Like an old-fashioned Victorian parlor, everything was delicate and flowered, from the Queen Anne sofa and loveseat, to the embroidered pillows and window valances, to the ruby and gold decanter set that accented an elaborately carved mantle over the wood fireplace. Massive oil paintings in intricate gilded frames hung on the far wall, threatening to buckle the pastel mauve wallpaper behind them.
"Please tell Mrs. Winkler we're here," she said, eyeing the bald man.
The look he gave her wasn't any warmer than the one they'd gotten at the door. With a shrug, he turned on one heel and left the room.
"What a strange man," Natassia whispered.
Jasi had to agree.
While they waited, Jasi studied the paintings. She was sure they were all originals, probably handed down from generation to generation. They had that air about them. Valuable. Old money.
"My husband's collection is impressive, isn't it?"
The lady of the house breezed into the room, her entrance marked by a scented cloud of rose, vanilla and a hint of sandalwood. She moved slowly across the floor as though she had all the time in the world, as though her husband wasn't lying dead in the city morgue.
"Welcome to my home."
My home, not our home, Jasi observed.
Marilyn Winkler was not a beautiful woman, but she commanded attention. People would notice her because of the severity of her appearance. Her hair, an indefinable black or dark brown depending on the lighting, was sleeked back from a high forehead, then twisted at the back and fastened with a jeweled clip. The combination of pale iridescent foundation, razor-thin black eyebrows that were drawn on, cold brown eyes and thin blood-red lips made her face look harsh and unfriendly.
Otherworldly.
Red lips lifted into a stiff smile. "I'm Marilyn Winkler."
The woman might not be attractive, but she sure knew how to dress, regardless of the extra thirty or so pounds she was carrying. The two-piece navy skirt suit reeked of New York City. It probably cost more than one of the many rings that adorned her hands. A single string of assorted pearls circled her thick neck.
Marilyn nervously touched the necklace. "So you're with the CFBI."
"Yes," Jasi said. "I'm Agent Jasmine McLellan and this is my partner Agent Natassia Prushenko."
"Please have a seat. James will bring us some coffee."
The bald man who had answered the door stood a few feet behind Marilyn. His subservient posture screamed 'domestic.' James, the butler? If so, Marilyn's dress code for the hired help needed some work. James' suit needed dry-cleaning.
The man shifted under Jasi's concentrated inspection. Then he spun on one heel and left the room.
Jasi activated the voice recorder on her data-com. She set it on the coffee table, then settled beside Natassia on the sofa.
"Now…" Marilyn said, perching on the edge of loveseat across from them. "Let's get this nasty business over with, shall we?"
Nasty business?
"Thank you for seeing us, Mrs. Winkler," Jasi said. "We're very sorry for your loss."
"Monty is everyone's loss," came the hushed reply.
Readjusting the pillow under her arm, Jasi studied the woman before her. "Were you and your husband together a long time?"
"We married late in life," the woman answered, clasping her hands primly in her lap. "Both of us were well past thirty. My mother called me a spinster. Said I'd never catch a man. Well, what did she know? I ended up with the biggest catch of the decade." She glanced away, her attention on something else.
Propped against the wall a few feet from where Jasi sat was a briefcase made of high quality leather. It had an unusual design stamped on the top, maybe a family crest. A corner of paper protruded from one side, as if someone had hastily stuffed it inside the case.
Jasi couldn't quite make out the words on the paper, but she did see two interesting things. Monty Winkler's name and a number. $2,000,000.
Monty Winkler's insurance policy?
"Did your husband take out a life insurance policy?" she asked bluntly.
Marilyn gazed down at her hands. "Yes."
"For how much?"
Jasi saw the woman visibly wince.
"I-I'm not quite sure exactly."
Winkler's wife was lying.
Interesting.
Jasi thought about the two vehicles outside. Other than the rude butler, there was no sign of anyone else in the house.
