Cavanaugh Vanguard

by Marie Ferrarella

  “I’m sorry, Detectives. I didn’t mean to fly off the handle like that,” he apologized. “But I find having bodies uncovered on my former property very upsetting and deeply disturbing.”

  “We completely understand, Mr. Aurora—” Brianna began.

  An almost shy smile quirked the man’s rather small mouth. “Winston,” he reminded her.

  Brianna inclined her head obligingly.

  “Winston,” she corrected herself. “We definitely have no desire to upset you. At the moment, we’d just like to establish a few basic things.”

  Winston nodded a number of times as he listened to Brianna. “Yes, of course, I quite understand. What can I do to help?”

  Jackson thought back to what he’d heard his temporary partner tell Del Campo. It was a good place to start.

  “We need the hotel’s guest ledgers going as far back as possible, plus a list of all the hotel’s employees,” Jackson said.

  Winston appeared mystified. “You do understand that the hotel is over half a century old.”

  “We are aware of that, yes, sir,” Brianna answered.

  The billionaire’s next question was unexpected and threw them. “How old are these bodies you say were uncovered?”

  You say.

  Brianna replayed the question in her head. She wasn’t sure if that was just a slip of the tongue on Aurora’s part, or if he was deliberately implying that the whole thing was merely trumped-up charges.

  Jackson was obviously rubbing off on her, she thought.

  “We won’t know that until our ME finishes doing the autopsies,” Brianna answered the man.

  “If it would help move things along, I know several medical examiners in Sacramento,” Winston told them. “I could put in a call for you and get them down here by the end of the week, perhaps even sooner.”

  “That’s very kind of you, sir, but the lab has already put out the word in the department. We have several medical examiners on call already. There’s no shortage of willing hands,” she assured the billionaire. “But thank you for the offer.”

  Brianna didn’t want to risk offending the man or getting on his bad side. Most of all, she didn’t want him to think that they were looking at him as a possible suspect. Right now, that wasn’t the case—and it might never be, so they were playing it safe. If it turned out differently down the line, she didn’t want to put Winston on alert.

  “Win, what on earth is going on here? Why is there a sedan parked in front of the house?”

  A statuesque blonde, appearing to be between her late forties and early fifties, came into the library. Sharp green eyes took immediate measure of the two strangers in the room.

  “Who are these people?” she asked, glaring at Jackson and Brianna as if they had just invaded her castle and tracked mud all over the highly polished floors.

  “Gloria—” Winston, on his feet, extended his arm out toward his wife, indicating that he wanted her to come stand next to him “—I’d like you to say hello to these two fine young detectives.”

  “Detectives,” Gloria Aurora repeated. “Police or private?” she asked in a tone that had icicles attached to it.

  “We’re with the city’s police department, Mrs. Aurora,” Brianna told the woman, doing her best not to react to the judgmental tone.

  The woman said nothing to either detective. Instead, she turned toward her husband and demanded, “What are they doing here?” When he didn’t answer her as quickly as she wanted, Gloria turned on the two people and questioned them herself. “Why are you here?”

  Winston cleared his throat. It was obvious that he didn’t want his wife to create a scene, especially not in front of the detectives. He and his brothers had been raised to believe that image was everything.

  “There’s a problem with the hotel,” Winston began to explain.

  “The hotel,” Gloria repeated, almost with loathing. “Didn’t I tell you to get rid of that old relic years ago? Why he hung on to it I’ll never know,” she said, addressing her words to Jackson. “The man’s just too sentimental for his own good. I swear he has a heart like a bowl of mush sometimes. You’d never guess that he’s considered to be such a shrewd businessman by his competitors.” Mrs. Aurora sighed. “If they’d only seen him the way I have.”

  “Gloria, these detectives are not here to listen to matters concerning our private lives,” he said sternly.

  “Neither are you, apparently. Why didn’t you sell that hotel before now?” his wife demanded.

  Not wanting to get in the middle of a family dispute, Jackson picked up on Mrs. Aurora’s question. “Why did you pick now to sell it, sir?”

  “Because, Detective,” Winston replied, “despite the fact that I did want to hold on to it because it had been my grandfather’s pride and joy, I felt that it was time to allow the city to continue growing. Coupled with that,” he added, slanting a glance toward his wife, “I received an offer I couldn’t refuse.”

  Chapter 4

  “Do you know the name of the person who made this offer?” Jackson asked.

  Gloria Aurora scowled. Her frown had the ability to transform an attractive face almost into a mask, one that even her husband had been known to be wary of.

  “Winnie, don’t you think you should have a lawyer present before you answer any more of these people’s questions?” Mrs. Aurora’s tone was civil, but it was more of a demand than a question.

  It was obvious that the woman was more than a little surprised when her husband held his ground, not against the police detectives, but against her suggestion.

  “There’s no need for lawyers, Gloria,” Winston replied amicably. “There’s no wrongdoing here.” Chuckling, the family patriarch turned to address the two detectives. “You’ll have to forgive my wife. I’m afraid she’s not very trusting.”

  Gloria’s eyes were as close to blazing as Brianna had ever seen. “And you’re too trusting, Winston,” the woman snapped.

