The FBI Thrillers Collection

by Catherine Coulter

  Savich nodded. “Then we’d better get ready.”

  CHAPTER 28

  MAESTRO, VIRGINIA

  FRIDAY MORNING

  AT TEN O’CLOCK , Dix called Gordon’s office at Stanislaus.

  “. . . I don’t know why I need to tell you that, Dix. She’s not a student here. I don’t see the point in involving her. Listen, it was nothing, a brief fling, nothing to make the earth move for either of us.”

  “I can keep you nice and warm in my jail, Gordon, until you tell me what I want to know. Is the woman you left out Cynthia, Tony’s wife?”

  “Cynthia,” Gordon said. If Dix wasn’t mistaken, there was a hint of distaste in Gordon’s voice.

  “Well, good for you,” Dix said. “That’s a relief. Talk to me, Gordon.” The silence dragged on. Dix said, “I’m thinking handcuffs would make a nice visual for all your professors and students—”

  “No, Dix! You can’t do that. I’m simply trying to protect a woman’s reputation, nothing more. You think I would sleep with Cynthia?”

  “A woman’s reputation?” Dix asked. “Not a girl’s? Could it be there was maybe even a thread of gray in her hair?”

  “No, she’s gorgeous and she’d sue me—”

  Dix shook his head. “And here I thought Ginger would have the good taste not to sleep with a man her father’s age. You never know, do you? At least it wasn’t Cynthia. Now, that wasn’t so hard, was it?”

  Gordon finally gave it up. He told Dix he’d slept with Ginger Stanford two years ago, and all right, her mother, too, if they were interested, but the two of them lasted only a couple of months, hardly enough time to even regard it in the grand scheme of things.

  When he paused to take a breath, Dix asked, “Who broke things off?”

  “We ended up not liking each other very much. Ginger told me she’d expected more from me because she’d heard I was experienced, and that I didn’t give her what she wanted. She told me to take myself to a sex education class. Can you imagine the gall? Sex education! Me!”

  “And Gloria Stanford? Was she unreasonable in her demands, too? Like mother, like daughter?”

  A ruminative pause, Dix thought. “She’s immensely talented, you know that, Dix, but the fact is we were never really that attracted to each other. She never criticized me like her bitch of a daughter.”

  Before he punched off, Dix warned Gordon, “Don’t even think about calling Ginger, Gordon. If you do I won’t give you an extra blanket in your cell.”

  “SHERIFF, AGENT, WHAT are you doing here?” Henry O was on his feet, the question out of his mouth the moment Dix and Ruth came into the office. “Oh, I see. You don’t know anything more than the last time you were here, do you?”

  Good, Dix thought, Gordon hadn’t called. Henry O looked natty in a crisp white shirt and well-made dark gray wool trousers, belted high.

  “Actually, Henry, we’re here to arrest Ms. Stanford,” Ruth told him. She gave him a little wave and kept walking, Dix behind her.

  “Are you nuts? You don’t arrest a lawyer; she’ll sue your socks off. Wait, wait! Oh, lordie, Ms. Ginger, they rolled over me!”

  “Hard to believe,” Ginger Stanford said, rising slowly, dropping her beautiful black pen on the desktop. “It’s okay, Henry. They’re not going to snap on the cuffs, I don’t think, are you, Dix?”

  Dix gently shoved Henry out and closed the door. “Good morning, Ginger. Time for you to tell us about your short, uninspired affair with Gordon Holcombe.”

  Ginger laughed. “Oh, sit down, both of you. You pried it out of him, did you? Yes, I slept with Gordon, and what a colossal mistake that was. No, simply a waste of my time. I really thought he’d be good. I can’t tell you how many times he gave me this intense, hungry look, but he was just a fumbling old man. I gave him a couple of chances, then kissed him off. End of story. You don’t actually think I had anything to do with those horrible murders, do you?”

  Ruth asked, “Did you tell your mother about it?”

  “Actually, I did. She only laughed and said she slept with him a couple of times herself, and agreed with me. Men of a certain age, she told me, usually aren’t adventurous or innovative, just happy if everything goes smoothly. She told me she lost her rose-colored glasses long ago, that there are very few men who know anything, and if they do, they usually don’t care, just hope for a fake orgasm to let them off the hook. She said the only thing she got from Gordon was a good interpretation pointer on Bartók’s Sonata for Solo Violin.” Ginger laughed.

