I felt my palms getting sweaty. “Are you telling me that this is an original advertising poster from 1941?” It couldn’t be. Ned Healy didn’t have any money to buy such a thing. Or had he bought it long ago, and Samantha and Jack didn’t know he had it?
Henri pulled his glasses off. “Maybe. It could be a very good replica. I need to examine it much more closely before I can say for certain.”
“Okay,” I said. I stared at the poster again. Maybe I was getting excited for nothing. That had to be it. “There’s no hurry. Let me know when you find out if it’s a reproduction or not.”
“Yes, I think I can fit it in. Business has been very good lately. This other gentleman that just came in, I’ve been working with him on some wonderful memorabilia. His collection is truly amazing, some very valuable pieces, but he is parting with some of it.” He gestured at the poster. “But for you, I can make some time. I’ll call you in a few days, maybe a week?”
“That’ll be fine,” I said.
“While you’re here, you want a nice picture of Bacall?” he asked me with a sly smile. “She’s very sexy, yes?” He took every opportunity to tease me about my adoration of Lauren Bacall.
“No, Henri,” I said with a laugh. “Not today.” A beeping interrupted us. My cell phone.
Jack Healy was on the other end. “I need to talk to you,” he said before I could finish saying “hello.” He sounded angry.
“What’s going on?”
“It’s Samantha,” he said, spitting out the words. “I should have known it was her. She’s as greedy as he ever was. If ever there was evil incarnate – ”
“Jack,” I said, discreetly turning away from Henri. “What about Samantha?”
“That bitch,” he almost screamed. “She’s getting a half-million dollar life insurance payoff.”
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Jack Healy worked in one of the many lackluster-designed office buildings in the Inverness Business Park, south of downtown.
As I turned off County Line Road, a typical Colorado afternoon thunderstorm began, dumping gallons of rain in seconds and slowing traffic. I drove east until I came to Jack’s building, a silver three-story sprawling complex on the south side of the road. I pulled into visitor parking, got out and dashed through the downpour. By the time I skidded through the sliding glass doors to the reception area, my shirt stuck to me like another layer of skin. As I made an attempt to appear more presentable, I asked for Jack Healy. A petite brunette who sat behind a large, curved desk pointed to the elevators, saying I should get off on the third floor, where a receptionist would escort me to Jack’s office.
“Thanks for coming,” Jack said when I entered his spacious office. He stood up and leaned over a long oak desk to shake my hand. The receptionist pulled the door shut behind me without saying a word. “Have a seat.”
I plopped into a soft chair with green cushions and stared back at Jack. Behind him was a huge set of bookcases filled with large black binders and a few knick knacks. Jack looked diminutive sitting amongst the furniture.
“How did you hear about the life insurance policy?” I asked. Jack had been so upset when he called that I thought I’d better go talk to him in person before he decided to go confront Samantha himself.
“Right, the beginning,” Jack said, heaving a deep sigh. He ran his hands over his face, then got up and began pacing in front of a wall-to-wall window that had an expansive view of the Front Range, now obscured by the torrential rainstorm.
“I came back from lunch and there was a message to call my lawyer.” Jack waved his hands around as he talked, emphasizing his words. “No big deal, right? I get calls from him all the time. But this time, when I call him he says that he just got news of a life insurance policy that Ned took out after he and Samantha were first married, and did I know about it.”
“Did you?”
Jack glared at me. “No. This was news to me, and that’s what I told John, my lawyer. So I said give me the details. It’s a $500,000 policy with Samantha Healy as the beneficiary if Ned died by accident or natural causes, but the policy is null and void if he commits suicide.”
“That’s standard.”
“I know. But what I want to know is why Samantha’s name was still on the policy. They’ve been divorced for over a year, so why would Ned still have her as the beneficiary?”
“He probably didn’t get around to changing the name on the policy.”
