by Rayna Morgan
For a moment they were silent until Tom spoke again.
“Sam’s close call with death was intentional, all right. My only question is who’s responsible.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
The next day, Tom and Pat arrived at the Swanson residence in separate cars.
A heavy-set woman wearing a cook’s apron answered the door and motioned them into a round foyer topped by a glittering chandelier. “The missus and her friend are at the pool. She’s expecting you.”
She led them across a marble floor of patterned tiles through a room featuring a stone fireplace, a sleek wet bar, and floor-to-ceiling sliding glass doors.
They followed the maid to an outside area with a spa and a plunge-sized swimming pool. There was also a built-in grill and a panoramic view of the ocean.
A petite woman sat at a table with a cell phone pressed to her ear. She appeared to be in her late thirties. Her chic tennis outfit may have been for show since her hair and makeup suggested she never broke a sweat.
As they approached, she held up a finger. Her demeanor, as well as her clothes, spelled money.
They waited while she finished her conversation.
Pat nudged Tom and jerked her head toward the pool where a younger woman glided gracefully back and forth, barely raising her head from the water to breathe.
Several minutes later, the first woman ended her call. Without apologizing for the wait, she asked for credentials.
Tom and Pat flashed their badges, but neglected to identify themselves as homicide detectives.
She looked them up and down, letting her eyes linger on Tom. “I’m Margo Taylor. A friend of the Swansons.” She nodded toward the figure swimming laps. “I imagine you came to see Lynn.”
She called to the younger woman. “Come out, sweetie. These policemen want to speak with you.”
The woman who emerged from the pool trailing drops of water was half Sam’s age. She took her time rubbing a towel over slender limbs and glanced to see if Tom was watching.
He colored slightly and looked away.
The woman laughed and draped a kimono over her shoulders before making her way across the patio.
“I’m sorry to interrupt, Mrs. Swanson,” Tom began. “We need to ask a few questions.”
“Call me Lynn.” She smiled in a sultry manner and pointed to a chair beside her. “May I call you Tom?”
“Lieutenant Elliot will do.”
She reached for a pitcher and poured herself a drink. Before replacing the container on the table, she looked at him. “May I offer you refreshments?”
“Is that lemonade?” he asked. His voice was husky.
“Margaritas.”
He answered in a firmer tone. “No, thanks. We’re on duty.”
“I assume you’re here because the doctor is concerned about the cause of Sam’s latest attack.”
“So you spoke with the doctor at the hospital?”
“I didn’t go to the hospital. I can’t stand those places. The doctor informed me when I called to see if Sam regained consciousness.”
“I see,” Tom said. He leaned back and assessed the young woman. She seemed similar to idle rich women he encountered, but there was an element about her he couldn’t define.
“After a few questions, we’ll be out of your hair,” he assured her.
As if on cue, she shook her head. Drops of water sprayed from her hair.
“I have engagements to cancel due to my husband’s temporary infirmity.” Her eyes locked on Tom. “But I have time for you.”
Pat cut in. “Regarding your husband—”
The wife responded without looking in Pat’s direction. “Our family doctor has any information you need.”
Pat continued unperturbed. “Based on findings of a drug overdose, we need an account of Sam’s activities for our records.”
Lynn waved a hand as though batting a pesky insect. “All right, but be brief.”
She shaded her eyes and extended her legs on the recliner. “Margo and I want to take advantage of this gorgeous sun.”
Sensing Pat’s disapproval, Tom took over. “What was your husband’s demeanor in the days preceding his attack? Was he depressed or anxious?”
She scowled. “If you’re suggesting my husband attempted to take his own life, you’re crazy. What possible reason would he have?”
“Were you aware your husband recently hired a private investigator to look into his daughter’s death?”
She covered her head with a wide-brimmed hat to shade her eyes. “Yes, I knew what Sam was doing. I told him I disapproved. With his diabetes and heart condition, the last thing he needed was stress. I warned him he would end up in the hospital again.”
Pat’s tone was biting. “Does Sam need your approval to do things?”
Tom glared at his partner before returning to the wife. “Why were you reluctant for Sam to proceed?”
“Sam and I rarely talked about his daughter. He kept that part of his life locked inside where it festered like a cancer. Any reminder, even the mention of her name, could set him brooding.
“I hoped his daughter’s death was behind him. But as soon as he read the article about a detective agency in Buena Viaje, he became obsessed. I begged him not to open that Pandora’s box of misery. He refused to listen, convinced the three of them living in proximity was destiny.”
“The three of them?”
“Sam, his son-in-law Jeffrey, and the investigating officer who now has a detective agency. He felt the stars were finally aligned to secure justice for Emma.”
“How did you feel?”
“Fearful that the results would undermine his health, or fill him with bitterness.”
Margo spoke for the first time. “Sam’s son, Brad, opposed the idea as much as Lynn did.”
“Why would the son object to his father hiring an investigator?”
After a nod from Lynn, Margo continued. “He didn’t want his father consumed with thoughts of Emma again. Sam only recently acknowledged the sacrifice Brad made to take her place.”
