“This is fine for now. What about Ariel, what’s her background?”
“Before her marriage she worked as a hairdresser, most recently at an upscale salon in Orinda. She quit not long after getting engaged. Got herself a sugar daddy I guess.”
I glared at Jared. He was no Detective Farley but their minds seemed to gravitate to the same misogynistic cesspool. “I would guess there aren’t many millionaire accountants,” I told him.
“Probably not. But Warren Larson was also an heir to the McGill money.”
“The auto parts people?”
“Right. The company was founded by his grandfather. Warren’s father took the business public and made a fortune. Warren and his sister, Nora Taylor, are the heirs, although neither of them currently has any ties to the business.”
“Wow.”
“And ‘well done, Jared,’” he added none too humbly. “Do you think she killed him for his money?”
“It certainly presents a possible motive.”
“A dicey trial.” Jared rubbed his hands together theatrically and grinned. “We are going to represent her, aren’t we?”
“I’m feeling a little iffy about the woman, to tell you the truth. But I didn’t much warm to the detective in charge, either. Seems like his mind is made up and he’s not interested in looking further.”
We’d wandered into my office at this point and I sat while Jared perched on the corner of my desk. Another habit I’ve not been able to break him of.
“I don’t suppose you have anything on Warren’s sister?” I asked.
“You think wrong, boss. Nora Larson Taylor is younger by sixteen years. She’s in the social pages a lot—opera and symphony openings, that sort of thing. She’s married with two kids in their late teens.”
“Well done, Jared.”
He bowed. “Thank you. I’m here to serve. So what’s next?”
I filled him in on what I’d learned from Detective Farley. “Let’s try to fill in some background. We’ll make a list of people to talk to—neighbors, associates, friends that sort of thing, divide it up, and reassess the situation in a day or two.”
I took the neighbors and Warren’s sister. Jared would talk to Warren’s business associates and see what more he could learn about Ariel. The retainer I’d received from her wasn’t large, not anywhere near as large as would be required for a full-blown trial, but it would easily cover a couple more days of investigation.
We’d recently settled a large case days before the trial was set to begin, and while there were several ongoing client matters, nothing pressing was on the horizon. The timing couldn’t have been better.
I drove out to Glenwood that afternoon and parked a block away from the Larson home. I wanted to walk around a bit and get a feel for the area before hitting the houses immediately neighboring theirs.
The word that first came to mind was serene. The streets were quiet, and largely empty of traffic—vehicular and pedestrian. The houses were well maintained, the yards open and manicured. I could hear the birds chirping, and every so often, the barking of a dog who’d no doubt been aroused from a peaceful afternoon nap by my footsteps.
I started knocking on doors at the end of the Larson’s block but it wasn’t until I was two houses away from theirs that I found anyone home. A woman who appeared to be in her late fifties opened the door and looked at me in surprise.
“Oh, I was expecting someone else.”
“I won’t take much of your time.” I introduced myself, explaining that I was an attorney investigating the circumstances of Warren Larson’s death.
“Circumstances? You mean it wasn’t a heart attack? My goodness, we’ve never had anything . . .” She took a breath. “I saw a lot of police cars at the house and knew right away that something had to be up. Said so to my husband.”
“It’s an ongoing investigation,” I explained. “For the moment the police are just trying to figure out what happened.”
The woman stepped back. “Would you like to come in?”
It was clear she was more interested in pumping me for information than offering it, but I was likely to fare better in a relaxed setting. “ Thanks. I won’t stay long.”
She led me into a formal living room. “Have a seat. I’m Doris Johnson, by the way.”
I sat on the love seat. “Did you know Warren and Ariel well?”
“We’re neighborly. Ariel’s quite a bit younger than me”¬—Mrs. Johnson laughed. “So we don’t have much in common. But she’s always very friendly when we pass on the street. She’s friendly with the men, too.” Another laugh. “I think some of them were a little envious of Warren.”
The flirt thread again. “Was there gossip about anyone in particular?”
“Not that I’ve heard. It’s more like a standing joke in the neighborhood among those of us who’ve been here awhile.” She paused. “There was some talk a few months ago about the adult son of the Abbotts, Steve. He was over at the Larson’s quite a bit. But I think it was probably just talk.”
“Does Steve live with his parents?”
“Oh, no. But he drops by several times a week.”
“Who in the neighborhood might know the Larsons well?”
“Lots of us are older folks who’ve raised our families here. Others are young families who moved in for the schools and sense of community. The Larsons didn’t really belong to either group. But to your question, Sheri Carter probably knows Ariel best.” She pointed to a two-story Spanish style house across the street.
“How about Warren?”
“I don’t know that he had a close friend in the neighborhood, but he was out on the street more than his wife—mowing the lawn, washing the car, that sort of thing. He was always talking to whatever neighbor happened to be outside at the time. He was a golfer so you might ask at the club.”
“Ariel wasn’t outside as much?”
“Mostly just coming or going.”
“What about the night of Warren’s death? Do you recall seeing any unfamiliar vehicles in the area? Or hearing anything out of the ordinary?”
