“I fail to understand why this should be of interest to my family, Mr. Doyle,” Ron said in a disinterested voice. His cool tone and calm expression impressed the heck out of Ashley. If this were her grandmother’s home, she would denounce Doyle as a liar, kick him out and deal with her grandmother’s wrath later.
“One of the houses Frankie torched ten years ago was Carlyle House,” Doyle explained. “After Vaughn and I spoke, I decided to fly here and inform your grandmother that I wasn’t aware of Frankie’s deeds until this morning. I won’t rest until he’s captured and brought to trial for what he did. Three people perished in that fire—”
“Are you saying he has disappeared?” Ron interrupted him.
“I’m afraid so,” Doyle said, his tone remorseful. “They have agents searching for him even as we speak. But he cannot hide for long.”
Ashley bit her inner cheeks to stop her from yelling, ‘Liar!’ Frankie couldn’t pull a disappearing act like that without someone with means and connections helping him, someone with something to hide. She was through being a listener.
“What exactly does Frankie do for you, Mr. Doyle?”
Anger flashed in Ryan’s eyes, then disappeared. “I beg your pardon.”
“What duties does he have in your home or company? From what I heard, he doesn’t exist. He’s never declared his source of income or paid taxes. He doesn’t have an address or a social security number.” Ron tugged at her hand in warning, but she ignored him. “So what exactly does a man they call a ghost do for an upstanding businessman like you, Mr. Doyle?”
Doyle’s eyes narrowed. “I don’t know where you get your information—”
“The L.A.P.D.,” Ashley snapped.
He looked toward Ron’s grandmother. “I refuse to sit here and be interrogated like a criminal. I came to see your family in good faith, Penelope.”
Mrs. Darden’s expression didn’t change. She still smiled as though they were discussing the weather. “I know you did, my dear Ryan, but the child has a point. What exactly did Frankie do for you?”
The man’s gaze bounced from one face to another, his dark eyes flashing. “He was head of my security for a while, acted as a chauffer when one was needed. That he chose not to pay his taxes is none of my business. I don’t understand the point of this interrogation.”
“The point is everyone who was in Carlyle House the night of the fire, with exception of Ashley and my mother, is either dead or has been attacked,” Ron cut in. “All in the past two weeks. Ironside, Dunn, or whatever his real name is tried to get to Ashley several times and failed. Her uncle is fighting for his life and you,” his voice became more scathing, “would have us believe Frankie was in your employ for twenty-five years and you had no idea whatsoever of his criminal activities.”
Doyle pinned Ron down with a cold stare. “Young man, I’m a busy man with offices all over the country and abroad. I can’t keep tabs on all my employees.” His glance shifted to Ashley. “Ms. Fitzgerald, I’m sorry for what Frankie’s put you through. I hope you told the police because I think he’s more dangerous that I’d thought. Is your uncle feeling better?”
“He regained conscious long enough to finger his attacker and the people he worked for,” Ashley said, watching Doyle to see if he’d react. He didn’t even flinch.
“One thing keeps bothering me, Mr. Doyle,” Ron said, his voice hard. “Perhaps, you could explain it. Why would Frankie burn Carlyle House ten years ago? Was he following orders? Did he act alone?”
“From what Vaughn told me, three ex-firefighters worked with Frankie. I don’t know whether they were running a scam or being paid off, but they miscalculated with Carlyle House.” Doyle’s gaze swept the faces in the room before returning to Ron. “I knew your father, son. He was a hardworking, honorable man. I promise you that Frankie will face trial for his death.” His glance moved to Ashley. “I might not have known Keira and Damon Fitzgerald personally, but I was touched by their music. Frankie must—”
“Stop.” Ashley jumped up. How dare he? He wasn’t fit to mention her parents’ name or talk about their death as though he cared. If she didn’t leave now, she was going to denounce him for the liar that he was and damn the consequences. She pulled her hand from Ron’s, then remembered Mrs. Darden and Gregory’s presence. The older woman’s expression was filled with concern. Her son’s could have been made out of a rock. “Mrs. Darden. Mr. Neumann. Excuse me, please.”
