by Brenda Novak
“No. I’ve got it.” His grandfather would expect more of him than to dump Josephine’s death onto Maisey or Roxanne.
“What about your company?” she asked.
“It’ll be fine.” He’d have to stop acquiring for the time being—unless he decided to juggle that with everything else. But there was no need to do that. He could rely on his employees and focus on his own pursuits later.
Maisey turned back to Chief Underwood. “That’s it? That’s the answer? She was going bankrupt, so she killed herself?”
“Going bankrupt would be no small thing to someone like Josephine,” Chief Underwood pointed out. “You said that yourself.”
“True,” Keith allowed. “But you don’t know our mother if you think she’d wimp out that easily.”
Underwood tucked several strands of her honey-colored hair behind one ear. “From what I’ve seen, she’s been battling financial problems for at least three years, ever since I got here. That was when she first bought into the resort.”
“Still,” Keith said.
The police chief scooted her chair closer to the desk. “Look, Mr. Lazarow. I can see how hard this is for you.” She shifted those pretty eyes to Maisey. “For both of you. If she were my mother, I’d be just as convinced she’d never take her own life. But...we can’t overlook the facts.”
“What facts?” Keith asked. “The autopsy hasn’t even been done yet.”
“At this point, the coroner and I believe the autopsy is merely a formality.”
“Which is what makes me uncomfortable,” Keith said.
“That’s why we’re permitting you to select a qualified pathologist from a list of doctors we recognize as having the proper credentials and experience—to compensate for any prejudice you feel we might have. Didn’t Maisey tell you? We spoke about it this morning.”
“Maisey told me, and I appreciate that you’re working with us.” He had enough money, and his name carried enough clout, that he could create a fuss if she didn’t. Whether that had been a factor or not, he hated to guess. She’d agreed; that was what mattered.
“I’m happy to make the concession,” she said.
“That’s good. Thank you. But we need more,” he responded. “We need an aggressive investigation.”
Underwood’s chair creaked when she shifted in it, even though she didn’t weigh all that much. “O-kay.” She stretched out the word as if she was surprised he was still pushing. “Let’s look at other possibilities, shall we? Who would’ve wanted your mother dead?”
Now she was playing along just to show them how ridiculous they were being. Keith resented the fact that she was patronizing him, but at least she was listening.
“Our mother wouldn’t end it all without providing for Pippa and Tyrone,” Maisey said. “She had other help—people who assisted whenever she had a party or drove her if she preferred not to drive—but they were only on call and weren’t nearly as close to her. She wouldn’t have left Pippa and Tyrone high and dry, especially since they’re getting on in age.”
“Even if she’d lived, she wouldn’t have been able to continue paying them,” Underwood said.
“You can’t say that for sure,” Maisey argued. “She was dating a wealthy man from Australia. Maybe they would’ve married, and that would’ve solved everything.”
“You’re talking about Hugh Pointer.”
It wasn’t a question, more of a confirmation. “Yes.”
“I thought so.” Underwood clasped her hands in front of her. “He’s already married, Maisey.”
This news hit Keith like a solid right hook. “What?”
“You heard correctly. I called to get a statement from him before he could hear the news from someone else.”
“So...what was he doing with our mother?” Keith asked.
She moved some papers onto a pile to her left. “This wouldn’t be the first time someone’s cheated.”
“I’d be willing to bet it was the first time someone cheated on our mother,” Maisey said. “Did she know he was married?”
Keith answered before Chief Underwood could. “No way. Mom would never tolerate second place.”
“I tend to agree,” Underwood said. “She didn’t strike me as someone who’d accept anything less than total devotion. Although I couldn’t say we were friends, I met her on several occasions—at the playhouse one night, at the opening of the new art gallery a block over, at the event we held to raise money to equip our volunteer firefighters. She was...formidable, to say the least. So I’m guessing she didn’t know but found out, and that may have precipitated her death. Could be she suspected something was up, hired a private detective to follow Hugh around and...”
Underwood didn’t finish, but she didn’t need to. If Josephine had suspected, she could’ve done exactly that. Their mother wouldn’t hesitate to protect her interests. From time to time, Keith had even suspected she had people watching him.
No longer sure what to say, he sank back into his seat. “What a bastard.”
“Well, if she was hoping to marry him for his money...” Underwood raised her hands as if she didn’t care to spell out that thought, either, and she had a point.
Keith had expected the fact that Josephine had packed her bags and had a fabulous vacation lined up to serve as proof that she’d planned to stick around long enough to enjoy it. But if she’d been battling to save her fortune, her land and her house, and she’d just learned that her only hope of solving these problems wasn’t going to pan out...
God, she could’ve called him, Keith thought. He was shocked at how good he was at making money, once he really started to apply himself.
But, as Chief Underwood had mentioned, Josephine had too much pride...
“Wait,” he said. “If she was planning to go visit him at his home...what about his wife? How would he keep them from meeting up?”
“Lana Pointer was touring Europe with their daughter, who’s eighteen. They have two sons, who’re closer to your age, married and on their own, and then this girl, who came as a late surprise when his wife was in her forties.”