"Is there anyone else in the house right now?"
"No. Just the four of us."
"The police already searched the garage out back. Your husband's Mercedes wasn't among them."
"That's Monty's favorite. Do you think you'll find it?"
"I hope so."
Ottawa was a big city. Finding Winkler's car would help narrow down the search.
"How many vehicles do you own, Mrs. Winkler?"
"Twelve." Marilyn chuckled. "Monty's passion is cars. He likes to collect older models, rebuild them."
"What did he do with them afterward?"
"Oh, he sells them usually. To other collectors."
"And he stored them here on the grounds?"
Marilyn smiled. "In his car motel. That's what Monty calls the building out back. The cars in there are worth a small fortune. He says they're his investments." She paused. "Occasionally, he donates a car to a fundraiser."
Jasi nodded, her attention diverted by the woman's constant use of the present tense. She'd been around death enough to recognize the stage of grief that Marilyn was in―denial. She knew that stage all too well.
After her mother's murder, it had taken her months to realize that her mother was never going to walk in the front door again or tuck her in at night. And it had taken years to get over feeling abandoned, betrayed.
Betrayal was something Marilyn Winkler knew about.
"I'm sorry to ask this," Jasi said, "but is there any truth to your sister's allegations?"
"You mean the so-called affair with Monty? He swore that nothing happened."
Jasi waited.
"Deirdre has a vivid imagination. She's always wanted what I have. I'm the oldest, you see, by nearly eighteen years. Deirdre was what my parents liked to call an 'oops.' Daddy left me in charge of my sister's inheritance. Deirdre has never forgiven me for that."
"So you think she started that rumor in spite?"
"I think she made it up because she doesn't like to see me happy. Sibling rivalry." Marilyn shrugged. "Monty would never touch my sister."
"What about other women, like Karen Hampton?"
Marilyn's eyes narrowed. "That bitch―pardon my French―was someone I trusted. My former secretary. She used to come to parties and benefit galas with us."
"So you think she lied too?"
The woman looked away. "No. I knew about Karen and Monty. All the late nights, phone calls at all hours. It wasn't too difficult to put two and two together. I knew he was seeing someone. I had no idea it was my secretary until I caught them together in his office."
"What did you do?"
"What do you think I did? I fired her ass." Her eyes settled on Natassia. "That woman knew how to use her body to get what she wanted. Not unlike my sister."
"Deirdre was promiscuous?" Jasi asked.
"When it got her something."
Jasi allowed the comment to sink in.
What would sleeping with her sister's husband get Deirdre? Not much, if what Marilyn said was true. She held Deirdre's purse strings. Not Monty.
"Monty knew I draw the line at family," Marilyn said, reading her mind. "Besides, my sister is in a relationship." On the last word, curled fingers made quotation marks in the air. "Or at least that's what she told me. I never know what to believe with her."
"Where does your sister live?"
"Downtown." Marilyn gave the address. "But you won't catch Deirdre there today. She's in Niagara Falls until late tomorrow night." Her mouth curled in distaste. "She said she needed a break, that she wasn't coping with Daddy'
s death."
"We'll have to confirm all this with her."
"Just be careful what you believe, Agents. My sister has a plethora of stories. Sometimes I don't think even she knows what's true and what's not."
"Would she have any reason to kill your husband?"
Marilyn's eyes widened. "Is that what these questions are about? You think Deirdre killed Monty?" She smoothed her skirt with her hands. "My sister might be a bit of a pain, as sisters usually are, but she wouldn't know the first thing about killing someone. Except maybe herself."
Jasi raised a brow. "What do you mean?"
"Deirdre started smoking again, after being a non-smoker for nearly six years. I don't understand the attraction of poisoning yourself daily like that. She says she's trying to quit, but I'm not sure I believe her."
"Is she under a lot of stress?"
Marilyn shrugged. "I guess."
"Stress can make people do terrible things."
