Oh my God. It was a party for their dog. Their dog.
“You call two dogs humping in somebody’s backyard a sexual assault?” I demanded.
Liam looked up at me
“Is this your idea of a joke?” I slammed my fists on the desk and shot to my feet. “What kind of a sick twist are you?”
He drew back and looked slightly concerned for his safety. Obviously, he hadn’t expected this response from me—which made me even madder.
“I sat here riddled with guilt, sickened by the idea, and all along this supposed assault involved a dog?”
I’m pretty sure I shouted that.
“And you knew it?”
I definitely yelled that.
Liam continued to gaze at me, but he didn’t look angry or upset. He looked pleased, or something, and he actually started to grin.
Oh my God, he was not grinning.
“I don’t give a rat’s ass about your stupid lawsuit! I don’t care if it costs a billion dollars to settle, I’m not helping you with it! And don’t you ever come here again!” I screamed.
I stormed out of the interview room, down the hallway, and into my office. My breathing was labored, my knees shook, and I was on the very edge of perspiring.
I couldn’t remember when I’d been so completely furious—with anyone. And that’s saying a lot because some of my clients were real jerks—not to mention some of the guys I’d dated, some of the guys my friends had dated, and, of course, my mother.
I stomped to the window and gazed out, desperate to catch a glimpse of something—anything—pleasant so I could calm myself. That Liam Douglas was infuriating and I was close to completely losing control—and just when I’d sworn to be a nicer person.
A minute or two passed while I drew in calming breaths and forced myself to think happy thoughts.
I’m not really good at calming breaths or happy thoughts.
At this point, I realized, nothing would help but a massive amount of chocolate.
I remembered that I’d gotten two bags of M&Ms from the snack cabinet in the breakroom this morning so I whipped around to grab them off of my desk and—oh my God. That horrible Liam stood in my office doorway.
My heart rate shot up at the sight of him—but for a totally different reason this time.
“How can a pregnant woman tell if she’s carrying a future lawyer?” Liam asked. “She has an uncontrollable craving for bologna.”
I laughed—I didn’t want to, but it flew out. I clamped my lips together so I couldn’t do it again.
“I’m sorry,” he said, and walked into my office. “I handled that badly. When you walked in and I saw you, I …”
“I inspired you to act like a jerk?” I asked.
“You inspired me to stop thinking clearly,” he said.
He looked slightly mystified and, of course, so was I. We both just stood staring at each other, then he grinned.
He had a great grin.
Not that I cared.
Really.
“Maybe we can take another run at this some other time?” he asked.
“I don’t think so,” I said.
His grin got wider—which was really weird—and he simply nodded and left my office.
I staggered to my desk chair and collapsed.
I’d barely caught my breath when my cell phone rang. Jack Bishop was calling.
Oh my God, two totally hot guys within minutes of each other?
I nearly fell out of the chair.
“I just got word from the cops,” Jack said, when I answered. “It’s official. Veronica Spencer-Taft was murdered.”
Chapter 5
Jack waited in the hallway outside the entrance to L.A. Affairs while I walked out. He’d called from the parking garage and asked me to meet him so we could talk in person.
Today he had on jeans, a white dress shirt, and a sport coat, and he looked great. But I noticed a little strain around his eyes that hadn’t been there yesterday. I figured he was getting pressure from the Pike Warner law firm on behalf of the Spencer-Taft family to come up with some answers in Veronica’s death.
“It’s official?” I asked. “She was murdered?”
Jack nodded. “The techs calculated the trajectory of the fall and the body’s impact on the patio. It didn’t add up. The detectives found a witness, one of the construction workers, who saw her go over the railing. She didn’t jump, and it was no accident. Someone pushed her.”
Jack didn’t give any more details but I could imagine what the scene had looked like. Veronica grasping for a handhold, horror on her face as she tumbled.
Too awful, I decided, and pushed on with another question.
“Did the witness see who did it?” I asked. “Male, female? Old, young? Anything?”
“Nothing,” Jack said. He was quiet for a few seconds then said, “Look, I’m heading up this thing. The family wants answers and prefers their own security team over the cops.”
This wasn’t unusual among the caliber of people who could afford to retain personal security. I knew it meant there was a great deal of pressure on Jack from all sides. Expectations were high. His reputation was at stake.
“With the cops ruling the death a murder,” he said, “it could mean the family has been targeted. There’s the possibility of kidnapping, extortion, robbery. I’ve put round-the-clock security on the house but I need more.”
“What can I do?” I asked.
“Find out everything you can about the family,” Jack said, “especially those relatives who just showed up.”
Veronica’s three aunts and young cousin had seemed perfectly harmless to me. But was it something more than a coincidence that Veronica had been murdered moments after they arrived?
“Find out everything you can about the staff and what went on in that house, especially on the day of the murder,” Jack said.
Normally I would have been thrilled at the opportunity to help Jack with a case—his life is so much cooler than mine—but this time the circumstances were grim, sobering.
“You got it,” I told him.
“Stay in touch,” he said, then headed for the elevator.
I went back inside L.A. Affairs, grabbed my handbag and the Spencer-Taft event portfolio, and headed out.
