He went back into the bar. Josh was finishing his beer.
“Trouble?” Josh said.
“Hard to say. Laurel’s in town.”
Josh started. “Why?”
“How the hell do I know?” He asked the bartender for coffee. “I have to take a little trip to Brisbane. That’s Brisbane, Maryland, not Australia.” He related his conversation to Josh.
“And cut short your R and R. When Avidon hired me to befriend Laurel in college and keep an eye on her, I thought I was doing you a favor recommending you to him. Sorry I involved you.”
“Don’t be,” Dylan said, blowing on the coffee the bartender had set on the bar. “It could be worse. I could be where Gerald is. In fact, I thought I would be. Instead, I’m babysitting again. Christ almighty.”
“As long as you have to leave town, I may as well go back to NYC tonight. I hate the atmosphere in D.C. Maybe one of these days we can actually spend some time together sea fishing like we did the summer we graduated from high school. Those were the days.”
“Weren’t they, though?”
By the time Laurel landed, got her rental car, and was on the road, the sun was setting. Thank goodness she didn’t have far to go. She called Velma and told her she would be there soon. In no time, she saw a sign for Brisbane. She took the off ramp and went north on a secondary road.
As she came to the city limits, she slowed. The town had two stoplights. Velma had told her to turn right at the second one. She ignored the rest of Velma’s directions, preferring her GPS to “After Hank’s auto shop, go up past the supermarket and turn left just before Myrna’s Books.”
She stopped in front of a small house. It looked newly painted. A well-tended lawn was halved by a flagstone walk that led to a glassed-in front porch. Laurel rang the doorbell. The door was opened by a tall, slender woman with graying hair and kind eyes.
“Laurel?”
“Aunt Velma.” She held out her hand, but Velma ignored it and hugged her.
“Please, come in.”
The living room was furnished in Danish modern. A fireplace sat along one wall. Not a doily or cat in sight. “Make yourself at home. Would you like a drink?”
“What are you having?”
“A Rob Roy. I have several brands of scotch. Pick your poison.”
“I’m not a big fan of scotch, so you choose.” Her thoughts went to Dylan and his scotch.
While Velma made the drinks, Laurel tried to memorize the pictures on the mantelpiece. There were several of a younger Velma with a handsome man. Probably her husband.
When Velma came back and handed her the drink, Laurel said, “No pictures of your family?”
“They weren’t much for picture-taking. Your father hated to have his taken. His parents, my brother and sister-in-law, didn’t own a camera as far as I know. I never had children, so Harry was the center of my life. We weren’t picture-takers either. Please come and sit down.”
When Laurel was seated she said, “I have to admit I wasn’t sure what to expect. I don’t know why my father never mentioned you or his parents.”
Velma was quiet for a few moments. “Gerald didn’t have a happy childhood. I was the only one who showed him any affection and that was sporadic at best. Your grandparents didn’t like me to interfere in their lives or Gerald’s. I did what I could.”
“I think he must have appreciated that. Your card was the only memento I found from family.” She didn’t want to tell Velma what Gerald had written on his mother’s obituary. “Did you know my mother?”
“I never even knew Gerald married. What is she like?”
Laurel took a sip of scotch, and then another. “I don’t know. I don’t remember her and have never seen a picture of her.”
“Odd. I wonder what happened to her.”
“So do I, but he wouldn’t speak of her. All I know is that she’s dead and I was raised by a nanny.”
“Tell me what Gerald has been doing for the past thirty years.”
Laurel spent the next half hour telling her great aunt everything she could remember. Velma didn’t interrupt her. When Laurel finally ran out of steam, Velma shook her head sadly.
“It doesn’t surprise me that he would turn out as he did. I’m just sorry you came all the way here hoping to find some answers.”
Laurel tried not to show her disappointment. “That’s okay. It isn’t your fault.”
“There is one thing I will tell you. I fear it will make matters worse, but you deserve to know. I have always had my suspicions, but now that you’ve told me about Gerald’s career, I can imagine the likelihood.”
“What?”
“I think Gerald murdered his father.”
Patricide. The word sat like a lump in Laurel’s chest. Worse, she believed it. About her own father.
After she checked into a motel, she pulled up to the sidewalk in front of her room and turned off the car. She sat for a few moments, thinking about her visit with Aunt Velma. What did I hope to find here? Answers about my mother?
She got out of the car and grabbed her purse and overnight bag. She noticed one car in the parking area besides hers. It was parked three doors down. Light shone through threadbare drapes.
Her room was what she had expected. A double bed with an eggplant-purple bedspread took up most of the room. A dresser, atop which was a TV, and a table with two chairs completed the décor. She turned on the bathroom light and glanced around. It seemed clean enough. Satisfied, she opened the dresser drawers and found a phone directory. She looked up the number of a pizza place she’d seen just inside the Brisbane city limits and called them for delivery. Afterwards, she checked her cell for messages.
Mike Branson had called twice. She’d almost forgotten she left him a message. That one could wait until she got home. There was also a message from Dylan. What does he want? All it said was “Call me.” What now? That one, she deleted.
