“Hello, Mrs. Hudson.”
“Please, it’s Dee.” Dorothy gave him a strained smile and deftly dropped a final sugar-crusted pecan on top of the cake. She dusted her fingers and extended her hand. “I’m so sorry for the way I behaved at the mayor’s gala. I hope Layne told you it wasn’t like me.”
“There’s no need to apologize, I would have done the same in your shoes.” Once again Matt was struck by Dorothy Hudson’s timeless beauty. No wonder Connor was so taken with her and making every excuse to visit, though he had zero reason to do so.
“That’s very gracious.”
“It’s the truth. I admit to being angry that evening, but I’ve had time to see things in a new light. And I also...” He stopped, wondering how much he should say. “It’s long overdue, but I want to express my sympathy for your loss.”
Dorothy nodded and he saw her swallow convulsively. “Thank you.” She put the cake into the large double-sided refrigerator before looking at him again. “Layne mentioned you’d be working in the dining room. There’s coffee in the pot and food in the fridge if you get hungry. I’ll be in my studio if you need anything.”
Layne scooped a large ginger tabby into her arms and scratched its neck. “Aunt Dee offers food when she can’t think of anything else to say.”
“It’s a shame you’re too old to spank, young lady,” Dorothy scolded.
“Except you never believed in spanking children.” Layne kissed her aunt and whispered something that made her smile.
“All right, all right. Get busy and I’ll see you later.”
Still holding the cat, Layne circled around into the dining room and Matt saw a stack of paper on the otherwise pristine walnut table. “I brought out some of Aunt Dee and Uncle Will’s phone bills and other stuff to go through.”
“Yeah. Uh, about your aunt...she didn’t ask me anything. Isn’t she curious?”
“Of course she’s curious. It’s just hard for her to talk about it with someone she doesn’t know.”
“Yeah, but Peter is married to my mother. Doesn’t she have any concerns about my involvement? No matter what, I’d want to discuss it.”
“Oh, please, you’re a guy. Besides, you’ve never....” All at once Layne shot a look in the direction Dorothy Hudson had gone, then put the cat on the floor. She pulled him in the opposite direction, into a bedroom at the end of the hall.
“Okay, what have I ‘never’ done?”
“You’ve never lost someone you loved that much.” She dropped onto the end of the bed and heaved a sigh. “Try to understand. Without Uncle Will, it’s as if half of her is gone. She’s been trying to make sense of it, but how can she? Everything fell apart and nobody will give her answers. And...”
“And what?” Matt prompted.
“She knows no matter what answers we find, they won’t bring him back. He was the love of her life.”
Matt sat next to Layne. “You don’t really believe in that ‘love of your life’ thing, do you? Practically everyone I know who’s gotten married for love is divorced and hates their ex-spouse.”
“What about the Eisleys?”
“My grandparents married because they were friends, not out of a grand passion. In a way, they lead separate lives. That’s probably why they’re happy.”
“Maybe you don’t know the right people. My grandmother Adele and granddad Brian were deeply in love, and my folks are, too, even if it isn’t the same as what my aunt and uncle had together.”
“Your parents sound like a classic power couple.”
“They are. They just don’t know what to make of me. Mom and Dad try, but they’re so capable and practical and everything falls into place for them...then I came along. I’m the kid that didn’t get a doctorate and go into a prestigious career.”
“They should be proud you’re helping your aunt.”
Layne smiled and Matt wondered if she realized how amazing she looked when she let that smile go with no holds barred.
“They don’t know what I’m doing, but thanks. Anyhow, I just wanted you to understand about Aunt Dee. She’s trying to keep her head above water in more ways than one, and it isn’t easy.”
* * *
LAYNE STOOD AND looked at Matt. Since she slept often at Aunt Dee’s, she kept clothing and other personal things in the room, and it was going be hard not to think about Matt Hollister sitting on the bed when she was trying to sleep. Even when she’d disliked him, she’d still acknowledged he was sexy—a woman would have to be dead not to recognize his appeal, and it had been a while since she’d had a serious relationship.
“Let’s get busy,” she said. “We can look for credit card purchases on Thursdays, as well as phone calls from the house. It helps knowing the thefts were on Thursdays, though I still need the specific dates of the wire transfers. As a last resort, I’ll hire a lawyer to throw out impressive legal mumbo jumbo to get things moving with the authorities.”
Matt stood up and stretched. “You haven’t asked me to intervene with the police or the D.A. Any special reason?”
Layne had considered asking, but if the roadblocks in getting information stemmed from Peter Davidson’s political influence, Matt could get into trouble trying to overstep his stepfather. Besides, would the police pay any attention, anyway? Matt was new to respectability and probably didn’t have as much clout with the authorities.
“I’m going to try myself again, and if that doesn’t do any good, maybe you can give it a shot,” she said finally.
“How about me giving it a shot right away?”
She hesitated. “It might make Peter angrier.”
The frustration on Matt’s face became intense. “Layne, you want answers because you loved your uncle and are worried about your aunt. I want them because I was an executive at Hudson & Davidson when the embezzling occurred. My grandfather has entrusted billions of charity dollars to me at the foundation. I need to know if I’ve made mistakes that can’t be fixed, so I don’t give a rat’s ass how Peter is going to react.”
