In Their Blood: A Novel

by Sharon Potts

  “Irv doesn’t go to staff meetings.”

  “But was Bud that vocal when my mom was alive?”

  “Bud’s always been gung-ho— like he’s leading the troops into battle. He’s very …” She searched for the right word. “Ambitious, I guess you’d say. Almost obsessive about pushing the firm to greater heights. But your mom was very effective at tempering him. It was a nice balance.”

  “So you don’t buy into Bud’s program?” Jeremy said.“

  I didn’t say that. I just think Bud tends to be a bit aggressive.”

  “What did my mother think of his program?”

  “I don’t know, Jeremy.” Robbie slipped her hand behind her.

  “Look. I understand what you’re trying to do. And believe me, the first thing I thought of after your parents were murdered was whether anyone here could have had a motive.”

  “And?”

  Robbie shook her head. “I just don’t know. I can’t believe Bud would have been involved. He and your mom were great pals, as far as I could tell. Competing, sure. But in a collegial way.”

  “And what about Irv? I get the feeling he and my mother hadn’t been getting along very well recently.”

  “Irv adored your mother.”

  “Even after what happened at Castillo Enterprises?” He was remembering the comment Enrique Castillo had made on Jeremy’s first day of work. That Jeremy’s mother had replaced Irv on the Castillo audit. “How come Irv was taken off the audit and my mother put on in his place? Could he have resented her for that?”

  “Rotating partners is firm policy.” She didn’t seem to be the least defensive about Jeremy’s line of questioning. She responded like a good student who had done her homework. “Irv was on the Castillo audit for more years than he was supposed to be. Finally, National said that Rachel needed to be rotated on. She had more real estate background than the other partners, so she was a natural fit.”

  “And that’s why they took him off the audit? You’re sure? Firm policy? Not something else?”

  “I’m positive. There was a big fuss about it. The managing partner from National had to come down here to lay down the law.”

  “Okay,” Jeremy said, slowly, “maybe Irv was upset with my mother about something else.”

  “Like?”

  “Would he have kept adoring her if she was trying to get him fired?”

  “Rachel would never have done that. She had too much respect for him.”

  “That’s not what I heard.”

  “What did you hear?”

  So, he’d finally gotten a rise out of her. “Bud told me my mom was concerned about Irv’s drinking. She didn’t think Irv should remain on as a partner— something like that.” He was stretching what he’d heard, fishing for more.

  “I’d never heard that.”

  “But does it sound possible to you? Possible that Irv would have been upset with her for trying to get him fired? His whole world revolves around PCM. How would he have reacted to someone trying to take it away from him?”

  Robbie looked disturbed. “It doesn’t make sense.” She ran a finger over the dustless credenza. “If Irv was so bitter toward your mom, why did he insist no one touch a thing in her office?”

  Chapter 18

  Carlos’s arms tightened around her. Elise liked that. The close sensation made her feel safe. She once read how an autistic woman had designed a confining chute for cattle on their way to be slaughtered. How because of it, the cattle went contentedly to their deaths. Carlos’s tongue found hers. He tasted like smoke. He lightly kissed her nose, then pulled away. So much for intimacy.

  Carlos began rolling another joint. He had taken off his school uniform shirt and wore only khaki pants and a wife-beater undershirt that exposed his long, thin, defined arms. Carlos wasn’t muscular like Jeremy, but he was still in good shape.

  The rec room in the back of his parents’ house was dim, although Elise could make out the last glow of daylight from behind the drawn shades. It was a beautiful room with an L-shaped suede sofa, several wide chairs that could comfortably seat two, and a built-in entertainment center that housed a large plasma TV and Carlos’s many video game systems.

  She and Carlos had been here the night her parents had been murdered. They’d been curled up on the sofa watching a sci-fi movie. She remembered being startled by Carlos’s mother, who was standing over them, holding a tray. “I brought you darlings some hot chocolate,” Mrs. Castillo had said.

  Carlos had jumped up. “Don’t you believe in knocking?”

  And Mrs. Castillo had let out a deep chuckle that sounded like a tiger purring. “You look exhausted, Elise. Have some hot chocolate.”

