Chapter Fifty
Isabel
Rang my mother one more time. Still nothing. I’d love to tell her about Harrison Blair’s unseemly liaison with the pool boy. Of course, I didn’t know if the fella cleaned the pool or not, but isn’t it always the pool boy? My mother loved it when the upper crust stooped low.
I could call her neighbor to see if they’d check in at her place. But what neighbor? I didn’t know Mom’s neighbors. Why couldn’t I remember new stepdaddy’s name? Knew less than zero about that dud. Mom moved across town with her winnings, an hour’s drive tops with traffic. But I steered clear. Oh, I’d been once or twice uninvited, but seeing me in person didn’t move her.
Maybe now things with her could change. Once she knew about the baby.
Except she wasn’t answering my calls. Discouraged but not defeated, I’d decided to try again later when my phone rang, still in my hand.
“Got the tapes back,” Jonathan said. “Or the video or whatever the hell.”
“What?”
“From the security cameras. Parking lot? Remember?”
“Oh right. Those,” I said.
“Am I interrupting? You sound ruffled or something.”
“I’m, I’m, you know, dusting. Not everyone’s got a housekeeper.”
“Anyway, not much to report,” Jonathan said.
“How’s that possible?”
“Cameras cover a limited space. I didn’t spring for any sophisticated security system when we expanded and added the extra lot, you know. My money goes elsewhere as if you didn’t—”
“So you got nothing?”
“Glimpse of a car at the curb but no way to know if the thing belonged to whoever broke in.”
“What do you know?”
“A lone person in dark clothes running across the lot. Head down, so can’t make out much of the face.”
“So still pretty much nothing,” I said, wondering why he’d bothered to call.
“Investigator not real jazzed to spend a lot of time on this because nothing bad happened.”
“Yet.”
“You’ll have to take a look,” Jonathan said. “See what you think.”
“You there now?”
“Yep.”
“Grabbing my purse as I speak. I’ll—”
“One really weird thing. Unusual anyway. Culprit’s a woman.”
“How do you know?”
His wife. I’m sure.
“Hair’s in a bun.”
Chapter Fifty-One
Preston
“Doing okay?” Smiley said. “At least it’s over. That’s about the best that can be said about funerals.”
Smiley must’ve been remembering his own young daughter’s burial. Guilt gave me a hardy jab. Why’d I go there? Me and my gigantic flapping mouth. Before I could break down for the umpteenth time my father sidled up beside me. Put an arm around my shoulders. He seemed less frazzled than when he’d arrived, late. I opened my mouth to ask what he’d been doing, to see if he’d blush, but felt I’d doled out enough damage today and kept it shut, plenty of time for inquisitions later.
“Come on, Preston. I’ll take you home,” Dad said.
“Listen Dad, Smiley’s gonna drive me home. Aren’t you?” I’d have been disappointed if he said no.
“Of course,” Smiley said.
My father didn’t argue but said to Smiley, “Thank you for bringing her and for all you’ve done to help. I hope you can figure out what the hell happened to Brendan Finney.”
“Working on it,” Smiley said. “Any word on Chief Finney?”
“Sadly, no. Other than he put in his papers and left town. Sometimes a change of scenery is the best thing.” His arm squeezed my shoulder tighter. “Hard to lose a child, as you know. You lost a daughter, didn’t you? If I recall that was a real tragedy. Hard to fathom such things go on in the world.”
I couldn’t tell by Smiley’s face how he took Dad’s remarks.
“You also lost a child. A son?” Smiley said.
An outside observer might think they were two dads, commiserating. Like a dog that knows an earthquake’s coming I sensed a low volt current moving through the air.
“Yes, our son, Cooper. That was a long time ago.” Dad let go of me, took a couple of backward steps. “What say we go to dinner, Preston? Six o’clock? We’ll go to that Italian place you love.”
“I don’t know,” I said. “Maybe another night.”