  “Why do you call your mother Gloria?” Ruth asked.

  “What? Oh, Gloria. Well, the thing is she was gone practically all of my growing-up years, touring, you know. My dad checked out when I was ten, couldn’t take his wife being gone, couldn’t deal with me anymore, whatever. I was raised by two nannies, both of whom I still call Mom. She’s always been Gloria. Don’t get me wrong, I love and admire her, and she is my mother, when all’s said and done. I’m here, aren’t I?”

  “Why did you move to Maestro when she did? What was it? Six months after Christie and Dix moved here?”

  She cocked her head at Ruth, poured some water out of a Pellegrino bottle into a crystal glass and sipped. “Christie and I went to school together. We were close.”

  Dix pointed out, “But you had a very nice practice in New York City, didn’t you?”

  Ginger said at last, “You’re a bulldog, Dix. Okay, there was a man in New York. It didn’t work out. Yes, he was married and I was stupid enough to believe him when he swore the marriage was over. He set the fool’s cap right on my head. I thought moving far away would make everything better—and it did, for the most part. May I ask why Gordon told you about me and my mother? Why is that any of your concern?”

  Dix asked, “Were you angry that he slept with your mother?”

  “Good heavens, no. Look, Dix, Gloria didn’t see that many men after my father went walkabout. Gordon is a talented man, and he can be a real charmer. I had no reason to mind. It might even have turned out well for her if he’d been different. He probably slithered out the door because Gloria didn’t fawn over him like he wanted her to, and why should she? She’s not twenty-two years old and ignorant as a stump. She’s more talented, more famous, and far richer than he’ll ever be.”

  Ruth said, “You don’t think Gordon broke it off because he thought your mom was too old for him?”

  “Hmm, I never thought of that. What a thought, Gordon dropping her because she was too old? He said that? Talk about the pot and kettle.” She grinned. “Well, duh.”

  Dix and Ruth left her office ten minutes after they’d entered it. Dix said to Henry O on their way out, “We forgot our handcuffs. Can you believe that? You keep an eye on Ms. Stanford for us, all right, Henry? Make sure she doesn’t try to make a break for it.”

  Henry O stood tall. “You’ve got to pay me more if you want me to be your deputy, Sheriff.”

  CHAPTER 29

  MAESTRO, VIRGINIA

  FRIDAY AFTERNOON

  DIX AND RUTH could hear Cynthia Holcombe’s voice a good fifteen feet from Tara’s front door. Dix placed a finger to his lips, stepped off the flagstone walkway before they reached the Gothic columns, and walked over the snow-covered lawn toward the side of the house. “The only person she yells at is Chappy. Well, usually. I’m betting they’re in the library. Let’s go see if I’m right.”

  It was forty-one degrees under a sunless, steel-beam sky, fat snow clouds huddled over the mountains in front of them. A library window was cracked open and Cynthia Holcombe’s voice boomed out, loud and clear.

  “You miserable old codger, there’s nothing wrong with me, and Tony would never divorce me! We’ve been trying for a year to have a grandchild for you. And stop talking to my mother, she doesn’t know anything about it. Another thing, I don’t sleep with other men. How many times do I have to tell you?”

  “She knew enough to tell me you don’t like children. As for my poor son, he’s at his wit’s
end, said you were lying to him, taking the pill on the sly and telling him you’re all excited about getting pregnant.”

  “I’m not on the bloody pill! Why do you keep making these things up? Are you that bored? Why don’t you consider getting yourself a life? At least go spew your venom on someone else for a change.”

  “Your mother insisted I couldn’t trust a thing you said, she—”

  There was the sound of glass crashing against a wall, then Chappy chuckling. Cynthia was panting as she yelled, “Anyone who listens to my mother deserves what they get, you hear me? You want the truth, old man? I’m beginning to wonder if I want to have a child with your weak-willed son! I can’t believe he’s even able to walk since he has no backbone. He lets you kick him around until I want to scream.”

  “Oh dear,” Ruth said.

  Dix said, “Not quite what I expected. Time to break it up before she connects a vase to Chappy’s head. Then I’d have to arrest her, and that thought scares me.”