Jack crossed his arms and leaned on the window ledge. “That’s what John said. He also said he looked at the policy and it’s correct. There’s nothing wrong with it, so Samantha will get the payoff. The insurance company contacted him about the specifics of paying her. That’s when he called me.” His eyes narrowed as he looked at me. “Don’t you get it?”
I gazed at him thoughtfully. “I know where you’re going with this. If Samantha knew about the policy, she could’ve killed Ned, made it look like an accident, and then she gets the money. One of the oldest stories in the book.” I thought of Double Indemnity and other movies and novels with an insurance scam in the plot. Bogie would’ve loved this.
Jack’s head nodded in agreement. “Yes! It fits.”
“Don’t get ahead of yourself, Jack. Ned’s death was ruled an accident, and at this point Samantha is innocent.”
“But it makes sense. Ned once said that Samantha never seemed to have enough money, so the insurance would get her that. And she refuses to get a real job. Did she tell you about her acting career?”
“Uh-huh. Missed an opportunity to work with Spielberg,” I said. Jack snorted his disgust.
“Now she’ll have plenty of money.” Jack’s anger fizzled out and he stared at his shoes. “At Ned’s expense.”
I sat in silence for a moment before saying, “I’ll go talk to Samantha. But she may not have done anything to Ned. She’s not guilty of anything yet,” I reiterated.
Jack looked up at me. “Yet.”
*****
I fought Friday afternoon rush-hour traffic and rain as I headed west on C-470 to Samantha’s home, but by the time I pulled into her driveway, the thunderstorm had moved further east, replaced by bright sunshine and a hazy rainbow arching over Denver.
The air conditioner in the car had nearly dried my clothes, but I took a moment to comb my hair before I went to the front door. It was almost five o’clock. Since Samantha didn’t have a regular job, I was counting on her being home.
I rang the bell and waited. The air smelled crisp and clean, with a pleasant touch of moisture. I hummed one chorus of the Jeopardy! song before I heard footsteps approach. My last encounter with Samantha was still fresh in my mind, so I prepared to put my shoulder in the doorway.
“Oh, it’s you,” was all Samantha said when she opened the door and saw me. No slamming it shut, no cursing, just “It’s you.” Probably the worst reaction a man could get from a pretty woman.
She wore a skin-tight scarlet dress that was pulled down over her shoulders, and black heels that added six inches to her height. The dress was cut mid-thigh, exposing her long legs. She wore a generous amount of makeup, making her brown eyes bigger and her rosy lips more sensual, and her aura seemed less angry than the first time I met her. She was, in a word, hot.
“I need to ask you a few more questions,” I said, getting right to the point. I didn’t know how long her good mood would last.
“Okay,” Samantha said as she put on a gold necklace. “But you have to make it quick. I’m expecting company.”
“A boyfriend?”
She placed a hand on the doorknob. “If you want to ask about my personal life, you’re wasting your time.”
I raised a supplicating hand. “Just curious. What I really want is information about Ned’s life insurance policy.”
“So you’ve heard.”
“Jack called me.”
“What about it?”
“Did you know about the policy?”
“Sure. I felt it was important that our f
uture was protected, in case something happened to Ned.”
“Your future was protected, not his.”
“If you say so.” Her lips turned down in a pout.
“Why did Ned leave you as the beneficiary of the policy after you divorced?”
She met my gaze and held it. “I don’t know. Perhaps you should ask Ned.”
I was not amused. “Since we both know that’s impossible,” I said evenly, “I’m trying to ask those close to him why he would do that.”
“I wasn’t close to Ned. That’s why I divorced him.”
“And since he died, accidentally, you stand to get a tidy sum of money.” She didn’t say a word. “It would seem that he still felt close to you, so he left your name on the policy, or he just forgot to make a change.” More silence. “I’d guess the latter.”
“That’s all you’re doing – guessing.” She spoke with a cool assurance.
