Pool of Lies

by J. M. Zambrano

  “Public domain?”

  “So to speak.”

  “It hasn’t made the news so far. These people give new meaning to the expression low profile. What’s to prepare?”

  “Herself!”

  Rae saw Veronica lose her composure for the first…no, the second time. The first being their confrontation over Justin’s parentage.

  “You saw the tape, Rae. You heard Mrs. Lassiter trashing her mother. How would you like to be in Mrs. Farris’s shoes, watching her most intimate secrets hung out for public viewing?”

  “What if it wasn’t her first viewing either?”

  “You think Sergeant Wehr was doing a little blackmail on the side?” Veronica’s mane ruffled with her head-shake. “I can’t believe you. I’m going to remind you again, you’ve got no reason--”

  “Yes I have. A million or so.” Rae’s internal calculator had kicked in and began clicking off decimals.

  “What are you talking about? You’re a mother. You should have some feeling for the woman.”

  “I do. For the woman who was murdered. Maybe by her own greedy relatives. Maybe by her own mother.”

  “Make some sense.”

  “The GST tax on Jerome Bayfield’s estate has got to be a whopper.”

  “I have no idea--”

  “Generation skipping transfer tax. Jerome Bayfield’s bequest to Deidre and her children skipped her mother, Morgan.”

  “What do you mean, skipped her mother? Morgan Farris got a substantial--”

  “Right, but as I recall from the probate file, Deidre’s Trust was equal to Morgan’s. It didn’t feed from Morgan’s.”

  Now Rae had Veronica’s full attention. “But Jerome was Morgan’s grandfather. That means--”

  “Morgan’s mother was already dead. Generation-skipping only applies to living generations skipped.”

  “Will you stop interrupting me.” Veronica’s expression had taken on some worry lines. “Let’s see if I’ve got this right. Because Mrs. Lassiter was the daughter, not the sister of Morgan Bayfield, a generation was skipped when Jerome Bayfield willed something directly to her.”

  “You got it.”

  “And there’s a tax attached to that skipping.”

  “I’ve seen the numbers in the probate inventory, as well as the will. Morgan’s and Deidre’s trusts were funded approximately equally. There’s a lousy little one and a half mil exemption.”

  “Little? Since when is one and a half million little?”

  “In this estate, trust me, it’s peanuts.”

  Veronica sank slowly into her chair and stared at nothing. “She seemed so vulnerable.”

  “The mother from hell?”

  Veronica nodded slowly. “Her embarrassment could very well be overshadowed by her greed.” Then her mouth gaped, as if she’d thought of something else. “What if she knowingly signed documents…tax returns?”

  Light bulb in Rae’s head. “Now it makes sense why she didn’t want to be P/R of Deidre’s estate. Possibly, Danny’s the only one who didn’t know the true relationship between Deidre and Morgan.”

  “That must be what Wehr meant by relationships affecting the estate. I think she was just guessing, but I never would have picked up on its having a monetary consequence.” Veronica’s tone was hushed, apologetic.

  “That’s why you hired me.”

  Over a week had passed since Rae had spoken with Danny Lassiter. Not that she wasn’t concerned about his health. It just seemed awkward now that she was employed by the Lakewood Police Department. What would have been ordinary conversation between them was now off-limits.

  She struggled with a prickling curiosity to know if Danny was aware of Deidre’s true parentage. No way could she ask him without leaking information. How would he react to the knowledge? Not her call to find out.

  Rae’s intention, upon leaving Veronica’s office, had been to return to her own and come up with some sort of estimate of the GST tax due as a result of Deidre’s being a great-granddaughter rather than a granddaughter. But the thought of Danny wouldn’t leave her alone. Instead of continuing north on Wadsworth, she made an abrupt turn, heading west past Crown Hill Cemetery and the lush green surrounding the lakes of Crown Hill Park. Danny’s house was only a few minutes out of her way. Couldn’t hurt. If she kept her mouth shut about the tape she’d just seen.