Les Scott, a uniformed police officer and someone Keith had gone to school with before ninth grade—at which point Josephine had shipped him off to boarding school—stuck his head in the room. “Sorry to interrupt. I’m going to lunch and wondered if you’d like me to bring you a sandwich,” he said to his chief.
“That’d be great. I’ll have the meatball sub, extra sauce,” she told him and the door closed. “So...does that answer your questions?” she asked when they were alone again.
No. In Keith’s opinion, what she’d told them only created more questions, and he could tell Maisey felt as bewildered as he did. “Our mother would never commit suicide,” he replied. “Despite everything you’ve said.”
“It’s a long time since you were home.” Underwood spoke as if he wouldn’t really know. She seemed to think she had it all figured out. But nothing about Josephine was simple. It never had been.
“Her phone’s missing,” he said. “So’s her computer. I take it you have them?”
“Yes. I’ve got her phone right here.” She delved into a drawer and held up his mother’s Samsung Galaxy. “Her computer’s with an evidence technician in Charleston.”
“Because...”
“I’m doing my homework.”
“When can I get them back?”
“When I’m done. I’m still tying up loose ends. If I can prove she had a private detective looking for information on her boyfriend, for instance, we’ll be able to fit in that piece of the puzzle.”
The nervous energy passing through Keith made him bounce his knee. Thanks to his exercise regimen, he couldn’t remember being this tense in quite some time. “You’re trying to prove suicide.”
“If I prove
suicide, I’ll disprove murder.”
“You’ll never prove suicide because she didn’t kill herself.” He indicated the folder. “Any chance I can get a copy of what you’ve got in there?”
Underwood returned the file to its drawer. “Not right now. Maybe later.”
“Why wait?” he asked. “I only want the truth.”
She met his gaze. “Keith, I’m doing all you can reasonably expect of me. I don’t need you getting in the way or making my life difficult.”
Apparently, his reputation had preceded him. He lifted his hands. “All I asked for is a copy of the file, Chief. That can’t be too hard to provide.”
With a long-suffering shake of her head, she got out the file again—but set it beyond his reach. “Fine,” she conceded. “I’ll have Les scan the contents and email them to you. Fair enough?”
Keith wrote his email address on a notepad he found on the desk and handed it to her. “This is where it should go.”
“He’ll jump right on it.”
Keith caught a hint of sarcasm in her response—as if he was being too high-handed—but he ignored it. He wouldn’t let anyone stand in the way of the answers he sought. Including her. “I’d also be grateful if you’d call over to the morgue and make arrangements for us to see her today.”
Underwood’s mouth tightened, suggesting this put her off even more. “The morgue isn’t designed for public viewings. You’ll be able to see her after they release her body. Once she’s at a funeral home, you can go ahead and have a viewing or bury her or whatever you’d like.”
“That’ll be after the autopsy, which will take another day or two. Maybe more. Chances are she’ll no longer resemble the woman I remember, and you know it.”
“That’s not necessarily true. People have open caskets after autopsies all the time—”
“I haven’t seen her in five years, Chief Underwood. Could you show me a little compassion and make it possible to spend ten minutes with my dead mother today?”
“I’d like to see her, too,” Maisey piped up. “I don’t think any of this will feel real until I do.”
Chief Underwood closed her eyes and pinched the bridge of her nose, as if she was digging deep for patience. Keith could tell she thought she was already bending over backward by agreeing to give him a copy of the file. Ultimately, however, she gave in. “I can’t believe I’m doing this,” she said with a sigh. “I shouldn’t. Just keep in mind that they’re busy over there and probably won’t welcome you. This will force someone to take time out of his or her schedule, so I’d appreciate it if you’d be as brief as possible.”
“You have my word,” Keith said and waited while she made the call.
“You can head there now if you like,” Underwood told him when she hung up and wrote down the address. “The supervising technician, a man by the name of Dean Gillespie, will meet you when you arrive and take you back.”
“Thank you.” Keith shook her hand before leading Maisey out into the cool, damp weather of another rainy day.
“The morgue?” Maisey said as they climbed into his rental car. The keys of his mother’s Mercedes were where she’d always kept them, but he hadn’t been able to bring himself to drive her car quite yet. “We’re going to the morgue?”
“Would you rather not?” he asked.
She seemed a little shell-shocked. “I’d like to see Mom, as I said. I’m just not sure what else you’re hoping to accomplish.”
“I want to see the condition of her body.”
“You’re afraid there might be injuries they’re not telling us about?”
“I’d rather not take someone else’s word for it. Doesn’t hurt to stay involved, right?” He started the car but didn’t shift into Drive. “So...are you in? Or should I drop you off at home?”
Although she frowned, she didn’t take long to decide. “I’m in. But then what?”
“Then we choose a pathologist we feel we can trust from the list they gave you. Whoever it is will probably need to have her transferred to the hospital where he or she works.”
“And after that?”
“I’d like to talk to Hugh.”
