Evan slipped quietly out of the room, left the old man staring out of the open window at a past that might never catch up with him.
4
Blair was waiting for him at the bottom of the stairs.
‘Did he hire you?’
‘Uh-huh. He wants me to find your sister. I get the feeling he’s not the only one.’
She nodded, her shoes suddenly holding her interest, her voice barely more than a whisper.
‘We all miss her.’
‘When was the last time you saw her?’
She didn’t answer immediately, pulled the photograph out of her pocket instead.
‘About two weeks after that was taken.’
The words didn’t register at first. Then they did. Like a cattle prod.
‘That’s got to be thirty years ago.’
‘About that, yes.’
Before she could say more, they heard the sound of footsteps, hard leather soles on a polished wood floor, a quick, efficient pace, coming their way.
‘That’s Aldrich. Come with me.’
She took him through a sitting room the size of a football field and out onto a terrace at the back of the house. From there they went down some stone steps onto the velvety lawn, then followed a path around and out of sight of the back of the house to a deck at the edge of a small lake. They sat in a couple of lawn chairs overlooking the still water. There was only one thing it needed to make it perfect. He pretended to look around.
‘What?’ she said.
‘I was looking for the beer cooler.’
It got him a wistful smile, but no beer.
‘Sorry.’
It was as good a way as any to ease into the conversation about her sister who he’d met over a beer in the Jerusalem Tavern.
‘Tell me what happened to Arabella.’
‘There’s not a lot to tell. She disappeared thirty years ago. We haven’t seen or heard from her since. Until you turned up, we didn’t even know if she was alive or dead. So even if you can’t find her at least we can thank you for the knowledge that she’s alive.’
A surge of guilt went through him as he nodded his head in polite acceptance of her thanks, the image of a switchblade quivering in the Jerusalem’s wood floor in his mind.
‘Do you know why she disappeared?’
She shook her head. It was impossible to say whether it was an admission of ignorance or an expression of sadness at the way things work out—or don’t work out.
‘Did you ever try to find her before?’
‘Many times. But nothing ever came of it. That’s why Aldrich doesn’t like you. He thinks you’re just another shyster trying to con a rich old man out of his money.’ She gave a broad sweep of her arm, took in the grounds and the house behind them. ‘As you can see, there’s plenty of it. And my father is dying.’
She didn’t say from what, and he didn’t ask. It was enough to have seen how the old man’s flesh had wasted away from his body until there was nothing left but bones, the way it had shriveled on his face, his yellowing teeth seeming large and out of proportion as a result.
He said now what he’d held back in Carlson’s bedroom.
‘He wants to see his long-lost daughter before he goes.’
‘Yes. But that’s not all.’
Sitting where they were in a green oasis in the middle of Boston, having walked the corridors of the aircraft-hangar-sized house after the chauffeur picked him up in a Bentley limousine, it wasn’t difficult to figure out what she was talking about.
The root of all evil.
‘His inheritance. Who does it go to?’
‘Arabella.’
‘All of it?’
‘All of it.’
‘What about you?’
She shook her head again, no bitterness on her face to accompany the gesture, only a gentle acceptance.
The seemingly unprovoked attack that he’d inadvertently thwarted the day before suddenly became less meaningless. Somebody stood to gain a lot from Bella’s premature death.
‘What if Arabella was already dead?’
‘Then it goes to my son, Merritt.’
‘Not to you?’
‘No.’ She smiled suddenly, sat upright in her chair. ‘I can see you’re almost bursting to ask what I did to get cut out.’
‘It crossed my mind.’
She stood up, walked to the edge of the deck to look out over the still water. He went to stand beside her, struck by the fact that money doesn’t take away your problems, it just changes them. She got the photograph out of her pocket again, the significance of it, the reason for her reaction, now clear.
‘It’s ancient history. And not very exciting, either. It’s not like I ran away with a married man and brought everlasting shame on the family reputation. My father is ninety. He was born in 1930. A different world than the one we live in now. He may as well have been born on another planet. And he’s very traditional. People of his generation and from his social background believe in primogeniture, the absolute right of the firstborn to inherit everything. A son is best, of course, but we don’t always get what we want.’
‘What if the firstborn is already dead?’
‘Then it would normally go to the second child.’
‘You.’
‘Yes, me.’
‘But not in this case.’
She drew air deep into her lungs, held it, let it out slowly. She looked as if all her cares and worries went with it.
‘Like I said, it’s ancient history. My father never liked my husband.’ She caught him glancing at her ring finger, shook her head. ‘He died a long time ago. I never remarried. By then we had Merritt. My father treated him like the son he never had and Merritt responded to him like he was the father who was no longer around. It couldn’t have worked out better as far as my father was concerned, especially as he loathed my husband. His only regret was that he had to share Merritt’s attentions with his paternal grandfather.’
Evan would have liked to ask about the reasons for the animosity, to explore the circumstances of her husband’s death. It would have to wait. Blair was still talking.