Whoa.
He hadn’t quite said he was suspicious of Peter, but the implication was obvious...he was running the Eisley Foundation and his stepfather was now its CFO. Then there was the little matter of Peter being married to Katrina Eisley.
“All right,” she said hastily. “But I still want to try again. I’ll let you know if I don’t have any luck.”
“Good, that’s...”
All at once Matt’s attention was caught by a framed photo on the high dresser. He went over and stared at the images of Aunt Dee and Uncle Will looking at each other, with Layne as a five-year-old in pigtails, leaning against their legs.
“That was taken right after Uncle Will left the navy and they’d moved back to the Seattle area,” Layne explained. “They tried not to play favorites with us kids, but the others were older and busy being overachievers. My parents were happy for me to spend most of my time with Aunt Dee, especially with my brother, Jeremy, competing in track meets all over the place.”
“That’s right, he’s a runner. I remember the name from the coverage at the Olympics ten or twelve years ago,” Matt said distractedly, tapping his finger on the photograph. “From your uncle’s expression I’m guessing they were newlyweds when this was taken.”
“Actually they’d been married for several years. Uncle Will always had that goofy look around Aunt Dee. But Aunt Dee was the same with him, so it equaled out.”
Matt picked up the photo and stared into the image. “They’re the reason you believe in fairy-tale love and happily ever after. You must realize it’s a fantasy, Layne.”
“Even if it is, what’s the harm? Don’t you have fantasies?”
“I’ve already chased my fantasies. Some were more fun than others.”
Layne took the picture and set it back on the dresser. “
You know, your old life doesn’t sound that great,” she murmured. “Everyone needs dreams we can never really attain.”
“You must have studied philosophy in college.”
“Actually, that’s something I learned from Uncle Will. He used to say we should dream for things that are unrealistic, because that’s how the impossible happens.”
* * *
“I SHOW A CALL ON May 14 at 7:27 p.m.,” Matt said an hour later as he scanned through one of the phone bills.
Layne marked it on her calendar grid and in the database she’d created.
“Any idea whose number that might be?” he asked absently.
“It’s my grandmother Adele up in Mount Vernon. She’s had the same number since before I was born, though I think the area code changed at some point.”
“She’s the grandmother your aunt was visiting every Thursday, so this could be your uncle calling to make sure she arrived safely. If one of the thefts occurred on the fourteenth, this could show that he wasn’t at the office at the time.”
“Yeah.”
She took the phone bill he’d finished reviewing, sorted through the pages to be sure they were all there, then put it in the feeder of her document scanner. None of the material she’d brought out to work on with Matt was irreplaceable—though the bills would be a pain to get copies of—but she’d decided to make electronic copies, anyway. This way she could study them at home, as well as at Aunt Dee’s, and take the more valuable stuff to the safe deposit box she’d rented.
“You’ve gone through a lot of documents, but I’m not sure how much is pertinent,” Matt said, starting on another month.
“Me, either, but you never know what will be helpful.”
Matt was frowning as he read. “It’s too bad these bills don’t list local calls.”
“The data must be available. But unless I can sweet-talk the phone company into cooperating—which is unlikely—the case would have to be reopened and a subpoena or something issued to get it.”
His frowned deepened. “You also said you’ve been going over your uncle’s papers from his company. But why would important evidence be dumped into boxes and allowed to leave the building?”
“I don’t know—it’s just a possibility. Remember, they got Al Capone on tax evasion.”
Matt shrugged. “What does Al Capone have to do with your uncle’s case?”
“It’s just that there could be more than one way to accomplish something. The government wanted Capone off the streets of Chicago and they got him convicted, even if it wasn’t for murder and bootlegging. The police were looking for proof of Uncle Will’s guilt, not his innocence, so I might find something in Uncle Will’s office records that indirectly leads to the truth.”
* * *
“I SUPPOSE.”
Matt swallowed the last of his coffee. Despite his questions, he was impressed with the way Layne had organized her search. But he still suspected she was keeping part of the information from him, and he’d noticed they weren’t working in her uncle’s home office. From what Layne had said, William Hudson’s home office had sat there all these months, relatively untouched.
The reason for keeping him out could be emotional, or based on suspicion of his motives and what he might tell Peter.
As for her aunt’s house...
Matt’s gaze swept what he could see of the home. He could detect Mrs. Hudson’s artistic eye in the decor—few knickknacks except for strategically placed art glass and photos, lots of wood, rich color and a balance of natural textures. It was warm and inviting, unlike the Eisley mansion or his penthouse.
Another smile threatened as Matt recalled Layne’s expression when she first set eyes on his penthouse. He had to admit, the stark interior was off-putting; the only recommendation was the view.
Layne neatly annotated the phone bills they’d been reviewing in her log and filed them in a cardboard banker’s box. She was obviously still feeling her way around the best way to organize the information, but he was pretty sure she could quickly lay her hands on any piece of paper she’d touched.