The woman chuckled. "Well, my sister didn't hate Monty that much. He was too good to her."
"If she had anything to do with your husband's death, it could get ugly," Jasi warned.
"Everything in Deirdre's life is ugly. At least, according to her. She's young, impetuous, immature, and she's always been rather messed up."
"What does she do for a living?"
"She's a research technician at PRC."
Jasi tried to hide her surprise. "Paragon Research Corporation? You work together?"
"It's a family project," Marilyn said with a shrug. "Daddy had no sons to follow in his footsteps, so I went to work for him eight years ago. He left me in charge when he died."
"And your sister?"
"Deirdre joined us about three years ago."
"Do you get along with her?"
Marilyn's mouth curved into a dry smile. "Like sisters."
Or brothers…
With startling clarity, Jasi pictured her brother Brady and his constant struggle to gain Pop's approval.
Maybe Deirdre wanted to get back at her sister, make her pay for taking away Daddy's attention and approval. Maybe she was so jealous of Marilyn, who seemed to have it all, that she thought she'd take something away, make her suffer.
Did Deirdre kill Monty Winkler?
Jasi gave her new partner a quick nod. Your turn.
Natassia leaned forward. "It isn't easy to lose a parent, and I can only imagine what it must be like to lose a husband."
"I don't even remember the last thing I said to Monty."
"I'm sure he knew you loved him."
Jasi had no idea if her partner's words were true. But she did know one thing. It didn't really matter what Marilyn Winkler had said to her husband on his last day on earth.
Words were never enough.
8
Using the guise of needing a testimonial release form signed, Natassia sat down beside Marilyn. "Just sign at the bottom, please."
Marilyn obeyed. "Monty was everything to me."
Natassia reached for her hand and patted it gently. The caring part of her felt for the woman, but the PSI part wanted only the truth. She closed her eyes briefly when Marilyn turned her face away. She could feel the woman's energy. It radiated with a low hum. Marilyn was exhausted, unfocused, confused.
Within seconds, Natassia was inside. She was Marilyn.
"We have to talk, Monty."
A mirror reflected Marilyn Winkler's angry face.
Her husband's eyes burned with anger. "Can't you see I'm busy?" A hand waved across his empty desk.
"What are you busy with?" Tears welled in her eyes and her throat burned. "Or maybe I should ask…who are you busy with?"
He must be seeing someone again. She knew it.
The phone rang, but Monty ignored it. It rang a second time and she was about to tell him to pick up the damned thing, but the ringing stopped.
"For God's sake, tell me who she is," she begged.
"Not this again. Marilyn, I'm waiting for a call."
She turned away just as the phone rang.
This time Monty picked it up. He listened for a minute, then in a perfectly calm voice said, "Yes...I understand." Without another word, he hung up.
"I'm not going to stand here and be made a fool of while you go off gallivanting with some slut," she said.
He smiled as if he hadn't heard her. "I have to go, dear. We'll talk when I get home." Whistling a tune, he shrugged on his jacket.
"Maybe you shouldn't come home," she snapped.
He gave her a cool look. "Careful what you wish for."
Marilyn gasped.
Natassia hissed in a breath of air. Marilyn had released her hand and was staring at her with concern.
"Are you okay, Agent Prushenko?"
"I, uh…sorry, I was thinking about something else."
She caught Jasi's eye and gave a subtle smile to indicate she'd seen something.
"Mrs. Winkler," she continued, "did your husband have any known enemies, past or present?"
The woman shook her head. "I don't know. He never really discussed work with me."
"Any financial problems? Did he owe anyone money?"
"You mean besides the bank?" Marilyn glanced uneasily at a briefcase on the floor. "We're in decent shape, financially. I make very good money too."
Natassia caught the tightness in her voice. Money made the Winkler world go round. Marilyn Winkler had lived her life in the shadows of her well-known husband, yet she probably made twice the income.
"What exactly does Paragon research?" she asked.