As she turned to leave the room, Ron jumped up, said something to his grandmother Ashley didn’t hear and followed her outside. He gripped her arm and directed her to the hallway to their left, pushed open a door and ushered her inside a blue and white marbled bathroom with three sinks and a long mirror.
Ashley planted her hands on the expansive bathroom counter and said through gritted teeth, “That man’s a lying piece of shit.”
“I know,” Ron said, reaching for his cell phone.
“I want to...,” her hands fisted, emotions strangling her and making it difficult to talk.
Ron placed his hand on her nape and nudged her down. “Put your head between your legs and take deep breaths.”
She pushed his arm away. “I’m not about to faint,” she snapped. “I’m mad.” To know that Doyle was behind her miseries, but was out of her reach, twisted her insides. She dropped her head and took deep breaths.
“He’ll get his once we have proof.” Ron massaged her back, his cell phone on his ear. “Kenny? Have you heard anything about an arrest warrant for Frankie Higgins? Yes. Sure, I’ll wait.” He pressed a button and placed the phone on the counter beside the sink. “I turned on the speakers so you can hear him.”
For a moment, there was silence. “Ron?” Kenny asked.
“We’re both here. What did you find?”
“I just spoke with Eddie, Ashley’s cousin. There’s no arrest warrant for Frankie, so Doyle is lying. But we’ve had some interesting developments, too.”
“What?” Ashley and Ron said in unison.
“Remember the letters that started this investigation? I traced them to the Doyles. They leased an entire floor in the building where your offices are located, Ron, and are going to use it as their downtown branch. The paper used in the letters you received was delivered to their offices a month ago.”
For a moment, Ashley just stared at Ron. “Does that mean someone in their office started this whole thing?”
“Sounds like it,” Kenny answered.
“Who, in his company, would want to finger Doyle and why?” Ashley added.
“Must be Frankie.” Ron quickly explained to Kenny the story Ryan Doyle had told them. “Maybe Doyle found out about Frankie and decided to turn the tables on him.”
“Or Frankie got tired of being Doyle’s hitman and wanted out,” Ashley added.
Kenny chuckled. “No honor among thieves, I guess. I’ll tell the good detective about this.”
“Sure, and keep us informed if anything else turns up.” Ron switched off his cell phone and returned it to its holder. “If Doyle and Frankie had a fallout, why come here with his story? Why not go to the police?”
Ashley shrugged. “I guess there’s more going on here than we’ve been told.”
Ron reached for her hand. “Let’s go back in there and call his bluff.”
Ashley shook her head. “I can’t.”
He threw her an impatient look. “Can’t what?”
“I can’t be in the same room with that man and not accuse him of lying. He has an excuse for everything.” When he sighed, she added, “Unless you want me to embarrass you in front of your grandmother, you’d better go without me.”
He studied her with narrowed eyes, then nodded. “Okay.”
***
Ron left Ashley under an umbrella by the pool after showing her the pool house, where Simon the housekeeper had put their bags and where they’d be spending the night. He made sure she had something to a drink before he hurried back to the den.
His
grandmother and uncle were having a whispered conference. They looked up when he entered. Penelope had abandoned the Louis XV chair for the one behind the huge mahogany desk by the bookshelves. Doyle was gone.
“Where did he go?”
“If you’re talking about Doyle, he couldn’t wait to leave as soon as you two left. How is Ashley doing?” his grandmother asked.
“She’s doing fine.”
“Just like her mother,” Penelope added with a chuckle. “I like a girl with fire in her blood. It takes backbone to stand up to someone like Doyle, or your mother.”
Ron didn’t want to discuss Ashley, but the way his grandmother was laying it on thick meant something was up. Ron took the chair Doyle had previously occupied and studied the faces of the two people he’d loved all his life but had never understood. There was more going on here, and before this meeting was over, he would know what it was. There was no reason for Doyle and his grandmother, two people who moved in different circles, to become chummy over a ten-year-old crime.