  Brianna exchanged glances with her partner. Was there just trouble in paradise, or did the man’s wife know something? Something she wanted hidden?

  “Mr. Aurora,” Jackson said a bit more forcefully, “who made you the offer?”

  “The city,” Winston replied mildly, appearing unfazed by his wife’s anger.

  This felt as if they were tiptoeing through a minefield, Brianna thought. “Anyone in particular from the city?”

  “For the answer to that, I’m afraid that you will have to speak to my lawyer,” Winston told them.

  “Finally!” his wife cried triumphantly with a toss of her ever so carefully coiffed hair.

  It was obvious that Winston Aurora was not about to let his wife have the last word. “I hated the idea of selling the property, so I turned everything over to Thomas Cahill, senior lawyer at Cahill, Adams and Sons. Call the firm, tell him I sent you. He can give you all the details behind the sale. Now,” he said in a tone indicating that he assumed the subject was closed, “is there anything else?”

  “Not at the moment, sir, but we’ll let you know if there is,” Brianna told the man pleasantly. Her gaze swept over both parties. “Thank you for your time, Mr. and Mrs. Aurora.”

  “I hope this is the end of your interrogation.” Gloria Aurora’s tone was cold enough to freeze large cuts of beef.

  “If not,” Brianna responded politely, not about to be intimidated, “we’ll be in touch.”

  “With our lawyer!” Gloria called after them as they left the library.

  “Well, that proves it,” Jackson said as they made their way out of the mansion under the head of security’s watchful eye.

  “Proves what?” Brianna asked.

  They went down the half dozen stairs from the front door to the circular driveway. “That money doesn’t buy happiness.”

  Brianna shrugged. “He seemed all right.”
<
br />   Jackson glanced in her direction. “I was referring to Mrs. Aurora. Every time that woman opened her mouth to talk, I had the impression that she was sucking on a lemon. A really sour lemon,” he underscored. “Almost made me feel sorry for her husband.”

  “Almost?” Brianna questioned as she got into the car.

  Jackson laughed shortly. “Hard to feel sorry for a man who could buy the whole state before noon if he wanted to.”

  Jackson sounded as if he was sinking farther into a mood, so she tried to kid him out of it. In her opinion, he was an excellent detective, but he was really difficult to get close to. Even after being partnered with him three times, she was still trying to find the chink in his armor.

  “Ah, but as you just pointed out,” she told him, “money can’t buy happiness.”

  “Yeah, but it can buy a lot of other things,” Jackson replied as he started the car.

  Was he going anywhere with this, or just complaining in general, Brianna wondered. “What are you getting at? What other things?”

  “Like other people’s silence.” He began to drive toward the main road. “What do you want to bet that we’re not going to get any worthwhile information out of Aurora’s lawyer—or anyone else connected with this sale or the demolition, for that matter?”

  Jackson sounded as if he believed a major conspiracy was going on. “Hey, the owner of the construction company was the one who called the police,” Brianna reminded him.

  That didn’t change his opinion. “That was a spontaneous reaction,” he said. “Besides, some of his crew saw those bodies. And that was then. It doesn’t take all that long to talk to the involved parties and get them to see things differently, change their stories for a price, that sort of thing.”

  “Don’t you think you’re getting a little carried away here?” Brianna asked him. “We’re talking about the Aurora family, not a drug cartel or crime syndicate.”

  Jackson glanced at her, and she couldn’t quite read his expression. “We’ll see.”

  “Why do you insist on seeing the dark side of everything?” Brianna asked.

  “Why do you always insist on seeing the bright side?” he countered.

  She’d expected him to come back with that and was prepared. “Because I like having faith in my fellow human being.”

  His eyes on the road, Jackson made a disparaging sound. “Fastest way to be disappointed, if you ask me, is to have faith in your fellow human being.”

  Brianna looked at the man driving beside her for a long moment. She knew very little about Jackson Muldare—other than he was an excellent detective—even though they had worked together before. The little she did know, by way of rumor and innuendo, was rather sad and depressing. She debated saying something to him, trying to make him come around.

  But before she could open her mouth, Jackson warned, “Don’t analyze me, O’Bannon.” He never took his eyes off the winding road.

  “I didn’t say a word,” she said, raising her hands in mock surrender.

  “You didn’t have to,” he told her. “I can feel you thinking.”

  “That’s quite a talent you have there,” she replied, a touch of mocking in her voice.

  “It’s my survival instinct,” he answered in all seriousness.

  While he respected the woman as a detective and, yes, maybe even liked her to some extent, he was aware of the reputation she and the rest of her family had. They never met a person they didn’t try to bring into their circle and absorb. Whether or not that person was willing didn’t seem to matter. The Cavanaughs were firmly convinced that everyone was better off as part of a group.

  Hell, most of the time he didn’t even really see himself as part of the police force. He certainly didn’t feel the need to buddy up to anyone, no matter what anyone thought to the contrary.

  His best bet until this was resolved, Jackson felt, was to keep the woman’s mind on the case—and off anything personal that might have to do with him.