My father creeped me out now. What with his goofy-looking face, sleazy dalliances and preoccupation with my trust fund. I’d need to think before I’d agree to sit alone across a table from him.
Smiley stepped toward my father.
“Don’t you think it’s odd the Finneys missed their son’s funeral?”
“Not necessarily,” Dad said. “People deal with grief differently. No rule book.”
“He didn’t say a word to any of us,” Smiley said. “Finney was tight with his cops. Why didn’t he tell anyone goodbye?”
“Probably didn’t want any fuss.”
“Probably?” Smiley said. “You don’t know? Thought you two were best buds.”
“Marv Finney doesn’t owe me any explanations,” Dad said.
“Surely you can think of one, right? Something? Anything?” Smiley waited but got nothing from my now zip-lipped dad, so he went on. “Since Brendan was murdered have you considered the Finneys disappearance might involve foul play?”
Smiley moved even closer. Space invading at its finest. The undercurrent wasn’t so under anymore. My father and Smiley faced each other like gunslingers.
“Maybe I’ve been an attorney too long, but this feels like an interrogation,” Dad said.
“Not at all. I just get curious when things don’t add up.”
“You know what they say about curiosity,” Dad said, his eyes hard.
“Let’s go, Smiley.” I broke it up. “I’m tired. This has been a long day.”
Smiley took my arm. I felt obligated to wave my father on his way, but he’d beat tracks already. No sense in yelling goodbye to his retreating back.
Smiley said, “I think your father just threatened me.”
****
My dad looked weird, acted weird, and his young girlfriend was weird enough to run free in my parent’s house right alongside my mother—the trifecta of weirdness. I tried to make sense of it while Smiley and I meandered through the cemetery toward my car. He didn’t say anything so I assumed he mused on the same subject.
“Well, everyone cleared out pretty fast,” Smiley said at last.
Whatever I thought he’d say, that wasn’t it. I was all for tackling a different topic, however inane.
“Not like anyone knew Brendan, or me, really.”
They’d all avoided me like patient zero after I’d shown my ass graveside. Remembering my embarrassing performance made me uncomfortable so I walked faster as if I could outrun my behavior. Smiley had to have seen the whole bizarre incident.
“I never saw your mother leave. Did you?”
“Driver whisked her off.”
I left out the part where she’d brushed her gentle hand across my wet face on her way by or how the evocative scent of jasmine and roses stayed with me long after she’d gone.
“She came. That means something, doesn’t it?”
“Maybe. Maybe not,” I said.
I noticed right then that Smiley had held on to my arm the whole way, our elbows looped. I felt safe with him.
“So,” I said. “What was that with my father?”
“That was Todd Fitzgerald on defense.”
I stopped short. “So you do think my parents are involved with Brendan’s death.”
“I’m a long way from that, but no one’s off limits in a murder investigation.”
We walked again.
“What do you think happened to the Finneys?”
This time Smiley stopped. “Don’t look now, but someone’s hiding behind a tree across the road.
”
“Where?”
“I said don’t look—”
Too late. A feminine form, a flare of a skirt, tweaked my attention. In the split second I caught her face as she turned away from the old oak she’d hidden behind, I recognized her. Head down, scarf covering her hair and part of her face, hurrying away in the opposite direction—didn’t matter a whit. I’d know Brendan’s mother anywhere.
Chapter Fifty-Two
Isabel
Jonathan leaned away from the conference room table where he’d set up the video on his laptop. “Well? Any brilliant ideas?”
“Nope,” I said. “None.”
Jonathan stopped studying the parking lot film to study me. “Well, barring any unfortunate related event I guess we’ll never know, will we?”
“How would I know? Whoever bugged us probably got bored to death. God knows you’re tedious as Al Gore.”
“Why do I think these bugs are your doing?”
“Why would I bug my own office you nitwit?”
“Oh, I don’t think you did the bugging, you’re obviously not that engineering, but I wouldn’t be surprised if this whole fiasco is connected to you.”
“Leave the thinking for those better equipped.”