“Why was Doyle here?” Ron asked.
Penelope exchanged a glance with Gregory, who stood beside her desk, then sat back and pursed her lips. “I told you the boy was too smart to be fooled. It’s about time he knew everything. After what I witnessed today, I believe he’s ready.”
Ron ground his teeth. His grandmother and her cryptic sentences were the bane of his life. “Ready for what?”
“For the truth, darling. Tell him, Gregory.” She folded her arms and leaned back against her seat.
“Anything to drink, Ronald? Mother?” Gregory asked as he walked to the bar and poured himself a shot of cognac.
“Not for me, dear,” Penelope answered.
Ron glanced at the assortment of spirits on the tray. Times like this called for something stronger, but he didn’t want to dull his senses with alcohol. A clear mind was vital when dealing with his uncle and grandmother. He got up, picked up a bottle of Perrier and a glass then resumed his place on the chair.
Gregory shed his coat, loosened his tie and collar button and chose a leather armchair to Penelope’s right so the two of them faced Ron. Ron wasn’t sure whether this was an intimidation tactic or not. Even seated, his uncle was an imposing figure—broad shoulders, wide girth and those sharp intelligent eyes that never missed a thing. The tension inside Ron shot up a notch.
This reminded him too much of one of the Ron-you’ve-screwed-up-again sessions he used to have with them—his grandmother a quiet presence behind the desk, his uncle seated across from him with a disapproving expression and doing most of the talking. Yet there was never doubt as to who was in charge—his indomitable grandmother. Ron ignored the cold sweat forming on his forehead, filled his glass with water and took a sip.
His uncle’s glance briefly touched his grandmother before shifting to Ron. “I’m happy we’re finally having this talk, Ronald. Keeping things from you was never our intention.” He put his glass down and leaned back against his chair, his expression hardening. “But for a while there, we weren’t sure whether you’d outgrow your recklessness and rebellious habits. Your grandmother, however, always believed in you. She used to say you just needed time.”
Like hell she did. From her constant lectures, she’d always thought he was a great disappointment to her and the family. Even after taking the position of managing director of the Californian branch, she never stopped looking over his shoulders. Ron shot her a look, but he didn’t say anything.
“You’ve turned out to be an upright young man,” his uncle continued, “a man trusted and respected by his peers. The family business will be safe in your hands.”
Ron shifted uncomfortably in his chair. A week ago, his uncle had doubted he could pull off a multi-million dollar contract, today he was the new wonder boy. Why did he feel as though he was being fattened up for the slaughter? “I appreciate what you’re saying, sir, but I’m more interested in what Doyle was doing here, why he felt the need to talk to the two of you about Frankie, which, by the way, is a lie. There’s no warrant for Frankie’s arrest.”
“We suspected as much. Tell him, Gregory,” Penelope Darden’s voice whipped out.
“Ryan came here to collect money he’s owed,” his uncle explained.
Ron choked on his drink. “Are we having financial problems you guys forgot to tell me about? And since when do we borrow money from men like him?”
Annoyance flickered in Gregory’s eyes. “We don’t. Your father did.”
Ron’s stomach dropped. “My father?”
“Not for himself, you understand,” Penelope rushed to reassure Ron. “Your father was a thrifty, hardworking man. He gave up being a firefighter for your mother. When he learned that Nina was pregnant with you, he enrolled in college, earned his business degree and worked his way up the ranks here at Neumann before we sent him to California to manage the branch there. You can continue now, Gregory.”
Gregory took a long swig out of his glass and put it on the side table. “Nina never learned how to manage money. She was convinced she’d get a break in the show business if she wore the right clothes and jewelry, attended the right parties, things your father couldn’t always afford. Mother often covered most of her expenses, but Nina refused to curb her spending.”
“I now know it was my fault,” Penelope added in a reflective tone. “I spoiled her and she expected your father to pick up where I left off. He adored her and was willing to do anything to keep her happy.” She nodded at Gregory and sunk back into her seat.