Within a few minutes, there was a knock at the door. Good. I’m starved. “Just a sec.” She got her wallet and opened the door. Dylan stood there with a large pizza and a six-pack of Perrier. Her mouth dropped open.
“It won’t be as nutritious as Mari’s, but it’s food.”
She just stood there. The aroma from the square cardboard box he held was heavenly.
He looked at her questioningly. “Well, are you going to leave a poor pizza delivery boy out in the cold or invite him in?”
She opened her wallet. “The former.” She handed him a twenty and took the pizza. “Go away, pizza boy.”
She tried to close the door, but his foot blocked it. “Ma’am, your money is no good here.” He handed her the twenty.
She sighed. “What do you want? I thought I was finished with you.” She walked to the table and put the pizza on it. Dylan followed her in and shut the door.
“So did I, but others higher up the food chain have different ideas.” He set the water on the table and opened two bottles.
She sat and motioned toward the other chair. “Please join me, why don’t you?”
“My pleasure.” He helped himself to a slice of pizza.
“How did you find me?”
“Vee haf our vays.”
“Be serious. I’m creeped out to think my every move is known. Big Brother in action.” She took a bite of pizza and followed it with a swallow of water.
“Honestly, I don’t like it either.”
“Are you supposed to grill me on why I came to be in this quaint little village?”
“No. We know why. Were you able to satisfy your curiosity?”
“About what?”
He took another slice. “Whatever you were curious about.”
She rolled her eyes. “Fishing, are we? So you don’t really know why I’m here. Let’s keep it that way.” She picked a piece of pepperoni off her slice and ate it.
“I suppose it’s natural you’d want to see her. How long have you known about her?”
“So you do know why I’m here. Figures.
I’ve known about her since yesterday. I found a birthday card she sent my father. Guess where I found it.”
“How would I know?” He took another slice of pizza.
“In a secret room. Did you know there’s a secret room in the house?”
He almost dropped his water. “No. Did you?”
“Nope. I found it quite by accident when I was cleaning out my father’s study. I’m not sure what it’s for, but there were some boxes with old pictures and stuff.”
“What stuff?”
“Stuff that would put Gerald away for life if he weren’t already dead. It seems he might have been a professional hit man before he went ‘legit’. Before that, who knows? Velma told me she thinks he killed his father.”
“Do you believe her?”
“I don’t know what to believe. And that bothers me. I should have protested, but . . . I admit I believed her at the time. Now, I’m not so sure.”
Dylan put his empty bottle in the trash and opened another. “More?”
She shook her head. “Still working on this one. First time I’ve ever had a Rob Roy with a water chaser.”
He grinned. “So Auntie likes scotch. Was it your father’s brand?”
“No, but she could afford it. She told me he sent her and her husband a yearly stipend, if you can call half a million a stipend. But they never spent it. It sits in a bank collecting interest.”
He whistled. “Why’d he do that?”
“You’d have to ask him.” She saw the color leave Dylan’s face. “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing. When are you going home?”
“Awkward segue. What’s it to you?”
“I told you. I’m expected to keep doing what I’ve been doing. We can fly out together.”
“What a thrill.”
Chapter 18
Laurel stood as Mike Branson entered her office. She shook hands with him and invited him to sit down. He took in the particulars of the office in a couple of glances, and then turned his full attention to her. She was sure his reporter’s eyes had missed nothing.
“Coffee?” she said.
“No, thanks. Ulcer has been acting up. It’s good to meet again.”
“Under better circumstances.”
“I hope you still feel that way when you find out why I asked for this meeting.”
“After you left me at the funeral and I saw what you gave me, I expected you to call. When you didn’t, I assumed it wasn’t important.” She opened her desk and took out a piece of paper. “Until I found this.” She pushed it across the desk.
Branson picked it up. His eyes widened. “This isn’t the one I gave you. Where’d you get this?”
“That isn’t important. What is important is how you came to have a copy. And why.”
He handed it back to her. “Have you seen my TV show?”
“I’m afraid not.”
He looked slightly embarrassed. “You think I’m a bottom feeder.”
“Since I haven’t seen the show, it wouldn’t be fair to judge. My housekeeper likes it.”
“Ah . . . that’s good. I can live with a fifty percent rating. Let me tell you a little about myself and the show. I have degrees in communications and journalism. I never anticipated becoming involved in tabloid journalism—yes, I’m fully aware that’s what my show is. I hate the connotation and over the past year have tried to bring some class to it. Whether I’ve succeeded or not is hard to say. Ratings have stayed pretty static.” He took a pill out of his shirt pocket and put it in his mouth. “Antacid,” he said.
Laurel managed not to show her growing impatience. He was a reporter all right. The guy loved to hear himself talk.
He chewed the pill and swallowed before continuing. “Sorry. I’ll make this short. One of my producers gave me the idea of looking into some cold cases around the country that never received any notoriety. Kind of sticking up for the little guy who gets lost in the shuffle because he isn’t important enough to warrant a lengthy, expensive police investigation. I’ve been doing it for several months.”
“Have you solved any cases?”