“If you aren’t involved in this I’ll be shocked.” Jonathan refocused his attention to his computer screen, dismissed me with the back of his head.
I didn’t need more time to tell that our mystery spy was Brendan Finney and not Jonathan’s wife. After Preston tried to kill Brendan with his own hippie bling at Haven House, Nurse Judy held him for observation and questioning until we could evaluate whether or not he’d been seriously injured or seemed even moderately litigious. I’d watched Preston’s artsy-fartsy husband wind up his bun with nervous abandon then secure the stupid thing with a thin paintbrush (of all the preposterous props).
Brendan Finney didn’t scare me. He died. Whatever he knew, which I doubt amounted to anything important, blew to bits along with him. Probably wanted to know if I knew anything interesting about Preston. Like if she planned to try to kill him again. If not, the meddling detective that dropped in on Preston at Haven House would’ve come poking around, wouldn’t he?
Yes, he would, for a few reasons. All bad. Better to plan my wedding instead. I flirted with the notion of telling Jonathan about Harrison’s new young stud but decided against loosening my lips just yet.
“What on earth are you smiling about?” Jonathan said. “These bugs are serious.”
“Thinking about my new life, the wedding, if you must know.”
“Ah, yes. Do let me know when you decide on a date. Wouldn’t miss that circus.” Jonathan turned his frown upside down at the thought I might actually get out of his thinning hair.
“Of course. Shall I add you and what’s-her-name to the guest list?”
“An announcement after the fact will do me fine.”
Let the jackass enjoy feeling superior. He didn’t know, but I’d saved a treat just for him. A reverse wedding present, if you will. I’d decided to never let Jonathan off my hook. Why would I? He wanted to hide our tryst from the little woman in perpetuity, didn’t he? Not to mention the ensuing pregnancy and abortion. It’d serve the two-timing, rutting pig right.
“Brendan Finney’s burial hit the news today.”
Speak of the rocket-launched devil.
“Really?” I said. “Haven’t been paying attention.”
“Do you ever? So you missed the big announcement?”
“What are you talking about?”
“Weird day for such things but nothing the Blair Fitzgeralds do surprises me anymore.”
“Spit it out,” I said.
“Todd Fitzgerald announced his retirement from the DA’s office today. At the cemetery gates.”
Chapter Fifty-Three
Preston
“Looks like the Finneys aren’t missing after all,” Smiley said. “At least Colleen isn’t.”
Of course, he could identify my mother-in-law. She’d been the boss’s wife for umpteen years. As close as Marv was to his cops, I’m sure the boys in blue and Colleen crossed paths more than once.
“Yeah, wow,” I said. “Guess not. Thought my eyes were playing tricks.”
We’d waited until the drive home before we started talking about seeing Colleen Finney traipse through the trees at the cemetery. Baffling.
“Why on earth would she hide at her own son’s burial?” I said. “She doesn’t like any of the Blair Fitzgeralds, but still. We wouldn’t have had to mingle, for God’s sake.” I thought about my mother-in-law and her scarf. “Why incognito? Undercover’s not her style, hardly a wallflower. And if she’s here, where the hell is Marv?”
“Good questions.” Smiley drove at a steady clip.
We both shut up for the rest of the way. Smiley knew more than he let on. He sped past the press through the gates to my house, waved to the guard on our way by, stopped in front of my new fountain.
“Parents shouldn’t bury their children,” he said out of the blue. “I’m sure the Finneys are in a lot of pain.”
I fiddled with the passenger door handle. The space inside my car felt squirmy. The stink from what I’d said to Smiley about his daughter before lingered. “Listen,” I said. “I’m so sorry I brought your daughter up. That was low. Even for me. I feel terrible about it.”
“Don’t worry about that, I’m fine. Grieving is an ugly process.”
I could see this day had taken a toll on Smiley too. The skin around Smiley’s mouth hung loose, the half-moons under his eyes looked swollen and dark. He’d aged years between the cemetery and my house. I didn’t press him on the Finneys. That could wait.