  A dark sky, clotted with rain clouds, menaced the western horizon. Rae remembered the forecast had been for afternoon rains—much needed as the wildfire season approached. But all the rain in the world could be sucked up in the dryness of a Colorado summer. A parched land, just waiting for a stray bolt of lightning—or a careless smoker. The front range was a tinderbox. Dry twigs. Voices like dry twigs. Where had she…

  Rae almost missed the turn onto Danny’s street. God, she hoped he’d had the sense to chuck the smoking habit once and for all. Since the heart attack, his life might depend on it.

  Then she thought she’d turned down the wrong street. The lake was there, blue-green waters writhing in a swell of wind. But the house that sat where Danny’s had was surely not the one she’d last visited when bringing him home from the hospital.

  It had no roof! Where the roof had been, a black plastic tarp surged in the restless air. But, there was the dumpster to the east of the driveway.

  As she tried to assimilate all the changes that had transformed the house, a horn honked behind her. She glanced into her rear-view and saw Danny’s old truck. Danny, in the driver’s seat, waved at her. She pulled to the side of the road and allowed him to enter the circular drive ahead of her. Then she followed and parked beside a bank of tiered planters, fresh with blooming annuals. Why had he done landscaping before putting a roof on the house?

  He grinned as he hurried toward her. Still a little pale, he exuded an enthusiasm that she hadn’t seen in him for quite a while.

  “Well, what do you think? No more mausoleum.” Danny wore a pleased-with-himself chessy cat expression.

  Rae couldn’t help but smile back. “Didn’t you forget something, Danny?”

  A look of genuine puzzlement crossed his face.

  “It’s got no roof.”

  “But that’s the best part.” He nodded toward another truck parked along side the garage, and Rae recognized Pat Keech’s logo on its side.

  As she exited her car, the sound of hammering pummeled her ears, coming from somewhere on the far side of the property.

  “We’re doing a pop-top. Lots of glass. Solar panels. Nobody in this house is going to be hiding from the sun.”

  Dollar signs whirred in Rae’s head. “This looks expensive.” Where was the money coming from? She dared not ask if he’d paid Deidre’s past-due personal income taxes. Not her problem anymore.

  He took her arm and guided her up the new red tile steps. Her eyes bugged and she missed a step. As if reading her mind, he said, “Stop being a CPA for a minute and just enjoy. Say ‘great job, Danny’.”

  “It does look great. Just took me by surprise.” Rae watched beads of perspiration form on Danny’s brow. “You’re not overdoing things, are you?”

  “Overbuilding? I don’t think so, based on what other properties are selling for around here, even in the recession.”

  “No. I mean your health. It just looks like you’re taking on a lot.”

  “I’m feeling better than I have…in a while,” Danny finished lamely, some of his exuberance waning.

  He's planning on living here, not selling.

  “I took out a line of credit,” Danny continued. “It’ll be paid when the other properties sell.”

  “Does Sandy know?” Rae blurted, remembering the surprise generated at Danny’s homecoming, when he’d revealed that he’d put a first mortgage on the residence.

  “He arranged it. Got me a great rate. Can you come inside and see what I’ve done so far?”

  What’s he done with the cash from the first mortgage? It was no longer her business, except for the fact that she hadn’
t been paid for her services, past or current. Sandy must be on top of the situation.

  From the east side of the deck, at the entrance to the drive, Rae saw a discarded hot tub—one of the old-fashioned redwood tubs, scarred from many years of use. It had been hidden from her view by the commercial dumpster when she’d entered the drive at ground level. The tub was piled high with trash and debris from the remodel job.

  Danny’s voice, animated once more, updated her on what he’d been doing to the interior of the house. She caught the words “kitchen’ and “island,” but his voice seemed to be coming from a distance. Rae couldn’t take her eyes off the tub. It was filled with more than debris.

  Deidre had a face now. And a body. She filled the tub, bigger than life. Wisps of her black hair floated on murky water. Lifeless, pale eyes in a face beginning to bloat. Rae shook her head to disengage from the images burned into her skull from the two videotape sessions.

  “Rae? Are you okay?”