‘My father would have chopped off his right arm rather than buck tradition and cut Arabella out of the will, even if she was female. But he decided that if it didn’t go to her, then it might as well go to the only male heir in the family.’
‘You don’t sound very bitter. I would be.’
She gave him a knowing smile.
‘I don’t believe that for a minute. It’s probably why my father hired you. He’s a good judge of character. And it was all such a long time ago. Besides, Merritt will look after me.’
‘Or you’ll tan his hide.’
‘Exactly.’
The light-hearted comment was better than voicing the first thought that had come into his mind. Her son Merritt had a very good reason to want Aunty Bella dead before old Thomas Carlson went to meet his maker.
It put him in a difficult position. He had to tell her about the failed attack. It was only fair. But he didn’t want it to sound as if he was pointing the finger at her son. In the end he just came out with it, let her arrive at her own conclusions.
‘Somebody tried to kill Arabella in the bar yesterday.’
Her hand was suddenly at her mouth, a whispered No! leaking out from behind it. And in her eyes the same thoughts that were in his mind. Neither of them gave voice to the unspeakable, but the job description had just changed. He didn’t only have to find her, he had to keep her alive. Perhaps protect her from her own family.
It wouldn’t be easy.
But it would have been less hard if he didn’t have a nagging suspicion that she hadn’t told him the whole truth.
5
Something was pecking away at the back of Evan’s mind. He needed time to think it through. Bella had surfaced after thirty years just as her father became terminally ill. That was a hell of a coincidence. And coincidence was nothing more than a convenient word to describe
patterns that hadn’t yet become clear.
Bella had learned of her father’s illness somehow but hadn’t yet worked up the courage to return home from wherever she was living, as if from the dead. Hence the wistful and apprehensive note in her voice at the toast to going home.
Now, the failed attempt on her life would make her more reluctant still to return to the family home. Whoever wanted her dead would be watching the house if they had any sense. They might even have somebody on the inside.
He asked Blair where the bathroom was. Then pulled out his phone before setting off.
‘Can you show me where it is on Google maps?’
She laughed with him, a sound that made him feel guilty about all the suspicious thoughts running through his mind, particularly those concerning her son. At least he had an excuse to have his phone in his hand as he headed back to the house. The reception would be non-existent inside the massive building. He opened the browser, tapped in Thomas Carlson Communications illness, hit return.
The only item of any interest was a short article from five years previously reporting on Thomas Carlson standing down as chairman at the age of eighty-five. No mention was made of illness being the reason, just the usual guff about wanting to spend more time with his family. It was unlikely that Bella had learned of her father’s illness via the media. On a whim he did a quick search on Arabella Carlson disappearance and came up with nothing at all.
As expected, there was no service once he got deeper inside the house. He spent the appropriate length of time in the bathroom, disappointed to find that the toilet paper didn’t have a monogram on each sheet.
‘You found it okay?’ Blair said when he got back.
He dropped his eyes, worked an embarrassed smile onto his face.
‘No. I had to go in a corner, I’m afraid. But it’s okay, I asked Aldrich to clean it up.’
She stifled a giggle, shook her head in much the same way as Guillory often did, what shall we do with you?
‘I almost wish it were true.’
They both enjoyed the mental image for a couple of beats before he got them back on track.
‘Has your father’s illness been reported in the media at all?’
She looked more horrified by the suggestion than she had when he’d made the joke about being caught short.
‘Goodness, no. My father is the most private man you could ever meet. As I said earlier, he’s very old-fashioned.’ She then put on a very good imitation of his voice. ‘One does not mix business and pleasure. He always made maximum use of the media to promote the company, of course. As you’d expect given the business he was in. But to divulge personal details to the press? About his illness? So that the public can read about it over breakfast and laugh that all his money couldn’t help him?’ She shook her head energetically. ‘Not in a million years.’
It fit with what his quick search on the internet had suggested. As did the unlisted phone number and employing his own personal weasel, Aldrich LeClair, to fend off unwanted attention.
‘I suppose that’s what Aldrich is for, is it? To keep people like me away.’
‘That’s part of his job, yes.’
‘I get the impression it’s the part he likes the best. He’s a man who likes to say no.’ She didn’t pass comment, so he continued. ‘Has he been your father’s personal weasel for long?’
That got a reaction, another stifled giggle that wiped twenty years off her. Her answer rode out on the back of it.
‘It feels like forever, but it’s only ten years. Why?’
‘Background information, that’s all.’
She gave him a head-cocked look.
‘Surely you don’t think he’s involved?’
‘Would he benefit from your father’s death and the money not going to your sister?’
‘I can’t think how. He’d lose his job to start with.’
‘That’s going to happen soon enough whatever happens. That might be more reason to take measures to secure his future in some other way.’
He didn’t like the way the conversation was going. Her face said neither did she. The suggestion hanging in the air between them was that LeClair was working with her son, Merritt, to ensure that Merritt inherited from his grandfather—a service for which he would pay handsomely. He showed her his palms.