  Elise had taken a cup and thanked her. “It’s probably jet lag. I’ll be going home soon.”

  “No rush,” Mrs. Castillo had said.

  When Elise next woke up, the movie was over and Carlos was asleep against her shoulder. Elise had been horrified; her mother would be furious. It was bad enough Elise had snuck out, add coming home late on top of that. But when they got to the house, everything spiraled out of control. Darkness, shadows, strange smells, Carlos shouting at her.

  But there was something else. Something she couldn’t remember. She had been trying hard to dredge it up, but the effort exhausted her. She just wanted to be done with it. To forget. To forget everything.

  Elise pulled the shade away from the window. The sun was setting over the bay. A speedboat bounced across the waves, leaving a large wake. The rec room had a spectacular view, but Carlos always kept the windows covered. She had assumed it was because he didn’t want anyone boating by to see in, but now it occurred to her perhaps Carlos didn’t like looking out. She let the shade fall back. Maybe Carlos had the right idea— not looking out.

  “Wanna smoke?” Carlos held up the freshly rolled joint.

  “I don’t know.”

  “Come on, Elise. Believe me, it’s much easier to get through dinner with my parents if you’re stoned.”

  Elise didn’t even smoke regular cigarettes, as many of her friends had started doing. And marijuana and alcohol were just a copout for not being willing to deal with things head on. That had always been her philosophy.

  Carlos lit the joint and its tip brightened as he inhaled. The slow stream of smoke was pungent.

  Why should she keep trying so hard? No one cared. Even Jeremy had slipped away from her, busy with other things. More important things. And the pain of losing her parents wasn’t lessening as people said it would. It was spreading. She could feel it growing inside her like a fungus. If she died tomorrow and someone cut her open, all they’d find would be her shriveled, blackened heart.

  Carlos held the joint out. “Come on, Elise. It really helps.”

  She took a toke and coughed on the thick smoke.

  “Hey, not all at once.”

  She tried again. More slowly she brought the sting deep into her lungs and held it. She could feel it numbing her. Slowly, she released the smoke through her mouth.

  “Better,” Carlos said.

  She did it again. Imaginary arms wrapped around her. Yes, it was better.

  A melodious voice filled the room. “Carlos, Elise,” Mrs. Castillo sang over the intercom. “Dinner is served.”

  Elise giggled. She didn’t know why that seemed so funny. “Big Mother is watching you.” And she burst into peals of laughter. “Big Mother, you know, like Big Brother in 1984.”

  Carlos took her hand. “I know.”

  The long, glass dining room table was set for five. The room had a high, domed ceiling with a huge crystal chandelier that reminded her of the Phantom of the Opera. She tugged on Carlos’s arm and giggled. “Do you think the Phantom’s going to send that crashing down on us?”

  Jeremy was talking to Mr. Castillo and they were both holding drinks. Her brother was still wearing his suit, so he had probably come directly from work.

  Elise was angry with Jeremy. Very angry. But even more than that, she was
hurt. He’d deserted her. In the middle of her worst nightmare, he’d come riding in on his white horse to rescue her. Then, just as abruptly, he was gone. She wondered where he’d spent the last couple of nights. With a girl. She was certain of that. Someone to hide away in. Kind of like Elise was doing with Carlos since she didn’t have Jeremy anymore.

  Mrs. Castillo was coming toward her, arms extended, stiff blonde hair covering one eye. She was wearing a white outfit with a low-cut neckline that showed off a diamond necklace that dripped into her cleavage.

  Elise almost choked on her strong perfume as Mrs. Castillo embraced her, but hopefully it masked the smell of marijuana in Elise’s clothes.

  “Don’t you look sweet tonight?” Mrs. Castillo had a husky voice and Elise liked the sound of it. “And what beautiful long hair you have, like an Arabian princess.”

  Mr. Castillo crossed the room toward them. His pants and shirt had no wrinkles and fit him as though they’d been made for him, which they probably were. Elise’s dad never wore clothes like that. Even his “good” clothes looked like he’d pulled them out of the bottom of a drawer. But Elise loved that about her father. How he didn’t seem to care about stuff like that.