My eye twitched in anger, so I counted silently to five. “Where were you when Ned died?”
“It’s come to this? You think I killed Ned? Somehow I would’ve expected more from you,” she said with a disappointed wag of her head. “I haven’t seen him in almost a year, so how could I have killed him?” I waited. She drew in a long breath. “I was at my acting class until almost eleven. Not that it’s any business of yours, but after class I came back here with a friend of mine. He was with me all night. I told the police that already.”
“What acting class?”
“Higher-level method acting.” It sounded like some kind of new age class to me.
“What school?”
“Denver Alternative College.” I’d never heard of it.
“And the name of your friend?”
Her eyes became slits. “That’s none of your business.”
“Maybe your friend helped you.”
“With what?”
“Killing Ned. You get Ned drunk, stoned on pills, then take him up into the mountains and run him off the side of a cliff. Neat and tidy. You have an alibi, and now you get the insurance money. Although you would have to split it with your friend. But that’s the breaks, I guess.”
Samantha stared at me, but said nothing. Just then a forest-green Lexus pulled into the driveway next to my car. A tall, sturdy man with reddish-blond hair got out and strolled over.
“Hello, Sam,” he said to her, throwing me a tentative smile. He had the weary look of someone who had just come from work, with bags under his eyes and a tired expression on his face. He wore a gray three-piece business suit tailored to show off his sleek physique and bulky arms, and a silk tie loosened at the collar.
“Why don’t you ask Alan yourself,” she said to me.
“Ask me what?” His eyes darted from her to me and back to her again, lingering on her dress.
“Nothing, honey.” She opened the door and Alan stepped cautiously past me and into the house. Once inside, he pecked Samantha on the cheek, then gave me a cursory glance, noting the silence between us. “Are you ready to go?” he finally asked her as he went on down the hall, obviously familiar with the house.
“Just a second,” she called to him. She leaned towards me, whispering. “Alan and I killed Ned for the insurance money – right. You should write screenplays. That’s a perfect plot out of some B-grade mystery movie.”
Or the classic Double Indemnity, I wisely chose not to say.
She stepped even closer, pulling the door partway closed. “This is the last time I’m going to say this. I don’t know why Ned kept my name on the policy, but he did, and I’m not going to turn down half a million dollars. Not for you, and certainly not for that brother of Ned’s. For the second time, I have been more than patient with you and your silly questions. If you bother me again, I’m going to get the police involved.”
“If you change your mind, and there’s something you want to tell me,” I said, pointing to my business card, which I noticed was still lying on the half-table behind her, “you know how to reach me.”
She whirled around, and in one swift motion, she plucked the card off the table and ripped it in half. “Leave me alone,” she said, letting the torn pieces drop to the floor like snowflakes. By the force with which she slammed the door, I knew I succeeded in making her mad.
I stood on the porch a moment. So her apparent boyfriend’s name was Alan. She let that one slip out. Alan who? And did my theory have even a hint of reality to it? Did Samantha know that Ned hadn’t changed the name on the policy, and did she kill Ned, or have Alan help her kill Ned? She was right about one thing, I thought as I sauntered back to my car. It did sound like the plot from a B-grade movie.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
I stopped to grab a fast-food burger, and by the time I finished and drove from Samantha’s to B 52’s in downtown Denver, it was close to seven. I was well past the time that I’d asked Deuce to meet me, but I knew that the pool tables would keep him from missing me. It was Friday, but I was lucky enough to find a parking space in a lot kitty-corner from B 52’s, and I walked the half block down, past happy-hour people enjoying the start of the weekend.
Inside B 52’s the sound of ’80’s music, U2 singing about Martin Luther King Jr., blared from hidden speakers. The hostess at the door recognized me and directed me to the back where Deuce was in the middle of a game of pool with Ace.
“Hey Reed,” Deuce said after he sunk the 9-ball in a corner pocket. He lined up his next shot but missed.