  Danny’s voice jerked her back from a dark place she never wanted to see again.

  “Yeah. Just a little tired. Could we do a rain check on the interior?”

  “Sure.” But he looked hurt.

  “It’s just been a couple of really hard days.”

  “Dee’s case?”

  “You know I can’t--”

  “No sweat. I wasn’t going to ask.”

  “I just wanted to check on you.” Have you quit smoking? Are you eating right? Mother hen speaking. Why haven’t you paid me when you’re spending money like a drunken sailor? CPA speaking. She’d call Sandy when she got home.

  “I’m being good, Rae. Josh and Beth watch me like hawks now that school is out.”

  “They’re great kids. You’re lucky.”

  “How’re your kids doing? And your grandkids?”

  “Good. I miss them. I’m supposed to be going to California for…” she trailed off. No use going into that with Danny.

  “Supposed to? Is there some reason you can’t? Do you need horse sitters? I’m sure Josh or Beth--”

  “No, it’s not that,” she cut him off. “It’s not till next spring. I mean, a lot could happen between now and then.”

  “More reason to go sooner rather than later.”

  She looked at him. Did she really look so bad that he was worried about her health?

  “Danny, I’m fine. Just kind of drained at the moment.”

  “That’s not what I meant.” His chestnut eyes took on a new earnestness. “What I meant was I’ve come to appreciate…I didn’t see a white light or anything…but something has changed for me since I had the heart attack.”

  “I can see that.” She reached over and gave his arm a squeeze. “I’ll be back.”

  She started toward the front steps. Danny followed.

  “Go see your kids.”

  She smiled back at him. “I’ll mull it.”

  “Don’t mull too long.” He shot a grin at her.

  She made the stairs without looking in the direction of the hot tub. The rain smelled close now on heavy air. She got quickly into her car, making a conscious effort to look straight ahead. As she pulled forward around the circular drive, she waved cheerily to Danny, hoping he didn’t catch sight of the gritted teeth under her smile.

  Mull it, my ass. A speckle of rain drops sprouted on her windshield. More ghosts than Deidre’s surfaced in her mind’s eye.

  I don’t need this right now. Irrational anger at Danny flared in her. But she’d been the one to bring it up about California. And it wasn’t Danny that she was angry with. She was still just as mad at God as she’d been thirteen years ago, when Anthony had died. And this damn case, with all its gruesome, hateful secrets popping up like worms from a corpse, wasn’t helping matters. Even if it was for her grandson’s first communion, God was on her list, and no way was she going into His house. Not after Anthony.

  *****

  When Rae paused for the mail at the beginning of her drive, a window envelope bearing Sandy’s return address topped the pile. Her curiosity wouldn’t let her wait. She tore it open and found her account had been brought current from Deidre’s estate. Not that it was an earth-shattering amount, but it made her feel more confident that Danny, with Sandy’s guidance, wasn’t letting things get out of hand.

  The red numeral four was flashing on her answering machine when she entered her office. She listened to two client calls, duly made notes of their problems. Fortunately, not the same two that had left early messages. She’d call them all back before the day was over.

  The third call was from Stephen. “Hey, Mom. Sorry I missed you. I’m going to Miami for the weekend. You don’t have to call me back. Not a big deal. Catch you later.”

  Oh, fine. That means it is a big deal.

  Rae shook her head.

  The fourth call was from Fredricka Halperin.

  “Mrs. Esposito, I made a mistake about when I wrote my paycheck.”

  Rae noted the number on the caller ID. Not Bayfield Enterprises. In the ID box she read F. Halperin. Fredricka must have called from home. On a weekday. During business hours. Not a good sign. Rae frowned as she listened to the contrition in Freddie’s voice. “I’m sorry for any inconvenience my mis-remembering may have caused you.”

  Morgan hadn’t come out of her room in two days. When Nate knocked on her door, she wouldn’t answer. Or she told him to leave her alone.

  They’d buried Kevin. Just a quick get-him-in-the-ground. A minimal group had shown up. The kid hadn’t had any friends.