  Mr. Castillo was scowling at Carlos, who was still only wearing his wife-beater tee shirt. “Go put on a proper shirt,” he said in a low voice, though everyone could hear him. “You’re being rude to our guests and your mother.”

  Carlos left the room, returning a couple of minutes later. He had put on a shirt but wore it inside out, most likely to piss off his father. Mr. Castillo didn’t comment.

  Elise was glad she’d smoked the marijuana. It took the edge off what she imagined would have been a tense meal. A woman in a black-and-white uniform was pouring wine. She glanced at Mrs. Castillo when she came to Elise’s glass.

  “Yes, of course,” Mrs. Castillo said. “A little wine won’t hurt anything.” The server filled Elise’s glass, then Carlos’s.

  Elise picked up the cut crystal wine glass; the light glinted off the edges. She took a sip of wine. Ummm, nice. Everything was feeling much nicer than usual. Jeremy was looking at her curiously. Maybe she’d forgive him, after all. They’d go to a movie tonight and then, after they got home, they’d talk about things. That’s what she missed most. The talking.

  “These wine glasses belonged to my great-grandmother,” Mrs. Castillo said. “She brought them from Spain. My family was from the Basque region. Aristocracy. We go back many, many generations.”

  “Your family moved to Cuba?” Jeremy asked. Her brother was far more alert than Elise was.

  “Yes,” Mrs. Castillo said. “But we’re of Spanish descent.”

  “You were born in Cuba,” Carlos said. “So anyway you cut it, you’re Cuban.”

  Mr. Castillo gave Carlos a silencing look.

  “The wine glasses are beautiful,” Elise said.

  Mrs. Castillo smiled. She had very small teeth.

  “I’m glad you were able to join us for dinner, Elise and Jeremy.”

  Mr. Castillo’s facial expression had returned to amiable host. That’s probably why he was so successful— he didn’t show his real feelings. Elise’s dad had been the opposite. If he was angry about something, he couldn’t hide it. “I know how busy you both are,” Mr. Castillo was saying, “with school and work. In fact, Jeremy, I understand you’re at Castillo Enterprises this week. How are you enjoying it?”

  “It’s pretty interesting.”

  He was lying, Elise knew. He looked you straight in the eye without blinking when he was lying. She knew that about Jeremy, but no one else did.

  “My grandfather said he was your father’s accountant many years ago,” Jeremy said.

  “My father had the greatest respect for your grandfather, as do I.” Mr. Castillo sipped his wine. “As I did for your mother.”

  “Have some more wild rice,” Mrs. Castillo said. She pushed the serving platter in Jeremy’s direction. “And another Cornish hen. Aren’t they wonderful?”

  “Very good,” Jeremy said.

  “I’m sorry I can’t show you around the offices personally, Jeremy,” Mr. Castillo said. “I’m flying out to visit some of our properties for a few days.”

  Mrs. Castillo widened her eyes. “You’ve rescheduled your trip to the Olympus Grande? Why didn’t you tell me? I’d like to come.”

  Mr. Castillo was cutting his Cornish hen and didn’t look up. “You’d be bored, Liliam. I’ll just be in meetings.”

  “I could go to the meetings with you.” She turned toward Elise. “He thinks I’m just a housewife and I’m not capable of running anything but my home, but I’m very involved with my volunteer organizations. I don’t need a fancy career—”

  “Liliam, you’re boring our guests.”

  “You always say that when you don’t like what I’m saying. But you talk about how much you respected Rachel just because—”

  “Liliam, that’s not appropriate.”

  “Mom, why can’t you just be quiet?” Carlos’s face was pale.

  “Ay, dios mio.” Mrs. Castillo raised her hands to her cheeks. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to upset everyone. And certainly, I meant nothing against your mother. She was a wonderful woman.” She crossed herself and glanced over at her husband. “It’s just, I’ve always wanted to see the Olympus, and my husband never finds the time to take me.”

  “It’s a business trip, Liliam, not a vacation.”