“But what he didn’t know was how much she was using company charge accounts or that the Californian branch was sinking deeper and deeper into debt,” Gregory continued.
Ron’s gaze swung between his grandmother and uncle. “What does all this have to do with Doyle and the money my father owed him?”
“To cover what Nina had done, your father got involved with Doyle and his get-rich-quick investments. Or should we say insurance scams. By the time we found out, he owed the man a quarter of a million dollars. We offered to pay his debt, but your father said no. He created the problem, he’d fix it, he insisted. But Doyle didn’t want money. He wanted Carlyle House instead. The house was worth about half-a-million at the time and he was willing to pay the difference.” Gregory drained his drink. “Your mother refused. She knew Doyle had targeted your father because he was obsessed with owning Carlyle House. Even when we were young, we’d catch him peering in from outside. She swore she’d rather see the house torched than in the hands of Doyle.”
Ron’s head jerked up. “Are you saying Mom—?”
“Of course not,” Penelope snapped. “Nina has her faults, but she’d never do something so despicable. She sold the house to the Fitzgeralds. The money from the sale was to pay back Doyle. But someone started the fire.”
“That night, before the fire, Doyle came to the house, demanding we accept his terms,” Gregory continued. “Your father and I told him the house was already sold to someone else. He became livid, words were exchanged, accusations and counter-accusations.”
Ron sat up, Ashley’s revelation during hypnosis flitting through his head. “What kind of accusations?”
“Your father accused him of orchestrating an investment scam. Doyle dared him to prove it. In the aftermath of the fire, Doyle disappeared from L.A. Any attempts to contact him were unsuccessful. Then he appeared at our door today unannounced. Once again, he wants Carlyle House, and the money he’s owed is the down payment on it.”
Ron scowled. “Are you saying Mom never sent the money back?”
Gregory shook his head. “Nina didn’t know about all this. She’d just lost your father and was grieving. Your grandmother and I took care of it. We wired the money back to Doyle. But a few days after the fire, we discovered the same amount of money plus twenty-five thousand more in your father’s account. By that time, the rumor that he was involved in the fire was floating around. We didn’t know what to believe.”
“The money didn’t
make sense, and the rumors were ludicrous,” Penelope added.
“Our investigator checked into it, but he couldn’t find any records of a wire transfer. The bank couldn’t tell us who deposited the bulk of it. But he learned that the twenty-five thousand came from Prime Corp, a dummy company set up by Ryan. The same amount was wired into the bank accounts of three firefighters who were on duty the night of the fire, the same men who died in that boat two days ago. That’s when we began to wonder if the rumors were true.”
Ron winced as the words ricocheted in his head. “No, there must be another explanation for the money.”
“And the rumors?” Penelope asked.
Ron scrubbed his face, frustration burning his insides. The father he knew would never stoop to criminal activities, not even to cover a debt. “I don’t know. Did you ask Doyle about it today?”
“Of course, we did,” Penelope said.
“He insisted he had no idea what we were talking about,” Gregory added. “He claimed he never received the money we sent him, never owned Prime Corp, but he had legal papers that showed your father owed him the quarter a million plus any interest accrued in case he didn’t pay him back.”
“I will pay it back and expose him for the scumbag that he is,” Ron vowed.
“You’ll do no such thing,” Penelope snapped. “Doyle’s money has been sitting in an account we set up. We’ll wire it to him, plus the interest. As for Carlyle House, I agree with your mother. He’ll never set a foot in it.” Penelope got to her feet. “We never wanted to burden you with this, Ronald. But now that you know, you must put it behind you and move on. No one knows who started the rumors or whether they’re true or not. Gregory and I will end this.” She walked to his side and pressed a firm hand on his shoulder. The pressure was not reassuring. “Of course, your mother must not be told about this. She’s not strong enough to handle something like this which is why when someone sent her the same letters you received, Connie intercepted them and sent them to us. We didn’t know the person would target you.”
Slow Burn Page 29