  Morgan had held up, like a stone holds up, until after they’d gotten it done. Closed casket. He hadn’t been that disfigured, but who’d really wanted to see the dead kid?

  The question was who wanted to see the kid dead. Now, you might draw a bunch from that pool, he rationalized. Not just Morgan. Put him in a crowd, and the kid was like Raid on an ant hill.

  Nate hadn’t a doubt that it had been something Kevin said or did that drove away the third maid in the last five months. Maybe Kevin had just looked at her the wrong way. Those minority types could be pretty sensitive.

  The one who’d left after just three days had been butt-ugly and a lousy cook. Maybe it hadn’t been her cooking, just to look at her had taken his appetite. But the one before her had been a real good worker. Kind of cute, too. He’d considered calling her and saying, It’s okay, you can come back now. He’s dead. But he’d thought better of it. As soon as Morgan was out of her latest funk, they’d run another ad. This time he would do the hiring.

  The fact that Beth came and went freely from Morgan’s room assured him she was still alive and not in need of medical attention. Then he asked himself if it was prudent to depend on the judgment of a fifteen-year-old.

  But the kicker was the fermenting memory of the partial conversation between Sam and Morgan. The more he replayed it, the more he came to believe that Morgan had been there in Sam’s office, not on the speaker phone. That’s when Nate admitted the truth: he was afraid of what he’d see in Morgan’s room. If he opened that bedroom door, Morgan’s spider eyes might snap him up like some fly. He knew this was totally illogical, but the longer silence hung between them, the bigger his fear grew.

  Beth took Morgan food, but told him she just picked at it. When she ate even a little, her migraines made her throw up. Beth said Morgan didn’t want him to see her like that. What was new to see? He’d seen her bare face, cleaned barf off it many a time during her killer migraines throughout the early years of their marriage. The only thing he couldn’t do was the shots. Something about putting a needle into somebody’s flesh creeped him out.

  What was new was that Deidre was dead and Kevin was dead. When Morgan’s mom and granddad had died she hadn't taken to her bed. The migraines had returned when Deidre died. Nate kept circling back to that point, the repetition forming a deep rut in his thought patterns.

  The inertia of it all was doing a number on his head. Why hadn’t that sexy Detective Sanchez called him about his lead?
Maybe the Esposito woman had forgotten to give her the paper…the lease application that tied JJ Camacho to Detective Reggie Navarro.

  Now on the afternoon of the second day after they planted Kevin, Nate sat in the kitchen, thinking about making some tea for Morgan. The thing inside him was ballooning. He had to break the barrier of silence between them.

  As he got up to find the tea bags, the phone rang. He hesitated, and in his hesitation the ringing stopped. But the red light was still on. Beth had gone somewhere with Josh. Morgan was the only other person in the house.

  Nate wavered, his hand hovering over the receiver. Then he carefully picked it up, covering the mouthpiece with a potholder.

  He heard Morgan’s voice. Numbers. She was reading off numbers.

  “We can have that for you in about an hour, Mrs. Bayfield,” a man’s voice said.

  Mrs. Bayfield. Not Mrs. Farris. He was her husband and he was all but invisible. Jerome Bayfield was dead. Why didn’t she chuck that Bayfield name?

  “Thank you.” Morgan’s voice, even-toned, no tears in it.

  Her migraine prescription. That’s what the numbers were.

  The inertia was suddenly gone. Something clicked in Nate’s head—besides an urgent need to get out of that house.

  *****

  At work, he tried to act normal in front of Sam and Fredricka.

  Then he shut himself in his office—as if either of them would barge in and look over his shoulder. But what he was doing was so far from anything he’d ever planned.

  Nate paused before opening his laptop. No, he had to do it. Self-preservation was a basic instinct. He stared at the open laptop for only a moment, logged on, then went on the internet.

  Colorado Revised Statutes. He scrolled until he came to what he was looking for: Section 13-90-107. Who may not testify without consent.

  After printing out what he considered relevant, he went to the section concerning Marital Property. More particularly, division of marital property upon divorce.