  “You know, Jeremy and Elise,” Mrs. Castillo said, “Olympus Grande is one of the most exclusive hotels in the world. It’s on its own private island called St. Mary’s. Can you imagine, only villas and executive and junior suites? Regular people don’t even know about it. Just the very wealthiest. That’s right, isn’t it, querido?” She smiled at her husband.

  “Perhaps next time I’ll take you. When I won’t be so busy. Would you care for some coffee, Jeremy?”

  Chapter 19

  The boy was like his mother— a natural-born auditor. He had a sixth sense for sniffing out trouble, Irv Luria decided. The skeletons everyone else wanted to keep buried.

  Irv knotted his bow tie in the mirror, trying to ignore the reflection of the grotesque face that couldn’t possibly be his. But the blotched red cheeks, the flattened nose, the dead eyes, kept entering his peripheral vision. Fuck this. He stepped out of the bathroom, his bow tie hanging crooked.

  Jeremy Lazar Stroeb, youthful avenger, quixotic hero. Just like his mother.

  Irv had seen him after the staff meeting, hovering suspiciously behind the elevator bank. He’d probably gone snooping around his mother’s office while the partners were at lunch. The teacup and shawl had been out of place.

  But what could Irv do? He’d tried to keep Jeremy hidden in the file room, but Bud had killed that plan. And now the boy was out. And with his charm, how long before people would warm to him and spill their guts— tell Jeremy everything they knew, or thought they knew? Because the fact was, no one knew shit about the truth.

  And no one knew Rachel like Irv knew Rachel.

  He shuffled across the stone-tiled floor of his penthouse toward the kitchen. The path was clear— thanks to the absence of furniture. When Candace had announced she couldn’t stand living with a self-centered, egomaniacal prick, he’d told her to get the hell out. To take her things and get the hell out. He’d returned from work that night and found the apartment completely empty.

  At first he’d been furious. That little bitch. Good thing he hadn’t married her like she’d been pressuring him to do. Then, he had sat down on the cold floor, which she’d had installed when she’d moved in a couple of years before. He began to laugh and laugh until tears ran down his cheeks. Candace was an interior designer and she’d furnished the place in some weird Buddhist-Louis XIV eclectic style all the home design magazines wanted to photograph. So naturally, when he’d said to take her things, she’d included the quarter of a million in furnishings she’d selected. Too bad she couldn’t have taken the stone flo
ors, as well.

  He’d made do with a mattress on the bedroom floor and a couple of plastic chairs he’d picked up at the drugstore. And it turned out he liked that better. A hell of a lot better.

  His feet were throbbing in his tight shoes. He was tempted to believe the shoes had shrunk in his closet, but he knew they were a full size larger than he used to wear. Water retention, his doctor had said. And try to lay off the drinking, Irv. Your liver’s gotten so big, there’s practically no room left for it in your gut.

  Irv opened the refrigerator door. The shelves were stacked with cans of Budweiser and Coke. No food. He rarely ate at home. For an emergency he had a loaf of bread and a couple of steaks in the freezer. He took out a can of Coke and popped off the lid. See— he didn’t have a drinking problem. It wasn’t as if he needed to grab a beer first thing in the morning.

  Rachel had been completely mistaken about him. But even though she’d made a stink about it, he knew it wasn’t his drinking that disturbed her. Maybe she’d decided it was time to bury her fallen god. But he was kidding himself. In Rachel’s eyes, Irving Luria had lost his luster a long, long time ago.

  Irv pulled open the sliding glass door to the balcony. There was still a splendid view of Biscayne Bay and the Rickenbacker Causeway. He’d bought the condo over thirty years back, when it was one of the first high-rises on Brickell Avenue and most of the surrounding lots were verdant estates. Since then, building after building— one taller than the next— had sprung up along the bay. He leaned his elbows against the railing and sipped his Coke. He remembered the one time he brought Rachel here.

  He and Rachel had taken a prospective client, a major bank, out to dinner. Rachel had been with the firm less than three years, but Irv had insisted she team with him on closing the deal. And what a team they made. Witty, charming, dazzling, and above all, professionally credible. The bankers shook hands with them after dinner and announced they were delighted to have PCM as their new auditors.