“I got you a beer.” Deuce handed me a Fat Tire with condensation dripping down the side. “Ace is watching the house right now. He said he wasn’t scared of any ghosts, but that he didn’t want to stay past ten because he’s got to get up early for work. He said to call him and he’ll give you a report.”
“That’s great,” I said, taking a sip of the beer.
“And he says you owe him a game of pool because he’s missing out.”
I smiled. “I can do that, too.”
“Bob’s meeting us here.”
“Oh yeah?” Bob was the older brother to the Goofballs. I hadn’t even known of his existence until he moved from the East Coast back to Denver a year ago. He had apparently taken the best of the Smith gene pool in the first round, leaving his two younger brothers to sort through the leftovers. Bob was an EMT and operated with a full deck – more than could be said of his siblings. But Bob had felt a first-born’s concern to keep an eye out for his brothers, which prompted his cross-country move.
“We’re trying to teach Bob how to play pool,” Deuce said. The Goofball Brothers may not have gotten much from the gene pool, but they definitely had ownership of billiards talent. I’d seen Bob play a time or two, and he was horrendous.
“I win,” Deuce said as he sunk the 8 ball in a side pocket. “How about a game?”
I picked up a cue, waited for Deuce to rack the balls, and then I broke them with a loud crack. It felt good, like letting the business of the day shoot across the green tabletop. As we played, I chewed on the events of the day: Cal’s research on Garrett Owens and Dominic Saunders, my visit to Henri’s shop, Jack learning about the insurance policy, and my conversation with Samantha. I couldn’t shake a feeling like I’d missed something.
I wasn’t concentrating, so Deuce beat me easily, and I suckered for another game. Deuce emerged the victor and had just challenged me to yet another game when his pupil arrived.
Bob Smith was a carbon copy of his brothers – or, since he was the oldest, I suppose the brothers were copies of him. Tall and slim, with soft gray eyes, Bob had an engaging smile and a gentle demeanor.
“Bob,” Deuce said, clapping his brother on the back. He chattered excitedly, telling Bob about how he had helped me out.
“Trey,” I said, shaking Bob’s hand. He always smiled when I called him by the nickname I’d given him when I first met him and mistook him for a third and youngest Goofball Brother.
“Spying on a house,” Bob said to Deuce as he returned my handshake. “Nothing dangerous?” he asked m
e, although there was a gleam in his eyes. He knew I would never do anything to harm the brothers, and that involving them in an investigation gave them a sense of importance.
“No,” I said, explaining that I was curious about who was coming and going from a house that was for sale.
“That sounds more fun than pool,” Bob said. Deuce grimaced, horrified.
“No way,” Deuce said. To the Goofball Brothers, mocking pool and billiards was like blaspheming to a churchgoer. Deuce grabbed a cue stick and gave it to Bob. “You have no idea what you’re missing out on. This is way better than detective work.”
Bob grinned at me. “What’s this latest case about?” he asked while listening to Deuce explain the finer points of handling the cue stick.
I explained what I had so far, which wasn’t much. “So I’ve got an angry ex-client who thinks Ned cheated him, and an angry ex-wife who gets to cash in on a life insurance policy,” I concluded.
“My bet’s on the insurance money,” Bob said. He rested the cue lightly on one hand, and attempted to aim at the cue ball. “So why is Ace still watching that house?” He pushed the cue forward and watched it glance off the ball. It rolled harmlessly past the remaining balls on the table. Deuce snickered.
“Try this,” I said, adjusting the way Bob was holding the stick. “I don’t know that there’s anything going on at the house. I was curious about all the activity, but it might mean nothing. The ex-wife could be perfectly innocent, too. For all I know, Ned’s death was an accident, just like the police deduced.”
Bob hit the cue ball and it inched its way to a solid ball, barely nudging it. “Let me watch you guys.” Bob stepped back and let his brothers play. “So where do you go from here?” he asked me.
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