“Wonder why the press seemed so interested in your father,” Smiley said. “Better him than you. But it was kind of surprising to see him holding court at the cemetery gates of all places.”
“He probably called them.” I remembered my father’s just-in-time harried arrival graveside—phone in hand. “Haven’t you noticed my dad loves the camera? I’m just grateful he didn’t give phone interviews during the eulogy.”
“Why now though? Tacky, if you ask me.”
“That’s my father,” I said, “the titan of tacky.”
“Luckily, you’re the flavor of the moment for about two days, then the newshounds move on to some other salacious event.”
“Fingers crossed.”
I didn’t want to get out of the Rover, so I made no move to do it. Several peaceful seconds passed. I felt comfortable in the quiet with Smiley. Didn’t feel the need to fill the silence with zingers, quips, or anything at all—a first for me.
“Sure you’re okay?” Smiley covered my hand with his but this time didn’t snatch it back.
“You know,” I said. “I read once that one usually loves more than the other in a marriage. Brendan loved me more. He left but couldn’t stay gone. I didn’t miss him. He knew helping me wouldn’t end well, but he helped anyway. Brendan was full of kindness. I was cruel.”
“Try not to think like that. You’ll drive yourself—” He stopped before crazy came out. I almost laughed. “You can’t do anything about any of that now.” His neck turned a delicate pink. “Go forward.”
“I should go in,” I said with no enthusiasm. “I’ve kept you too long.”
“No worries. I’ll park the Rover by the garage.”
I swung the door open, dropped one leg out. “You’ll let me know if you find out anything about anyone?”
“I’ll tell you what I can. I promise.”
I wondered if he really would. Close-mouthed, this one. I’d need to do some more digging myself.
“Thank you for escorting me,” I said. “I’m sure you’ve got better things to do.”
I still felt the imprint of his hand on mine.
“My wife probably thinks so. She’ll let me know when I get home to her ever-growing list of honey-dos.”
Chapter Fifty-Four
Preston’s Blog
Musings from the Dented Throne
Four Secrets and a Funeral
I survived my husband’s funeral, but I’m not the same carefree Heiress. Since the topic depresses me, I won’t dwell. Best that can be said is, as the New Detective told me, it’s over.
How’s the New Detective, you ask?
Oh, my faithful, the copper’s got secrets.
Secret number one: New Detective’s fourteen-year-old daughter, his only child, got kidnapped and murdered by a serial psychopath. This is public information (how do you think the Heiress got it?), but he didn’t breathe a word to me. Yes, I’m one of those stalker Google-ites. Almost anything worth knowing is simply a finger stroke away.
His daughter’s horrible end caused him to take a hiatus from the police force and from life itself, as far as I can tell. When I think of what he’s gone through, how his rage at the random cruelty of the world must eat his insides like a parasite, I can barely keep from weeping. Somehow, I feel simpatico. I’m sure it’s just me making everything about me. This knowledge pains me though. I promise you.
Secret number two: He gunned down daughter’s killer for attempting to escape police custody. That was his story anyway. If the real story got covered up and he shot the guy for revenge (why wouldn’t he?), the crafty detective got away with it. Google didn’t say exactly that but you know the Heiress, she loves to extrapolate.
Secret Number Three: Detective told me a wife waits in the wings. I’ll own up, only to you, I felt a mix of alarm and disappointment. Not that I harbored any delusions of romance, what with the Irishman only recently deceased. But if I’m confessing, the Heiress is a sucker for a strong jaw. Something about the guy gets me where I live. Couldn’t believe I missed such an important stat during my online research so I surfed once more.
Guess the fuck what?
Secret Number Four: Missus New Detective committed suicide six months after their daughter’s horrible demise. That’s a pile of shit news if I ever saw one. Means my new detective’s the only survivor (although I’m not sure he’d call it that). How much can any man take?
The Invisible Heiress Page 15
