’t even gotten around to asking what I wanted to ask yet, and he was already being insulting.
My feelings must have conveyed themselves down the line, because he added, more conciliatory, “What can I do for you, Mrs. Kelly?”
“I had a quick question,” I said.
“Just one?”
I pursed my lips, but didn’t comment, even though I wanted to. “For the moment. Although the first answer might lead to more questions.”
Mendoza muttered something, and then raised his voice. “What do you want to know?”
“I was wondering whether your CSI team made a list of the paperwork they came across in David’s office last night. Or doesn’t their job extend to that?”
Mendoza admitted, somewhat reluctantly, that it did.
“So if something was here, it would be on the list?”
“Yes, Mrs. Kelly,” Mendoza said patiently. “What are you looking for?”
I told him.
His voice rose. “Your husband’s will?”
“I know his lawyer has a copy. But Anton Hess isn’t going to share it with me. Especially on a Saturday. And I’m sure David must have had a copy, but it isn’t in the new apartment. And it’s going to take me all day to go through this mess. So I thought, if your crew had made a list of what they found, maybe I could just ask whether they’d come across it, so at least I won’t waste my time looking for something that isn’t here.”
I smiled optimistically.
“Hold on,” Mendoza said, his voice resigned. The next thing I heard was a click, and then nothing.
Several minutes went by. Long enough that I started to wonder whether he’d ever come back. Maybe he just planned to let me sit on hold until I got tired of waiting and hung up. It would be an easy way to get rid of me. At least for the time being. I’d be back, of course, but at least he wouldn’t have to deal with me right now.
But then the phone clicked again. “Mrs. Kelly?”
“Still here,” I said.
“There was no will in your husband’s office last night.”
Huh. “Thank you.”
“Did he have a safety deposit box?”
“If he did, I won’t be able to access it today. The banks are closed.”
Mendoza didn’t respond to that.
“I’ll check on Monday.”
And in the meantime, I’d use the keychain to make a trip to the Hollingsworth & Kelly office. Just in case David had put his will in the safe there. Today would be a perfect day to look around, anyway, since nobody would be working. Not even Farley put in time at the office on Saturdays. And since he’d fired Rachel, the place would be empty.
“Since I’ve got you...” I said, and then bit my tongue, a second too late. “What I meant to ask is, did your crew find any fingerprints in the office last night?”
“Lots,” Mendoza said. He sounded gleeful.
“Mine, David’s...”
“We don’t know yet. There hasn’t been time to process them all. And we don’t have anyone’s fingerprints to match them against.”
“I left a glass with mine on the counter,” I said helpfully.
“They told me.” He sounded like he might be thinking about laughing. Or like he might actually be laughing, but doing a halfway decent job of hiding it. “Thank you.”
“Hunh,” I said. “What about the knife? Did you check that for fingerprints?”
“Yes. Yours weren’t on it.”
“I know that,” I said, irritated. “I never touched the knife. How could my fingerprints be on it?”
“They couldn’t.”
“Right. Were someone else’s?”
“No,” Mendoza said, still sounding like he was having a hard time not laughing. “It was wiped clean.”
“Figures.”
“You could have wiped it clean as easily as anyone else.”
I rolled my eyes. “I didn’t.”
He didn’t respond to that. “Anything else, Mrs. Kelly?”
“No,” I said. “Have a nice day, Detective. Enjoy spending time with your wife and kid.”
I hung up before he could answer. I hadn’t even lowered the phone when it rang again. “For your information,” Mendoza told me, “I’m working today. So watch your back.”
This time he hung up without waiting for me to answer. And since I didn’t want to lower myself to his level, I didn’t call back. Although I did stick my tongue out at the phone for a second, before putting it back on the base and heading out the door.
* * *
THE DRIVE TO Music Row was uneventful. Traffic was light, except for the stretch past the Green Hills Mall, which is always crazy, no matter the day or time. I pulled into the empty parking lot behind the Hollingsworth & Kelly office a few minutes before noon and cut the engine.
Mine was the only car in the lot. Fa
rley and Martha were probably hanging out at home, or enjoying a brisk game of golf, or maybe a museum. And of course Rachel was somewhere, doing whatever it was Rachel did. Polishing up her résumé, most likely.
I walked into her office first. It’s in front of David’s, since Rachel’s job was to make his job easier.
Now it was empty. All the things that had given the place personality were gone. The bobble-head football player on the desk, the family photos on the console, the cat-faced mug with pens and pencils. The pens and pencils were there, jumbled in the desk drawer, but anything that Rachel had brought into the place was gone.
It was weird.
And not just because it was empty; because I didn’t understand.
OK, so it was David who had hired Rachel. He’d felt he needed an assistant, and he’d gone out and found one. And now that David was gone, Rachel’s job was, to a degree, obsolete. Farley certainly wasn’t going to be doing it.
But he’d need someone to help him with things, wouldn’t he? Someone to answer the phones, if nothing else. And someone to bring in new clients. Rachel hadn’t been doing that, but as David had discovered, it took two people to keep things running. One person couldn’t do both the administrative work and schmooze the clients.
So what was Farley going to do, all on his own? And why hadn’t he kept Rachel around at least long enough to get things back on track after David’s passing? I had to believe that David’s death would have an impact on the clients. Some of them must be considering, right about now, whether to find a different financial team.
And what was Rachel going to do now? David had taken a chance on her at forty-plus. But was anyone else going to take a chance at her at almost fifty? And what if no one did? That severance package of Farley’s wouldn’t last forever.
But it wasn’t any of my concern, and more importantly, there was nothing I could do about it. David’s share of the business wouldn’t come to me, or to any of his children. It went to Farley. So Farley could do whatever he wanted to keep things running. Or run the business into the ground, if he so chose. There was nothing anyone else could do about it. And I wasn’t in a position to offer Rachel other work. Unless she wanted to come clean my house once a week, but that would be an insulting offer, and besides, who knew if I could afford to hire someone? I might have to learn to vacuum my own floors soon.
Ditching David Page 14