* * *
“No way,” Andrea said. “No way would Veronica take her own life.”
We were standing in the entryway of the Calabasas mansion and I’d flat-out asked her about Julia’s assertion that Veronica had jumped from the balcony. Even though Jack had told me the police had concluded it was murder, I wanted Andrea’s take on the situation.
“You’re sure?” I asked.
“Absolutely,” she told me. “Come in. Let’s talk.”
She led the way down the hall in the west wing of the house, past several rooms—including the one I’d been held hostage in with the family yesterday—and into the kitchen. The place was huge, with miles of cabinets, state-of-the-art appliances, and magnificent tile, granite, and woodwork. Dishes, pots, and pans had been washed and left to dry beside the sink; apparently, the house guests were cooking for themselves.
“Where is everybody?” I asked.
I’d seen no workers at the front of the house when I’d pulled up, but had spotted two of Jack’s security team patrolling the grounds. No construction was underway inside the house. It was completely empty and silent.
“I’d booked all sorts of tours and outings for Veronica’s family,” Andrea explained as she opened the refrigerator door. “None of them were up to sightseeing but there was nothing for them to do here, so they went. I just put them in a limo a few minutes ago.”
“I guess Patrick’s not staying here?” I said.
I couldn’t imagine he’d ever want to sleep in the master suite again.
I wouldn’t.
“He spoke to Veronica’s family last night,” Andrea said. She grabbed a soda and passed it to me. “He’s a real mess. He might be staying at his parents�
� place in Hancock Park.”
Hancock Park was a very prestigious section of Los Angeles, populated by sedate, wealthy, old-money families, just the sort of location the Spencer-Tafts would call home.
“Or he might have gone back to the house in Culver City that he and Veronica lived in,” Andrea said, and took a soda for herself. “They were splitting their time between there and here, depending on which rooms were being renovated.”
I didn’t like thinking of Patrick alone in the house he’d shared with his new bride, remembering all of their time together, recalling their special moments. Too sad.
“He’d probably be better off at his parents’ house,” I said.
“That would certainly suit Julia,” Andrea said, and opened her soda.
I did the same, took a sip and said, “Julia didn’t seem all that thrilled with Patrick’s choice in a wife.”
Andrea led the way to a worktable and we climbed up onto high stools.
“Veronica was struggling with lots of things, certainly with her mother-in-law,” Andrea told me. “But she wouldn’t kill herself. She was very secure in Patrick’s love. She had plans for this house, plans to expand the candy company. She hoped that Brandie would like it here and want to visit more often, maybe even come here for college.”
Okay, that was weird. Julia had told me Veronica intended to leave California and return to her family.
“So she wasn’t planning to go back home?” I asked.
Andrea looked shocked. “Of course not. She’d never leave Patrick—but wait.”
She looked shocked—which I took as a good sign. But then she shook her head and said, “No. No, it couldn’t be.”
“What?” I asked.
“Veronica had some kind of announcement she intended to make on Thanksgiving Day,” Andrea said.
“About what?”
“She didn’t tell me, but I figured it was about expanding the business, since the employees were going to be here for the feast,” Andrea said. She shook her head. “It could have been something personal—but absolutely not that she was moving back home.”
“Are you sure?” I asked.
“Positive,” Andrea told me.
My belly felt queasy as a thought slammed into my head.
“Do you think maybe … maybe Veronica was pregnant?” I asked.
“Absolutely not. I ran all her errands. I picked up her prescriptions. She was on birth control—and she was a fanatic about it,” Andrea said. “She wouldn’t have left Patrick and she wouldn’t have thrown herself off that balcony.”
She seemed certain that Veronica hadn’t taken her own life and that she was happy here, yet Julia seemed equally sure that just the opposite was true. Had Veronica told Julia about her plan to leave, and not mentioned it to Andrea? Possibly.
Something hit me then.
“What about Veronica’s mom and dad?” I asked. “Why didn’t they come out with her aunts and Brandie?”
“Her dad passed away a long time go,” Andrea said, “and her mom has some health problems and can’t travel.”
We sat in silence for a few minutes. I didn’t know how much the police had told the family or how much of it had filtered down to Andrea, but if Jack’s concerns were spot-on—and I had no reason to doubt them—everyone in the house could be at risk.
“Did you hear the police had determined the cause of death?” I asked. When Andrea shook her head I said, “Veronica didn’t jump from the balcony. She was pushed.”
Andrea gasped and pressed both palms to her cheeks. Tears pooled in her eyes.
“She … she was murdered?” she managed to ask.
I nodded.
She took a few minutes to compose herself, wiped her eyes and sighed heavily.
“Veronica was so full of life, so full of energy. She was one of the nicest, sweetest people I’d ever met,” Andrea said.
“Did anything seem unusual about the day Veronica died?” I asked. “Was there anyone here who shouldn’t have been?”
“Just the staff,” Andrea said. “Two cooks and two housekeepers. But all of them had worked for Julia for years.”
“And all of the workmen doing the renovations had been vetted by their employers?” I asked.