‘Forget I said that. It’s just the way my nasty mind works. Aldrich was right to try to keep me away.’
She smiled at his attempt to recover the situation, even if it stopped well short of her eyes. Damage had been done. He hoped it wasn’t irreparable.
‘What about Leon the chauffeur?’
It helped to move the focus away from her son, but not a lot. She shook her head again. This time it said, who let this man into our house, our lives?
‘You’re very suspicious, aren’t you?’
He opened his hands wide.
‘What do you expect? I don’t get hired to find out all the good things about people.’
‘I suppose. It’s just so—’
‘Grubby?’
‘I was going to say depressing. You must end up with a very jaundiced view of the world.’
He might have admitted that, yes, his eyes were wide open, without the comfortable protective screen of money over them to shield him from life’s harsher realties. He didn’t, of course. People didn’t hire him to tell them home truths like that, either.
‘Do you suspect me?’ she said.
He wasn’t sure if she was serious or trying to lighten the atmosphere, didn’t know how to respond. She didn’t give him a chance anyway, put her hand on his arm.
‘Don’t answer that. It’s a stupid question. Besides, Arabella’s never been interested in money. If she inherits and I ask her for half of it, she’d give it to me gladly.’
Although he’d only talked to her sister for a few minutes, the assessment fit with his own impressions.
‘Can we get back to Leon? How long has he worked for your father?’
‘That’s definitely forever. It must be since before . . .’
He nodded, didn’t need her to finish the sentence—before Arabella went missing.
‘Do you know what he did before that?’
‘He was in the military. He was hired as a combined chauffeur and bodyguard. He was a lot younger then, of course. My father had business interests in some very nasty parts of the world. The sort of places where your business rivals don’t waste time with things like hostile corporate takeovers. They prefer more violent hostile actions. Anyway, Leon is devoted to my father. And he gets that big ugly car in the will whoever gets everything else.’
There wasn’t anything else that he wanted to ask her. They made their way back through the house without getting lost, and Evan thought he’d escaped without having to say goodbye to LeClair. Unfortunately, he was waiting for them at the top of the steps at the front of the house, as if he was keen to make sure that Evan was safely off the property.
If Blair hadn’t been standing beside him, he’d have asked LeClair when he last spoke to Merritt to gauge his reaction. But he didn’t want to upset her, held his tongue. For the fun of it he slapped LeClair heartily on the back instead of shaking hands, nearly knocked him down the steps, said something about looking forward to visiting again.
Leon was leaning against the Bentley’s fender, a cigarette poked into the grin on his face. It wasn’t only the way Evan almost pushed LeClair down the steps that put it there. He’d bet LeClair didn’t approve of smoking along with most other things.
‘What do you think about LeClair now?’ Leon said as soon as Evan had finished waving out the window.
‘He’s okay. And I think he likes me too.’
Leon gave him a look. He grinned back.
‘No, he’s an ass. But I liked the old man. And Blair’s nice, of course. She definitely liked me.’
That got him an incredulous snicker.
‘She’s only human, I suppose.’
‘You got it.
Did you know her husband?’
Said as if he was asking what the color of the leather upholstery was called. Leon knew what he was doing, answered anyway.
‘Who, Vance? I knew him. As much as any of the help can know the people they work for.’
‘How did he die?’
‘I don’t remember.’
Bullshit! would’ve been appropriate. It just wouldn’t have gotten him anywhere.
‘Did you like him?’
‘Yeah. He was always good to me, gave me a big tip at Christmas.’
‘Why didn’t Thomas like him?’
Leon didn’t answer immediately. And it wasn’t because he was offended by Evan’s impertinent use of his employer’s first name.
‘You ask a lot of questions.’
‘That’s like me saying you turn the steering wheel a lot. It’s hard to do my job otherwise.’
Leon nodded his head at the truth of it. Seemed it loosened him up a bit, too.
‘It wasn’t so much to do with Vance himself. It was more to do with who his father was.’
‘And who’s that?’
‘Gerald Bloodwell. And since you don’t seem to know who anybody is, he’s the man behind Bloodwell Networks. Bloodwell and Mr Carlson have been business rivals since way back when. And not in a friendly, there’s room enough for all of us sort of way. Bloodwell is ten years younger than Mr Carlson is. Mr Carlson gave him his first big break. He took him on, gave him a slice of the business. Grooming him for the top job seeing as he didn’t have a son of his own.’
Evan saw where it was going and it wasn’t anywhere good. He let Leon finish the story. The more he talked, the more he relaxed, the better.
‘Then Bloodwell set up his own company and took a big chunk of Carlson Communications’ business with him. Mr Carlson was pissed, like you’d expect. He felt he’d been betrayed. But he wasn’t blameless. You don’t get to build a company like he did by sticking to the rules. It got really dirty. Bloodwell started it but Mr Carlson did his damnedest to finish it. And then Blair goes and marries Bloodwell’s son, Vance. They’d gotten to know each other before the big bust up and they weren’t going to let it stop them.’
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