She buckled her seat belt. “Why? So you can ask him if Mom knew he was married? You’ll have no way of knowing whether he’s telling the truth.”
“I can ask him that and other things. Compare what he tells me with what he told the police. Look for inconsistencies. I can also research his background, find out what’s going on in his life and what he might’ve been after by dating Mom in the first place. That might be more useful.”
Maisey rolled her eyes. “Why? Isn’t it obvious? Men adored Mom. I’ve never seen a woman attract so much attention—except maybe Marilyn Monroe.”
That the starlet had also died naked with an empty bottle of pills nearby made the comparison a bit chilling. Was that where their mother’s killer had gotten the idea? “So why wasn’t he willing to leave his wife for her?”
“Maybe he loves his wife. Or he wasn’t willing to break up his family. Chief Underwood mentioned two sons and a youngish daughter.”
“His wife has to be easier to live with than Mom would’ve been.”
“He wouldn’t have realized that yet. No one can resist Mom when she’s pouring on the charm.”
“Still, I can’t buy that she’d ever take her own life.”
“Even after what we just heard?”
“Did it change your mind?” he asked.
She looked dejected as she stared at the wet, shiny pavement ahead of them. “Honestly?”
“Of course.”
“No,” she said.
“There you go.”
He’d finally shifted and pulled away from the curb when he saw a woman carrying a fluffy Chow Chow—a dog too big for that sort of thing—down the sidewalk ahead of them. “That’s Nancy, isn’t it? And her dog, Simba?”
Maisey took so long to answer he thought she was going to ignore the question.
“Isn’t it?” he prompted, throwing her a sharp glance.
She squinted through the windshield as if she wasn’t quite sure. “Maybe,” she said.
He knew it was Nancy. He’d recognize her anywhere.
Pulling alongside her, he lowered the passenger window. “Hey, climb in,” he called out. “We’ll give you a ride.”
She started at the sound of his voice. She’d obviously been so intent on not dropping her heavy bundle that she hadn’t been paying attention to what was going on around her. She was probably also a little surprised to see him. The only interaction they’d had in the five years he’d been gone was a handful of calls, all instigated by him and all of which she’d ignored, and the car he’d tried to give her a few years ago, which she’d forced the driver to return.
“That’s okay,” she said. “It’s not much farther.”
If she was still in the same house, and he guessed she was, she lived just down the street in a small cottage she’d inherited from her late aunt. She was right—it wasn’t far. But she was already struggling to hang on to her dog. “Simba’s got to be getting heavy,” he said. “And he doesn’t look comfortable. Let us give you a ride,” he said again.
“We’re wet,” she responded.
“Avis will clean the car when I return it,” he told her.
“Come on!” Maisey chimed in and, rather than say no to both of them, Nancy slowed to a stop.
7
NANCY COULDN’T BELIEVE IT. Maisey had stopped by just this morning to warn her that she might run into Keith and here he was—at the worst possible moment. Her hair was plastered to her head. She wasn’t wearing any makeup. She had on a jogging outfit that probably showed every extra pound. And she was breathing heavily from exertion.
She told herself not to even think like t
hat. She didn’t care if he admired her. She’d been crazy to believe he could ever give her what she needed. Maybe she wasn’t a svelte 120 pounds, like his mother, but she was done hanging on to his every word and feeling grateful for any scrap of attention. She was done starving herself in order to be something she wasn’t. She’d find the right companion eventually—or she’d continue to build a fulfilling life alone.
“What happened?” Maisey asked as Nancy situated her dog beside her. “Why were you carrying Simba?”
She held Simba back so he couldn’t stick his muzzle between the front seats. “He stepped on a piece of glass while we were on our walk, so I took him to the vet.” And here she’d thought she’d been fortunate that the incident had occurred only two doors down from the animal clinic. If she’d taken him home and looked after him herself, she wouldn’t have been on the side of the road at that particular moment, and then she might’ve been able to put off encountering Keith until the funeral. She told herself she didn’t care what he thought of her looking so bad, but being around him wasn’t exactly comfortable...
“Poor baby. Will he be okay?”
This came from Maisey again. Keith hadn’t said anything since she’d climbed in, but she could see his stunning blue-green eyes in the rearview mirror as he eased into traffic. She still dreamed about those eyes...
Only because she hadn’t found the guy she was going to fall in love with, she quickly told herself. She was working on that; it was just a matter of time. At least ten new prospects from her online dating site had left her a message over the weekend. And more were coming in every day... “Should be. He cut his front paw, but the vet cleaned and dressed the wound.”
Maisey held her seat belt away from her body so she could turn around and pet him. “You were trying not to set him down until you got home?”
“I didn’t see any reason to let his bandage get dirty.”
“He’s too big to carry,” Maisey said with a chuckle.
Nancy refused to let her gaze shift back to that rearview mirror and what it revealed of Keith. She could smell his cologne, which was bad enough. “I do it all the time—pick him up and carry him over to the couch so he’ll sit with me, or to the tub out back for his bath. He’d never voluntarily get in the tub. But I’ve never tried to haul him several blocks. The distance makes a difference.”