“What sacrifice?”
“Brad gave up a music career to be groomed to lead Tech West when Sam retired.”
“Tech West, the software giant?” Pat asked.
“Yes, Sam’s company.”
The wife scoffed. “I’m not sure Sam viewed Brad’s desertion of his band as a sacrifice. He felt they would never amount to much in the music industry.”
“How did the band members react?”
“Badly,” Lynn said. “They accused him of selling out to please his old man and keep his inheritance intact.”
“Do you believe that is Brad’s motivation?” Tom asked.
Lynn shrugged. “Brad is used to getting what he wants. He grew up indulged with expensive toys and hobbies. His amusements are pricier as an adult. He won’t admit it, but it’s a lifestyle he can’t give up.”
“As heir to a fortune, that shouldn’t be a problem,” Pat suggested.
“In this instance, that’s not true. To discourage his son’s folly of pursuing a music career, Sam drew up a Will which stipulates Brad inherits only if he is actively engaged in the business.”
“Those are harsh conditions for his father to impose,” Tom said.
“Other than his children, Tech West is Sam’s only legacy. Without Emma or Brad to take over, he fears that may dissolve.”
Tom shifted his line of questioning. “Tell us what transpired the evening of Sam’s heart attack.”
“Sam called to say he would be late. Margo and I had dinner at the Grill. We returned to the house and she stayed with me until Sam came.”
“What time did he get home?”
She looked at her friend. “Close to ten, wouldn’t you say?”
Margo nodded and Lynn continued. “We all had a brandy, Margo left, and Sam went to bed. I stayed downstairs to watch TV. When I checked around midnight, Sam was snoring so I retired to my bedroom.
“Around two o’cl
ock, I woke and went to check on him. I found him unconscious and saw his insulin syringe on the table. I called emergency. By the time the ambulance got him to the hospital, he was in a coma.”
She choked and her eyes filled with tears.
“We’re finished, Lieutenant,” Margo said harshly. “That’s enough for now.”
She hovered over Lynn and patted her shoulder. “Don’t get up. I’ll show them out.”
Tom turned back when they reached the glass door. “One other thing, Mrs. Swanson.”
She lifted her hat to uncover her eyes.
“Will you become involved in your husband’s business if Sam doesn’t recover?”
She responded emphatically. “Absolutely not. Unlike Sam’s first wife, I have no interest in business.”
“Will his son take over?”
“Of course. I made that clear to Brad months ago.”
“May I ask what you told him?”
“That I will sell my interest in the business to him if anything happens to his father.”
• • •
The detectives followed Lynn’s friend, retracing their steps through the house. In the foyer, Tom stretched an arm across the door.
“I sensed your reluctance to speak in front of your friend. Is there something you want to tell us?”
Margo hesitated and glanced toward the pool.
Tom’s voice became stern. “Withholding information during an investigation can lead to criminal charges.”
She brushed his arm aside and opened the door. “Let’s go outside. I don’t want Lynn to see us talking. I’ll use the excuse of getting something from my car.”
She stopped at the edge of the circular drive and turned toward them.
“The relationship between Sam and Lynn…” She faltered.
Tom exhaled deeply. “Let me make this easier, Mrs. Taylor. I’ve been informed that Sam doesn’t feel the marriage is working out.”
Margo appeared relieved she wasn’t the person supplying the information.
“You must understand.” She wrung her hands. “Lynn wasn’t one of us when she married Sam.”
“Can you define not one of you?” Pat asked. Her tone rang with sarcasm.
Margo waved a hand. “That didn’t come out right. I don’t mean to sound snobbish.”
Pat snickered. “Of course not.”
Uncertain how to interpret the detective’s reaction, Margo continued. “Lynn comes from a modest background. She was working at the Saks perfume counter when Sam met her. He asked help in selecting a fragrance for a friend’s birthday.”
She looked again toward the pool before continuing.
“Sam was at a vulnerable stage after his divorce. A time when a beautiful, young woman would spark his interest. Of course, Lynn didn’t object to being courted by one of the wealthiest men in the county. No one imagined anything would come of it. We were shocked when they married several months later.”
“So you weren’t friends before she met Sam?”
“As far as I could tell, she had no contact with people from her previous life. I felt sorry for her. It was obvious she didn’t know how to cope in the world she married into. I took her under my wing and showed her the ropes. Introduced her to people, took her shopping for new clothes, and helped her join the right clubs. It was fun, really.”
“Playing fairy godmother to Cinderella,” Pat suggested.
Margo grimaced. “That’s an indelicate way to put it. But yes, I suppose it was a bit like that.”
“Would you say their marriage is a happy one?” Tom asked.
“Extremely, at first. They could barely keep their hands off each other and spent all Sam’s free time together. Watching them almost made me believe in love again.” She narrowed her eyes which deepened the lines at the corners. “Sadly, it didn’t last. Like similar mismatches, the attraction dimmed once Sam realized how unsuited they are for each other.”
“Is there a prenuptial agreement?”
The color drained from Margo’s face.