Watch out, Peter, he thought. Layne wasn’t a pushover and she wasn’t letting this rest. His stepfather would have been better off helping than trying to stop her.
“Uh...did they send any client files with the rest of the things sent from Hudson & Davidson?” he asked.
“As far as I can tell there’s nothing from the official files, though I’ve found some client information—basically, they boxed and sent all of Uncle Will’s private records to Aunt Dee. I’m sure he never intended them to leave his office at the firm. Not that there were account numbers or anything, but I’ve seen things that I wouldn’t want floating around.”
Matt winced.
Violation of client privacy.
Not good.
They’d reached the end of the documents Layne had set out and he looked at her. “Is there anything else?”
“Uh...I guess we could start on another box sent over from Hudson & Davidson.”
He stood up. “Let’s go.”
Layne didn’t seem too happy about it, but she took him into an attractive study filled with books and furnished in rich cherrywood furniture. The only discordant note was a stack of boxes along one wall. Matt grabbed one and set it on the desk, cutting the tape on the lid and opening the flaps. The scent of mold instantly rose in the air.
“What the hell?” he exclaimed.
Layne looked inside and made a face. “From the blue and gold foil sticker on the bag, I think that used to be a sandwich. Uncle Will had a standing order for a vegetarian hoagie from the Blue Ribbon deli. Maybe it was delivered the day he died and he didn’t eat it. Or the day after.”
“But why is it in here?” Matt demanded.
“That’s how everything came. Glass in picture frames was broken, things were crushed...there was even a dirty coffee cup. Apparently it was half-full and they just dumped it in with the rest, coffee and all.”
“That’s why you asked if I’d had anything to do with how his belongings were packed.”
“Yeah. Let’s take it outside,” Layne said, going to the French doors and flinging them open.
Matt carried the box to the far end of the yard and put it on a bench. Layne was quiet as they gingerly sorted the contents. There were a few books, including one she’d apparently given William, and tears streaked down her face as she flipped through the pages before storing it in a plastic bag. They found three plaques honoring William Hudson from the Carrollton Chamber of Commerce, the brass somewhat corroded from contact with the moldy sandwich.
They didn’t find anything that seemed pertinent to William’s case, yet a thought kept pounding in Matt’s head...there was something vindictive about putting a rotting sandwich into a box with personal books and tributes, then sealing it with yards of tape.
“I’m sorry,” Matt said after they’d dumped the box in a garbage can. “This should never have been allowed to happen.”
Layne shook her head. “It wasn’t your fault. But please don’t tell my aunt about it. She doesn’t know. I’ve had some of the things repaired and will store anything that’s beyond help in case she ever asks.”
Matt sighed. There were dark smudges beneath Layne’s eyes and her thick, silky hair seemed to overwhelm her pale face. She’d lost weight since the first time they’d met in Matt’s office and he clenched his fingers into a fist. He was no Galahad and Layne wouldn’t appreciate him trying to rescue her in the first place. But for the first time in his life, he was wondering what it would be like to be someone a woman like Layne could rely on.
And it scared the hell out of him.
CHAPTER TWELVE
THE CELL PHONE ringing on Matt’s bedside table dragged him slowly from sleep. He read the display on the clock and gr
oaned. It was 2:00 a.m. Once he’d stayed up that late every night, but not any longer.
“Uh...yeah?” he answered.
“Don’t tell me you were asleep, son,” cried Spence’s energetic voice. “We’re winding down here, but it’s still the top of the evening in Seattle.”
“Dad, you forget I’m a working guy now. I no longer party until five or six every morning.”
“How dreary.”
“Where are you, anyway?” Matt asked, yawning. In the background he heard steel drums, clinking glasses, and the chatter of a party.
“Jamaica. Can’t beat the Caribbean.”
“That explains the music.” Matt’s eyelids drifted down as he recalled the beaches and warm, crystalline waters of Montego Bay and the scantily clad women who swam in them.
Would Layne ever go topless? She had a hang-up about her appearance compared to her well-endowed sisters, but she’d be delicious in island gear and she really needed a break from investigating... Matt’s eyes popped open.
No.
Layne would slap him if she knew how thoroughly he’d envisioned her with sun-kissed skin and no tan lines. She might not be generously endowed, but there was something appealing about her trim lines. He needed to remember Layne’s fairy-tale faith in marriage and that “love of your life” nonsense. The most he could offer was a week in Fiji or Montego Bay, and while he’d never wanted to spend an entire week with any woman before, she’d still see it as an insult.
Matt shook himself. “Why are you calling, Dad?”
“It’s been a while and I wanted to say hi. Brought Delia down for a little sailing.”
Delia?
“Is that a boat, or one of your girlfriends? Oh, God, it isn’t a new wife, is it?”
Spence chuckled. There wasn’t much that bothered him. “Nope, just someone I met on a layover in Chicago. Lovely girl. Wants to be an author. No stamina though, went to bed hours ago.”
“She’d better be over eighteen,” Matt warned.
“Twenty-four and just got her graduate degree. A Fulbright scholar. Stacked, with mile-long legs. I keep telling her she could make a fortune in Vegas.”
Challenging Matt Page 15