  Having finally arrived at the main road, he glanced in her direction. “Where do you want to go?”

  She thought of what Winston Aurora had said just before they left his mansion. “We might as well get the family lawyer out of the way, see if he can shed some light on the sale of the decade.”

  Jackson laughed shortly, although there was no smile on his face. “I can just see the posting online—‘For sale, one classic hotel. Comes with built-in tenants, no extra charge.’”

  “Why, Muldare, I had no idea that you had a sense of humor.”

  His expression remained unchanged and almost stoic. “I don’t.”

  “That would explain a lot of things,” she responded. It occurred to Brianna that she hadn’t given him the address to the law firm. “Oh, Cahill’s office is located on—”

  “I know where it is,” he cut her off. And then, in case she had any doubts about what he’d just said, he told her, “McFadden.”

  Brianna just shook her head. “Muldare, you are just an endless source of surprises, you know that?”

  For the first time since they’d left the hotel, she noticed just the barest hint of a smile on Jackson’s ruggedly handsome face. “I like keeping you on your toes,” he said.

  What Muldare liked, she thought, was keeping her off balance.

  She paused for a second, debating her next question. Deciding she had nothing to lose, she forged ahead and asked, “How’s everything?”

  The simple question made no sense to him. He never liked things that made no sense. “In reference to what?”

  “Your life,” she specified. Met with a stony silence, she tried again. “I’m asking you about your life, Muldare.”

  “You writing a book?” he asked her.

  “No,” she replied, doing her best not to get exasperated. “I’m trying to make small talk with my partner.”

  “Your temporary partner doesn’t like small talk,” Jackson told her. “It serves no purpose. Hence the word small.”

  He really was an exasperating man, Brianna thought. But she was far too stubborn to give up.

  “Then you’re missing the point of small talk,” she told him.

  “Isn’t that the lawyer’s building just up ahead to the right?” he asked, knowing full well that it was. He only asked because he wanted to divert her attention.

  Aware of what he was trying to do, Brianna suppressed a sigh. This isn’t over, Muldare.

  She turned her attention toward the very modern-looking building Jackson had just pointed out. The edifice was constructed out of what looked to be, at first glance, all reflective glass. At certain times of the day in the spring and fall, the building made driving by it close to impossible because of the glare. But since it was only for a few minutes each time, and the office building housed a number of important companies, no steps were taken to change anything.

  “That it is,” Brianna said, confirming what she knew that Muldare already knew. “Small talk is tabled for now,” she said deliberately—and then put him on notice. “But I intend to get back to it.”

  “Good luck with that,” Jackson murmured under his breath.

  But she heard him. And she smiled because at that moment, she’d made herself a vow. She fully intended to peel away Jackson Muldare’s protective shield if it was the last thing she ever did. Not to satisfy her own curiosity, which she admittedly had in spades, but because she felt that he needed to expose whatever it was he was guarding so zealously to the light of day. She was convinced that he would remain a tortured soul until such time as he cleared out his demons.

  * * *

  Forewarned, Roman Thomas Cahill was waiting for them when they arrived at the law firm.

  Stopping at the reception desk, Brianna and Jackson asked the very efficient-looking young man manning the desk if they could speak with Cahill.

  “First door
to your right,” the receptionist said. “Mr. Cahill is waiting for you.”

  “One hurdle down, four hundred and ninety-nine to go,” Brianna said to her partner.

  “Only?” was Jackson’s response.

  A moment later, they were walking into R. Thomas Cahill’s cavernous office.

  Leaving the shelter of his desk, Cahill met them halfway. “I was told that you’d be stopping by,” he said, shaking both their hands. He gestured toward the two chairs before his desk, his indication clear. “Although I must admit that I’m a little unclear why the Aurora police department would have the slightest interest in the sale of the Old Aurora Hotel.” He chuckled. “I realize that the city doesn’t have much in the way of crime to keep detectives like yourselves busy, but surely there are more pressing things for you to look into than the sale of that fine old building to the city in order to make way for another wave of development.” Finished, he leaned back in his richly padded chair, his hands on either armrest as he waited for the weight of his words to sink in.

  “Well, that’s quite a mouthful, Mr. Cahill,” Jackson commented.

  Was he deliberately trying to irritate everyone today, Brianna couldn’t help wondering. She instantly went into damage control mode.

  “What my partner is trying to say,” she told the lawyer, “is that we’re wondering if you could clarify why the property was sold at this particular time and who on the city council authorized the sale.”

  Cahill’s expression remained unchanged. “Again, I have to say that I hardly see why that would concern the police department.”

  Jackson grew tired of all this beating around the bush. “It does if the building in question has bodies in it.”

  “Bodies?” Cahill echoed. “What the hell are you talking about?”

  “When the construction crew began demolishing the hotel this morning, they found bodies in the debris,” Jackson answered.

  Cahill didn’t look as if the news surprised him. Although there was a flash of color on his florid face, it gave way to a thoughtful expression as he advanced a theory. “That’s easy enough to explain. There were undoubtedly homeless people living in the building—they turn up everywhere—and they didn’t manage to get out in time.”