“Mrs. Taylor, we need an answer.”
“The terms of the prenup states that if they divorce within five years, the wife gets nothing.”
“Give us a moment,” Pat said as she pulled Tom aside.
“You know as well as anyone, boss. Divorce results in difficult adjustments.”
“What’s your point?”
“For people of this wealth, those changes might seem unbearable. Lynn may be unwilling to live as a penniless divorcee.”
“I heard that, detective.” Margo’s voice was sharp. “You’re on the wrong track.”
Pat answered the rebuke. “As a widow, she inherits. It’s the only way she doesn’t lose the wealth and status she gained being married to Sam.”
Margo shook her head, her face a combination of anger and sadness.
“Lynn asked once if I thought Sam might leave her, clearly upset by the notion. I played devil’s advocate and challenged her feelings for Sam.”
“That was brave of you. What was her response?”
“One which made me deeply regret my action.”
“What did she say?”
“She admitted to missing her life before Sam, both her work and her friends. She finds living in a world where she doesn’t fit both exhausting and unfulfilling.” For the first time, Margo appeared self-conscious. “Lynn considers our lifestyle—one she previously envied—lacking in joy. She would gladly give it up, except for Sam. Sam is the center of her universe. The only part of her new life she can’t bear to lose.”
Margo regained her composure, but her eyes were moist.
“I realized how completely in love she has fallen. Not with this life, but with Sam. I didn’t have the heart to tell her. I lied and told her Sam loves her as much as she loves him.”
“Unless her feelings for Sam are genuine,” Pat said, “your statement would not be reassuring.”
“Knowing his feelings are the same as hers was all she needed to put her mind at ease.” She squared her shoulders and looked directly at Tom. “You are mistaken if you believe a woman so deeply in love would harm Sam.”
With that, she made a dismissive gesture with her hand and disappeared inside.
“What do you think?” Pat asked. “Is Margo telling the truth about Lynn or blowing smoke to protect her friend?”
“My opinion doesn’t matter. Either way, our hopes of pinning the attempted murder on the spouse have dimmed.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
The detectives met in the parking lot at Tech West. Pat told the receptionist at the front desk they had an appointment with Brad Swanson.
She escorted them through a large industrial building which had been converted into office space. As they walked, she pointed out steel trusses and brick walls retained from the original warehouse. A transparent roof overhead flooded the interior with light.
Some people sat in spacious cubicles while others worked at standing desks. Interspersed among the work stations were comfortable seating areas where employees convened to collaborate. A coffee bar at the front provided assorted drinks and snacks.
Rather than going to an interior office, they continued to a small cubicle at the back. When they were introduced, Brad Swanson responded to their surprised looks with amusement. “My father insisted I start at the bottom. No special privileges for his son.”
He turned back to the task at hand, emptying contents of the desk into a cardboard box.
“I understand you have questions.”
A man in the adjoining cubicle strained to listen.
“Is there a room where we can have privacy?” Tom asked.
“Give me a moment to finish and we’ll go to my new office.” He dropped the remaining items into the container and folded the flaps. “Follow me,” he said.
He rolled up his sleeves and picked up the box. A tattoo showed on one arm.
They climbed a flight of stairs to the second level. The office they entered could hold a
dozen cubicles the size of the one in which Brad worked.
He lowered the box on an over-sized executive desk and pointed toward a mahogany conference table with padded chairs.
“Have a seat.” He pressed a button on the intercom. “Bring coffee, Gloria. Oh, and hold my calls.”
“The young man seems right at home in his new digs,” Pat whispered. Aloud, she said, “It seems premature to move into your father’s office.”
“After his first attack, he announced if it happened again, he would retire early to get away from the stress. Even if he recovers, he won’t return to work.”
“We expected to find you at the hospital today.”
“Lynn can handle medical arrangements. She has her friend Margo to help. I need to assure our employees of a smooth transition.”
“You’re stepping right into your father’s shoes,” Pat said.
“I don’t know if I can ever do that.”
He lowered his head, a poorly-disguised attempt to look modest.
The receptionist entered, poured coffee, and left a thermos on the table.
“Why are detectives looking into my father’s illness?” Brad asked, stirring sugar in his cup.
“Our inquiries are purely routine,” Pat explained. “In a case of overdose, we’re obliged to get details.”
Brad’s eyes narrowed. “I suspect there is nothing routine about your inquiry.”
“What makes you think that?” Tom asked sharply.
“Don’t try to spare my feelings.” He raised his thumb and chewed the nail. “There are obvious similarities between my father’s near fatality and my sister’s death.”
“We don’t mean to open old wounds.”
“How do you expect to avoid painful memories? If only my father…”
He stared out the window.
“If only your father what, Brad?”
“My father is obsessed with proving my brother-in-law’s guilt. One way or another, it has nearly caused his own death.”
“Are you saying your brother-in-law is responsible for what happened to Sam?”
“I’m saying his obsession led to this outcome. For a man with a bad ticker, revenge is not a healthy pursuit.”
“How do you get along with your father?”