“Unfortunately, no. That’s why I’m here. It occurred to me that teaming up with a P.I. might speed things along. There would be some travel involved, paid for by the station, of course. Plus we would pay your going rate.”
“Why me?” This might just be a way to stem the boredom that often overtook her and get her away from her re-ensconced apartment dweller.
“Because of the newspaper article.”
“This one?” She picked it up from atop the desk but didn’t look at it. She knew it by heart. “I don’t understand.”
Branson sighed. “I wouldn’t expect you to. My producer’s family owns several newspapers, including the Clarion. I can’t begin to tell you how much crap I’ve waded through in the newspaper files in various cities to find stories of still unsolved murders. The story I gave you, I found six months ago. When I saw your father’s obituary, and that he had worked for Chaber Pharmaceuticals, I remembered the article. I thought you might be interested in helping me. Your father might have known those people, at least the husband, since he worked there too.”
“Why would the Clarion report it? Chaber Pharma isn’t in Brisbane. Not even close. I would think these people, the Markhams, would live near work.”
Branson shrugged. “Slow news day? Who knows? The point is, they did report it, albeit on an inside page.”
Laurel fingered the article. “Do you have anything more than speculation that my father and Mr. Markham may have crossed paths?”
“Unfortunately, no. But it’s a place to start.”
“An obscure place. Even if we found out they knew each other, how would that lead us to the murderer? For that matter, it’s possible there was a gas leak and the house exploded.”
Branson shook his head. “Don’t forget, they found an accelerant.”
Laurel bit her lip in concentration. “I don’t know the Chabers personally—except their son. I can’t imagine he’d be any help, though.”
“You’re interested anyway, aren’t you?”
“Maybe,” she admitted. “I’ll give it some thought and let you know. That’s the most I can promise.”
After Branson left, Laurel sat at her desk and stared at the article. What was the truth? Did Gerald know the Markhams? Had he murdered them? Mike Branson hadn’t broached that possibility, but he didn’t know her father’s history. If he knew or found out, his instincts would surely cause him to wonder or suspect. She could imagine him grabbing onto the idea. She had proof of her father’s profession in a hidden room. No matter how good Branson was at his job, she didn’t think he could get hold of mafia records, if indeed that’s what they were. Whatever her father had done when he was alive, nothing would be served by splashing it all over the country via a second-rate television show.
“Sorry, Mike. I may do more snooping, but it won’t be for you.”
Upset at the very idea her father might have killed an innocent family, she left her office. The elevator descended to the underground parking area. Her high heels clicked rhythmically on the pavement. At the other end of the lot, two men got off another elevator. One of them got in a car right next to the elevator. The other walked away from her and toward a car parked against the far wall, whistling a tune that bounced off the concrete walls and ceiling.
She drove around the ramps until she reached the ticket booth. The woman in the booth glanced at her parking sticker and nodded. As she pulled out into the sunshine, she put on her sunglasses and waited for the light at the corner to change. No way would the cars sitting across the parking lot exit, waiting for the green light, be nice enough to let her in.
Even when the light changed, she had to sit until the exit was clear. A car pulled up behind her. A glance in the rearview mirror told her it was the car the whistler owned. As she turned onto the street, the tune he had whistled went through her mind.
She recognized it, though she ha
dn’t sung it since fifth grade music class. “Billy Boy.” Unable to recall the words, she hummed the tune.
Chapter 19
“Kraft.”
“Hi, Kraft. This is Avidon. How’d you like to go on a trip?”
“To where?”
“Pennsylvania.”
“What’s in Pennsylvania?”
“Cops. Newspapers. Pharma.”
“You forgot sports.”
“I only remember the important things. You have one chance to say ‘yes’ or I’ll go by myself.”
“It isn’t like you to be so accommodating. What mischief are you up to this time?”
“You’ll have to say ‘yes’ to find out.”
“Has anyone ever had the nerve to tell you what a pain in the ass you are?”
“Probably to my ass, but not to my face. Do you have the nerve?”
“Not if it means having to put up with your less than stellar Tae Kwon Do moves.”
“Don’t worry. I won’t hurt you again. Promise. By the way, you’re a pain in the ass too.”
“The difference between us is that I know I am. I work at it. What time do you want me ready and how long will we be gone? Oh, and why are we going?”
“As you said to me, you need to learn to trust someone.”
He laughed. “I hate it when my own words are turned against me.”
“Then be more careful what you say. I have tickets for tomorrow morning. We should leave here by six. I’ve booked the motel. I’ve also made an appointment with a local police detective and that’s the reason you’re going. Bring your shiny badge and be prepared to one-up him if necessary.”
“Sorry, Avidon. I need more info before I put my career on the line.”
“I know. I’ll explain later. I wouldn’t ask you if it weren’t important to me. If you decide you’d rather not, I’ll go anyway. Kraft.”
“Yeah, I already know that. I’ll be ready. Avidon.”
Airplanes usually made Laurel sleepy, but not today. After a harrowing taxi ride to the airport—an hour’s ride hampered by the usual morning commute and an overturned semi—she feared they would miss the plane altogether.
For The Love Of Laurel Page 13