She shook her head. “Our bedroom is in the back of the house so we probably wouldn’t have unless it was a loud party or something.”
It didn’t look like the kind of neighborhood where loud parties were much of a problem. “How about visitors to the home?”
“Warren’s sister, of course. She dropped by fairly often, and the kids came by now and then. Warren played poker. There was a group of men who rotated houses so they were there occasionally. I only know that because he asked my husband if he wanted to join in one night.”
“Did he?”
“No, he figured he’d be the only novice in the group.”
I thanked her and continued my survey of neighbors. I wasn’t able to reach either Sheri Carter or anyone at the Abbotts, but I found a man who confirmed he’d heard Ariel and Warren arguing. He didn’t seem to think it rose to the level of actual fighting.
“Just husband and wife stuff,” he said. “Embarrassing, but nothing serious.”
Another neighbor, Mrs. Boyd, considered the arguments troubling. “Ariel sounded very angry. I worried about her. I took some cookies over the next day and told her to feel free to call me if she ever needed to talk.”
Mrs. Boyd also recalled seeing an unfamiliar van on the street, and she thought it might have been the night Warren died. She said it was probably blue but she couldn’t give me any details or description beyond the fact that she didn’t recall seeing it before.
On an impulse, I knocked on Ariel’s door. I found it helpful to see for myself locations that were key to an investigation, and I needed to tell her about my visit with Detective Farley.
Ariel opened the door with an expression of alarm. “Is there news?”
She was dressed in leggings and long, loose tank top. She wore no makeup and her hair was pulled back into a ponytail. She looked more vulnerable and, frankly, more attractive, in natural mode.
&nbs
p; “I talked to the police, but I didn’t learn much. They definitely think Warren’s death is suspicious—that his body was probably moved to the bed after he died. And you, as his wife, are a natural suspect.”
“So I was right. I knew they didn’t like me.”
“A spouse is always suspect, at least initially.” I would have liked to reassure her further, but Farley’s attitude bothered me. I didn’t have a lot of faith that he would look beyond the obvious. “I’m sorry to drop in unannounced. I was in the neighborhood and thought I’d see if I could get a look at the layout of the house.”
“Sure.” But she looked perplexed.
“It would help me understand the details in the police report,” I explained. “It’s easier to visualize things if I’ve seen the scene for myself.”
“Of course. Come in. Where do you want to start?” She lead me into the main living space.
The house had a light, airy feel to it. Lots of windows, neutral colors and a modern, minimalist décor. I was surprised. I would have pegged Ariel for something flashier and more ostentatious.
Photos in silver frames rested on the credenza to my left. I moved closer to take a look. A wedding photo of Ariel and an older man, obviously Warren. He was attractive and fit, even with the receding hairline. Not the “old man” I’d been imagining. There were also photos of the two of them on the beach and on the edge of what looked to be the Grand Canyon.
Ariel gazed at the photos with a wistful expression. “We had some great times.”
“I can see that.” I thought I should offer something encouraging but I couldn’t think what. Instead I asked, “Why don’t you walk me through the evening you left for the movies.”
She led me into a den. “That’s Warren’s chair, there.” She pointed to a leather recliner facing the television. “I bent down to kiss him good-bye and he told me to enjoy the movie.” Her voice broke. “That’s the last time I saw him alive.”
“Are you up to this?” I asked. “We can do it another time if you’d prefer.”
“Now is fine. I think about what happened, regardless.”
She thought about what happened, I noted. Not about her husband. But maybe I was splitting hairs.
She took me next to the bedroom down the hall where she’d found Warren the next morning. “It’s kind of a mess,” she said. “The police and the paramedics were in here. I haven’t touched it since.”
The room was a master suite with its own bathroom. Queen bed, unmade, bedside table, dresser, and an upholstered chair. The walls and accessories were neutral shades of gray. Subdued, masculine and sophisticated.
“The police stripped the bed,” Ariel said. “Someday I’ll have to get in here and straighten up but right now it’s too upsetting.”
“I imagine so.” I scanned the room for anything out of the ordinary. “What did your husband do with his clothes when he went to bed at night?”
She looked at me like I was crazy. “He put them in the closet.”
Maybe I was crazy. I’d never known a man not to leave them draped over a chair or piled on the floor. “And he did so that night, as well?”
“Right.”
“What about other bedtime rituals? Did anything strike you as off the next morning?”
“What do you mean?”
“Like maybe he always set his watch on the dresser, or left his slippers by the bed, and didn’t that night—something to indicate he didn’t just climb into bed and fall asleep.”
“Nothing that jumped out at me . . .” She thought for a moment. “Except the pillows. Now that I think of it, Warren usually stacked the throw pillows on the chair. But the morning I found him they were on the floor in the corner.”
“You’re sure? They were on the floor when you found him, before the paramedics arrived?”
“Pretty sure. I was focused on Warren and didn’t think about the pillows until just now, but yeah, they were on the floor.”