Marilyn shrugged. "A bit of this and that. We started off looking for UFOs." At Natassia's raised brow, she chuckled. "Yes, we're looking for E.T., but we haven't found him yet. Seriously though, we're involved in satellite research, boring stuff to most people."
"Was your husband involved in your work?"
"No, Monty steered clear of PRC. He and Daddy had never seen eye-to-eye. Monty told me the company was in my hands alone. He was very adamant about that. Said if it sank it would be my fault and mine alone."
"Did you or Monty receive any unsettling or threatening letters or emails?"
"I don't think so."
"Did he have any problems at work that you know of?"
Marilyn's gaze traveled across the room and rested on one of the paintings. "There were always problems. Issues, he called them. Not everyone agreed with his policies or how he ran his campaigns."
James entered the room. His hand trembled as he placed a silver tray on the table. Resisting the temptation to help him, Natassia stared at him, waiting for the man to leave. He glared back at her, his face pinched and stubborn.
"That's fine, James," Marilyn said. "I'll call you if I need anything else."
His chin rose ever so slightly as he hobbled to the far end of the room.
Once the door closed, Natassia said, "Did your husband receive any threatening phone calls?"
Marilyn poured cream into a mug of coffee. She stirred it for a long time. Finally, she shook her head. "He never said anything to me. I think he would tell me if anyone was threatening him. But…"
Natassia leaned forward. "But what?"
"He received phone calls the same time every night for the past week. It was kind of strange. The phone would ring twice and whoever it was would hang up. Then a few minutes later someone would call again. Monty always picked up on the first ring."
"What time was that?"
"Around six-thirty."
Natassia turned to Jasi. "That coincides with the phone calls from the payphone."
"Payphone?" Marilyn sounded surprised.
"Is there anyone you can think of who'd call your husband from a payphone?" Natassia asked.
"No. Everyone we know has a cell phone or one of those data-communicators."
"Did you ask your husband about the calls?"
"I asked him point-blank after the third call."
"What did he say?"
"He gave me a blank look and said he
didn't get a call. I was getting worried. I thought maybe he had Alzheimer's."
"Did he always have problems with his memory?"
"Not usually. But…"
"But what?"
"About six months ago, something happened. I don't know what exactly, but…Monty started to change."
Natassia flicked a look at Jasi. "In what way?"
"He became distracted, less patient. With me mainly. And he stopped discussing his day with me. That wasn't like him." Marilyn took a sip of coffee. "He always shared everything."
"Six months ago…" Natassia recalled something. "That's right before he voted for the gun rights bill. Perhaps he was preoccupied with that."
"Or with someone," Marilyn said dryly.
"You thought he was having an affair?"
The woman's gaze hardened. "I was sure of it. Then one night last week he was in his office and I walked in with his evening tea. You would've thought I'd caught him with another woman, the way he jumped out of his chair."
"What was he doing when you walked in?"
"Sleeping in his chair. With the TV on. That wasn't like him, not one bit. My Monty is a night owl. He'd stay up until well past midnight every night."
"What time did you bring him the tea?"
"Seven o'clock. That's our nightly ritual." Marilyn's eyes locked on hers. "But every night for the last three weeks, I found him sleeping in his office. And he refused his tea."
Natassia mulled over the woman's words. Winkler's regular routine had changed right around the same time as the suspicious payphone calls.
Something's definitely off in the Winkler world of Oz.
Natassia glanced at Jasi. Her partner gave a bob of her head, so she continued.
"Did your husband have any health problems?"
"Monty had osteoarthritis in his back, hips and knees. Some days he could barely get out of bed, much less make it through the day. One of his friends told him he was moving like an old man."
"Was he on any medication?"
"Tylenol 3. Two every night. He's been doing that for years, but ever since he changed, I have no idea what he's been taking. He stopped asking me to pick up his prescription. I suppose he could have gotten it himself."
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