  Ruth put a smile on for Cynthia when she jerked the front door open. “Well, what do—Dix, hello. Do come in. Oh, you. So you’re still here? Sorry, but I don’t remember your name. You’re some kind of police officer, too, aren’t you?”

  “Some kind, yes,” Ruth said agreeably. “Agent Ruth Warnecki. I believe we had lunch together, what was it, two days ago? They say memory is the first to go.”

  Cynthia said, “Yes, I’ve heard that, too. But why would I even want to remember you?”

  “Good one,” Ruth said.

  Dix said, “Ruth and I heard you and Chappy fighting from outside. You should have closed the library window.”

  Cynthia shrugged, looking completely unconcerned. “Well?”

  Dix walked right at her, and she moved at the last instant so he wouldn’t mow her down. He headed toward the library, Ruth at his side, Cynthia reluctantly trailing after them. The thing about the library, Ruth thought, looking around, was that it wasn’t a room for books, it was a room for CDs, hundreds of them, scrolled labels categorizing them—jazz, blues, three or four dozen classical composers listed by name. What books there were appeared to be the oversized coffee table sort. Dix waved her to a deep burgundy sofa. He sat on a hundred-year-old pale green brocade chair next to her. Cynthia sat opposite them, looking like she’d rather be in a dentist’s chair. Chappy wasn’t in the room.

  Dix said to her, “You and Chappy developed some new material. I never heard you insult Tony before. I’m sorry it’s come to that, Cynthia.”

  “You’re not married to him, Dix. You don’t see him fold whenever Chappy so much as frowns at him. He can’t imagine losing his position at the bank, as if that would ever happen.”

  “What’d you throw at Chappy?”

  “Just some stupid blue bowl someone sent him from China.”

  Chappy said from the doorway, “The blue bowl was a very valuable ceramic fashioned during the Kangxi period of the Qing Dynasty, circa 1690.” He strolled in as if he hadn’t a worry in the world. “She shattered a three-hundred-year-old work of art that cost me more than a divorce from this viper would cost Tony.”

  “I suppose you’re going to tell him what I said,” Cynthia said, her expression a study of anger, frustration, and something Dix couldn’t pinpoint. He pictured the bowl in his mind, remembered how exquisite it was. If he were Chappy, he’d be cussing mad about it. He said only, “Was the bowl insured?”

  “Sure, but who cares about the money?”

  Cynthia jumped out of her seat, waving her fist at him. “That’s the only thing you do care about, Chappy—money and control over everyone you know. Don’t pretend to be a martyr and a victim.” She turned to Dix. “He wants me out of Tony’s life and away from here.”

  Dix shrugged. “So why don’t you and Tony leave? You have alternatives, Cynthia. Do you really want to raise a child here at Tara?”

  Cynthia shuddered as she said, “No, of course not, but what I want doesn’t matter. Tony won’t leave.”

  Chappy said, “No, my son isn’t going anywhere, Cynthia.” He turned to Dix and Ruth. “If this harpy won’t give him a child, she can take off herself as far as I’m concerned, maybe screw Gordon’s brains out on her way out of town.”

  “I don’t think Gordon has the time,” Ruth said. “He’s pretty much occupied right now.”

  “Twister was never too busy for sex.” Chappy studied his fingernails. “Do you know Gordon can tell you the name of any perfume a woman wears, his nose is that sensitive? Always amazed me.” Chappy shook his head. “Tony’s going to attend that memorial at Stanislaus, said it wouldn’t look good if the local bankers didn’t pay their respects.”

  Dix said, “We’re going as well.”

  “Well, I’m not. Why should I? Twister will be there, some young sweetie sitting beside him, I’ll bet, holding his hand and squeezing it while he cries. He can cry on demand, which always pissed me off.”

  Cynthia said, venom as thick as cream in her voice, “You’ve got to have a heart to cry, Chappy.”

  Chappy ignored his daughter-in-law. He said to Dix, “Are you going to take Twister off to jail?”

  “We’ll see.”