That could be construed as supporting the police theory that a third party had moved his body to the bed. If it was Ariel who’d done so, she’d have known to put them on the chair. Unless she was being intentionally misleading.
“Do you want to see my room, too?” Ariel asked. “It’s also a mess.”
“If you don’t mind.”
She led me to a different wing of the house. Her bedroom wasn’t really a mess, at least by my standards. It was smaller and more sparsely furnished than the master, but had a more feminine feel with a plum print comforter and fluffy coordinating pillows.
“Do you sleep with your door closed too?”
She nodded.
“So if Warren had fallen or called out, you might not have heard him?”
“Probably not. Unless it was really loud.”
“How about the various entrances to the house. Can you point them out to me?”
We made a tour of the house. Besides the front door I’d come through, there was a kitchen door that lead to the side yard and a door from the laundry room led to the garage. A sliding glass door in the living room at the rear of the house opened onto a patio and small lawn, both of which overlooked the fairway of a golf course.
“Do you have an alarm system?”
She nodded. “But we only set it at night or if we’re going out of town.”
“You don’t worry that anyone could gain access to your yard from the golf course?”
“It’s not a public course, and it’s a bit of an uphill climb to our house.” She shrugged. “I guess we never thought about it.”
“Did you notice anything unusual when you got back from the movie? Any signs of disruption? Anything out of place?”
“No, but I was tired. When I saw that Warren was already in bed, I turned off the lights, set the alarm, and went to my room.”
I could see why the police had set their sights on Ariel. There was simply no evidence leading them elsewhere. I wondered if she realized that a little misdirection—an overturned lamp or a broken glass—might have helped her case.
We were back in the hallway near the front door. I turned. “By the way, what can you tell me about Steve Abbott?”
She did a double-take. “Steve? Do the police think he’s involved?”
“I don’t know, but his name came up recently.” Sufficiently vague to be misleading.
“His parents live across the street,” Ariel said. “He seems nice.”
“How well do you know him?”
Her face flushed. “He helps us out with small chores sometimes. Getting up on a ladder or moving heavy stuff. Things Warren couldn’t do anymore.”
She hadn’t actually answered my question but I didn’t push it. “Thanks for showing me around. We’ll talk soon.”
FOUR
My intention was to next pay a visit to Warren’s sister, Nora. But as soon as I neared her house I realized it wasn’t the sort of place where one could simply drop in. Nora lived in a gated community—and not the type of gate you could finesse by following the car in front of you. There was an actual person, a guard, who checked names against an approved visitors’ list, and let you in or not. I gave fleeting thought to phoning Nora and asking her to okay me at the gate, but it was late afternoon already. I’d make a proper appointment for another day.
I checked in with Jared, who didn’t answer his phone, then headed home. I was barely through the door when Bryce called. My heart gave a little leap as it always did when I saw his number.
“You in the middle of anything?” he asked.
Loretta was doing her happy dance at my feet. “Not really. I just walked into the house.”
“Great, I’ll have your full attention.”
“Not quite. Loretta is fighting you for it. Why?” I braced myself for something serious.
“No reason. You just seemed distracted the other day.”
“I did? Sorry.” I tried to remember our last conversation, and couldn’t. Maybe that said something in itself, but I felt a wave of guilt all the same.
“How’s the conference?”
“Very exciting. Lots of good presentations and discussions on the latest research in policing. I’m really glad I came, I just wish you’d come too.”
Bryce had tried hard to persuade me to join him in D.C., and while I’d been tempted, I had work to do. Besides tagging along while your man spent his days in meetings sounded a little too wifely to me.
“What’s happening with you?” he asked.
“I may have a new case.” I told him about Ariel and the suspicions around her husband’s death.
“Do you believe her? Sounds like the police might have a slam-dunk case against her.”
Spoken like the cop he was. “Except there’s no evidence connecting her to his death. It’s all speculation.”
“That, and the process of elimination is all it might take. You said there was no sign of a break-in, right? No indication anyone else had been there.”
“That is a problem,” I conceded. One I had recognized myself, but hearing Bryce give voice to it added to my doubts about Ariel’s story.
“Long odds have never stopped you before. You’re tenacious, honey. The good kind of tenacious.”
I laughed. “Except when we disagree. Then you call me stubborn.”
“Then you are. Hey, enough of this work stuff. I miss you.”
“I miss you, too.” And I really did, even though he’d only been gone three days. But it was also kind of freeing to have my time entirely to myself. Was that the root of my hesitation about becoming Mrs. Bryce Keating?
We’d met working a case four years ago, gone hot and heavy initially, and then taken a breather when I’d all but accused him of wrong doing. But the last couple of years had been good. Really good, and I hated to do anything to rock the boat.
I made a quick change out of my work clothes and took Loretta out for her evening constitutional. It’s gotten easier as she’s grown older and less determined to lead me, rather than the other way around. But even now she has a mind of her own.
What the Widow Knew: A Kali O'Brien mini-mystery (Kali O'Brien legal mysteries Book 8) Page 2