“Of course,” Andrea insisted. “Nobody running a business that catered to the types of people who live in this area would send anyone to the home of one of their clients without doing a background check. They wouldn’t want to be responsible for unleashing a stalker or undercover reporter, or something like that, on them. Anyone who did that would be out of business in a heartbeat.”
“Did Veronica seem different in the last week or so?” I asked, and sipped my soda.
Andrea thought for a moment and said, “She’d seemed a little more stressed than usual, but who can blame her? Her family was coming and she wanted to get the house ready for them, and for the Thanksgiving feast she and Patrick were hosting for the Pammy Candy employees. And, of course, there were the usual things everybody deals with at this time of year for the holidays.”
Everything Andrea described seemed like normal stuff—except that, somehow, Veronica had been murdered.
Andrea shuddered. “The killer had been right here in this house?”
“That’s what it looks like,” I said, and Jack’s concerns came back to me again. “Listen, you should know there’s a possibility the family has been targeted, for some reason.”
Andrea didn’t look all the surprised. She’d worked as a personal assistant for other high-profile people in Los Angeles, and knew what to expect.
“Maybe it would be best if the family went back home,” she said, then shook her head, as if reconsidering her own suggestion. “But we’d have to tell them why. And if word got out?”
We both knew the media feeding-frenzy that would ensue if the story broke—the murder of a young woman from a wealthy family, out-of-town relatives fleeing in panic, and a Calabasas mansion on lock down. The speculation would be endless, the Spencer-Taft family would be furious, and Jack would be held responsible for not keeping an air-tight security lid on the incident.
“Here’s what we’ll do,” I said. “I’ll have the security team put a female in the house. You tell the aunts that she’s from a concierge service and is in charge of taking them on tours and things. That way they won’t become alarmed, but they’ll be protected.”
I knew Jack would go along with it—and it was totally cool to think I’d come up with a helpful idea.
Not that I’m desperate to impress Jack, or anything. Really.
Andrea nodded. “I can sell that. No problem.”
“Are you going to be okay here, keeping an eye on the family?” I asked. “You could be in danger, too.”
She shrugged. “I need the work. I’ll stay until I’m no longer needed.”
I slid down off of the stool and said, “You’ll let me know if you recall something out of the ordinary with Veronica, or the family, or anything?”
“Of course,” she promised. “I don’t know what’s up with the Thanksgiving feast for the employees. I’ll try to approach Patrick about it soon.”
“I’ll keep going forward with it until I hear differently.”
I dropped my soda can in the recycle bin, then wound my way through the big house and out to my Honda. The white BMW that belonged to Veronica was still parked there, alongside Andrea’s Mazda.
My head was full of suspects as I pulled away—not a difficult list to compile, since I pretty much knew everyone who had been at the house the day of the murder.
Julia was there. While she was hardly a loving mother-in-law, she was devoted to Patrick. She knew how much he loved Veronica. They’d been married for well over a year. For Julia to have suddenly lost it and thrown Veronica over the balcony, something major must have happened. I couldn’t imagine what it might have been so I knew of no motive—yet she’d disappeared shortly after the family arrived and gone, presumably, into the house.
Erika
had disappeared along with Julia. I hadn’t actually seen either one of them go inside. Were they together? Had one—or both—of them gone in? Or were they on the grounds overseeing the renovations with one of the workmen?
Erika was the interior decorator. If Veronica was dead she would likely be out of a job, so what could her motive have been for murder?
I pulled up to the security gate. Cars were stopped on the opposite side as the guard consulted his approved list of visitors. It reminded me again how difficult it was to gain access to the area.
The exit gate swung open and I drove through. Yesterday, a murderer had done the same. The mental image gave me a creepy feeling so I forced my thoughts back to possible suspects.
What about Renée? She’d rushed into the house immediately upon arrival, claiming she needed to find a bathroom. She’d been alone inside for a while, then admitted that her search had taken her all over the residence. Did that include the master suite? Could she have dashed upstairs, found it, seen Veronica and pushed her over the balcony?
Sure, it was possible. But why would she do it?
When I’d gone upstairs to find Veronica, I’d heard noise from a work crew nearby. Was one of them some psycho killer, or something, who’d pushed her off the balcony in a crazed fit of rage?
I wondered, too, about the cooks and maids Julia had sent to take care of Veronica’s house guests. Andrea said they’d worked for Julia for years and, presumably, were beyond approach.
But they were also devoted to Julia. Would they have done away with Veronica because of some whacked-out sense of loyalty? Could Julia have decided to get rid of her daughter-in-law and somehow gotten them to do her dirty work for her?
Was I stretching for suspects?
Oh, yeah. I was.
My brain definitely needed a boost. The soda I’d had with Andrea just wasn’t cutting it so I headed for the Commons, the shopping center that served the upscale Calabasas residents. I knew a Starbucks was there.
I knew where all the Starbucks were.
As so many Southern California days were, this one was gorgeous. I decided I owed it to myself to enjoy the weather a bit—plus, it was a good reason to delay my return to the office—so I parked and went inside.
Fanny Packs and Foul Play (A Haley Randolph Mystery) Page 4