  “If I thought you were serious, I’d get him a lawyer.” Chappy rubbed his hands together. “Twister wouldn’t mind having some deep pockets in the family then, would he? What do you think, Dix? One of those O.J. lawyers? What about that little Shrek guy from Boston? Hmm, I could start checking this out, tell Twister what I’m doing.” Chappy walked from the room whistling. He turned in the doorway and gave Ruth a little wave. “I’m going to find a new vase, maybe Japanese this time. Hey, Agent Ruth, I hear Twister asked you out to dinner. You going to go?”

  “Depends on the restaurant,” Ruth said easily.

  “Wear pants,” Chappy said. “It’s your best defense.” He strolled past the shards of the ceramic bowl without a glance.

  “He’s insane,” Cynthia said. “Really, Dix, the old fool is quite mad. Imagine claiming I’m taking birth control pills when Tony and I are trying to have a baby. Imagine me sleeping with Gordon. Hasn’t Chappy looked at his own son? Tony is very handsome, don’t you think?”

  “Handsome and weak?”

  “I guess I shouldn’t have said that, but Chappy makes me so mad and I mouth off just to get back at him. The reason he won’t let Tony go is that he’s Chappy’s only ticket to immortality now that Christie’s gone—” Cynthia shrugged, looked away from Dix.

  “She’s not merely gone, Cynthia, as in off finding herself or on an extended vacation. She’s dead. And you know it.”

  Cynthia nodded slowly. “Yes, I suppose she is.”

  “As I said, the two of you should move away from this house and from Chappy.”

  “The thing is, I really don’t want to leave Tara. Maybe Chappy will kick off soon and Tony will inherit all this.”

  “Don’t hold your breath. I’d give him another twenty years. You and Tony should move to Richmond. Tony could head the bank there, hire a manager for the bank here in Maestro, and let Chappy torment him. When Chappy’s out of the picture someday, you can move back to Tara, if you like.”

  Cynthia strolled over to the front windows, pulled back the heavy brocade curtain and looked out. Cold air flooded the room. She closed the window as she said over her shoulder, “Tony’s afraid to leave, afraid he’ll fall on his face if he does, or that Chappy will disinherit him.”

  She shrugged. “Christie could have talked him into leaving, but I can’t. I wish she wasn’t dead, Dix, I really miss her.”

  “You didn’t appear to appreciate her all that much when she was here, Cynthia. Why the change of heart now?”

  “I know better now, I guess.” Cynthia turned away from the window and paced the full length of the twenty-five-foot library before she turned back again. “Are you here for lunch? Mrs. Goss didn’t say anything to me.”

  “No, we’re not here for lunch. For one thing, I wanted to ask you some questions about Chappy’s w
hereabouts last Friday night.”

  “Goodness, that was when you found Ruth, wasn’t it? Chappy was here late, that’s all I know. What did he tell you?”

  “That he was here, working in his office,” Dix said. “How about Tony? Where was he?”

  “Making me a very happy woman, at least after about ten o’clock Friday evening. He was at the bank all day, I suppose. He usually is. He left for a couple of hours after dinner. He didn’t say where he was going and I didn’t ask. When he came back, he had a bottle of champagne under his arm, a big smile on his face. He wanted to be with me right away, so we went upstairs to bed. I remember Chappy was home because he knocked on our bedroom door about eleven o’clock, demanding to know what I was doing to his son. I was glad I’m always careful to lock the door. That wasn’t the first time he did that.”

  Dix didn’t think Chappy had been interested in sex since his wife died so many years before. “He probably wanted to give the two of you grief. Tony didn’t tell you where he went after dinner?”

  “He probably went back to the bank. He tries to be anywhere his father isn’t. I’d had another fight on the phone with my mother and I was fuming, not really paying attention to anyone.” She yawned. “Fighting with Chappy always exhausts me. Maybe I’ll drive to Richmond, do some shopping; it’ll help me forget.”

  “You’re not going to Erin’s memorial?” Ruth asked.

  “I really didn’t know her all that well, now did I?” Cynthia yawned and rose.

  “I DON’T KNOW why I bother,” Dix said some minutes later as they walked to the Range Rover. “Oh yes, Tony did work late at the bank last Friday evening, according to the security guard, and he was there all day, according to the employees and Tony’s secretary. As for Chappy, Mrs. Goss claims he was gone during the day on Friday, but she doesn’t know where he went. He never explains anything to anyone. I’ll ask him about it directly.”