She gave him a sarcastic, bunchy-cheeks grin. “It has nothing to do with your enormous charm. It’ll be faster if I call her. By the time Jenna tracks down her boss and he calls my client, you could be on your way over there. I’m all for efficiency.”
That made two of them. And when efficiency looked like Alexis Vanderbilt, preferably a naked Alexis Vanderbilt because yeah, he was wondering what that looked like, he’d welcome it any day, any time without a doubt. Professionalism aside, he was still a guy who liked action. Plenty of it.
“Brenda?” Alexis said into her phone. “Hi. It’s Lexi Vanderbilt...yes...I’m fine.”
Lexi. He liked that. It fit with her sassy attitude. She bobbed her head while going through the pleasantries with her client and Brodey surmised that, like him, she had issues being idle. For any length of time.
“Yes,” she said. “I’m at the house now. There are two investigators here from Hennings & Solomon.”
Technically, Brodey wasn’t from Hennings & Solomon, but he’d let that go. Not worth the hassle.
“They got here a couple of hours ago,” Lexi continued, “and they have questions for you. Would you be able to speak with them?”
Three seconds passed. Then she handed Brodey the phone. He immediately looked at his sister, waggling the phone at her to make sure she didn’t want to take the lead. She shook her head.
Excellent answer. Not that he would have minded her taking the call, but when the phone hit his hand he got that familiar push of adrenaline, that spark that came with a fresh case and the possibility of leads. At the age of thirty-two, he hadn’t been a detective long enough to turn jaded. The older guys on the squad liked to call him Greenhorn. Being the youngest—and newest—detective to join his squad, he still viewed every case as an opportunity to make a difference while the old guys hoped to retire with their sanity. Twenty years of working homicides on the streets of Chicago would emotionally annihilate even the toughest of the tough. Brodey hoped to retire long before annihilation occurred and already had a start on a healthy nest egg.
He held the phone to his ear. “Mrs. Williams, this is Brodey Hayward. Thank you for taking my call.”
There was a short pause and Brodey checked the screen to make sure the call hadn’t dropped. Nope. Still there. “Hello?”
“Yes,” she said. “I’m here. I needed to step into the other room. My youngest is playing and I didn’t want her to hear.”
The youngest, according to Jenna, had been three when her father died. So, she’d be five now and Brodey tried to imagine that, tried to imagine growing up without his own father, without the memories of ball games and amusement parks and beach visits. All of it a dead loss. Poor kids. A squeeze in his chest ambushed him and he held his breath a second, waited for the pressure to ease before exhaling and clearing his throat.
Stay focused. Forget the kids. That was what he needed to do. “No problem. Are you able to answer some questions for me? I could drop by.”
Because really, what he wanted to see was her. Study her body language and responses. Call him cynical, even as a rookie detective, but the spouse—particularly an estranged one—always got a solid look.
“Now?”
“Yes, ma’am. If it’s convenient.”
“I need to pick up my son from school and then take him to basketball practice at four-thirty. Lexi is coming by at four with samples. I can’t imagine that will take long. I could meet with you then, also. Would that work?”
He wasn’t sure how Lexi would feel about that, but in his mind, murder trumped decorating, so he’d make an executive decision. “I’ll make it work, ma’am. Thank you.”
Brodey disconnected and handed Lexi the phone. “We’re riding shotgun on your four o’clock.”
“Say again?”
“She said you were meeting with her at four and we could meet with her then, too. She’s busy running kids around. We need to maximize our time.”
“She only gave me thirty minutes.”
“She’s now splitting that thirty minutes between us. You’ll need to shorten your list.”
* * *
SHORTEN HER LIST? Brodey Hayward had a serious superiority complex if he thought she’d let him dictate how to do her job. First he horned in on her meeting and now he was trying to take over?
“Uh, Brodey?” Jenna said from her spot against the wall. “I can’t meet with her at four. I have another meeting.”
Thank you. At least now Lexi would still get her measly thirty minutes for what could evolve into a two-hour discussion.
Brodey turned to his sister, his posture stiff and unyielding. He held his uninjured arm out. “What do you want to do, then?”
“Hey,” Jenna shot, “don’t get snippy with me. You’re the one who booked a meeting without checking my schedule. If you want to meet with her on your own, go to it. All I’m saying is I can’t be there.”
“I’m not getting snippy.”
“Yes, you are.”
And now the two of them were going to argue. Terrific. Lexi held her hand up. “Can you two fight about this later?”
“We’re not fighting,” Brodey said.
Patience. Lexi squeezed her eyes shut, begging her beloved and departed grandmother to channel some of her legendary patience. Just a bit. Lexi had inherited her gram’s artistic ability, as evidenced by the stack of patchwork quilts she kept in her closet, but she’d be selfish now and ask for patience, too. Just a little. She breathed in and opened her eyes.
“For the record,” Brodey said, “if we were fighting, there’d be yelling.”
Jenna nodded. “And I might throw something.”
“That’s true. She gave me a black eye with a hockey puck once. And somehow, I got in trouble. Figure that one out.” He stepped over to her, lifted his arm, the one in the sling, and winced. “Ow. Forgot about the bum arm.”
“Ha!” Jenna said. “That’s what you get for thinking you’d give me a noogie.”
“I wasn’t.”
“Liar. I know you. And now that you’re injured, you’re a lame duck. Lame, I tell you.”
He and Jenna both laughed. And just that fast—boom—the tension flew from the room.
Being the only child of an artist and a musician, both of whom enjoyed their alone time, Lexi hadn’t experienced sibling rivalry. She wasn’t sure she wanted to, but this? This was different. This was about love and family and history. As much as she wanted to be irritated with these two, watching them snark at each other and then laugh about it tickled something down deep.
But she wouldn’t show them that. Instead, she rolled her eyes. “Okay, you’re not fighting. Glad we cleared that up. What are we doing about this meeting at four?”
“I’ll do it alone.” Brodey turned back to Jenna. “You sure you’re okay with that? It’s your case.”
“It’s fine. Just make sure she knows you’re only helping. I don’t want her upset when you disappear.”
“I will.” He faced Lexi and pulled a pocket notepad from his jacket. “I guess it’s you and me. Where am I meeting you?”
Chapter Four
Brenda Williams’s two-story house butted up against the neighboring homes and looked like any other on the block. Weathered brick, a few steps leading to the small porch that barely spanned the front door, a single large window facing the street on the first floor, all of it as ordinary and indistinguishable as every other structure on the block.
Without a doubt, a long way from the pristine five-thousand-square-foot, multimillion-dollar greystone she’d shared with her husband. That house screamed vintage details on the outside but modern upgrades on the inside. To say the least, Brenda Williams had downsized. Apparently not by choice.
A wicked January wind whipped under Brodey’s open jacket to the blasted sling. Leave it to
him to screw up his arm in the dead of winter. Despite the doc’s cautions, Brodey had been ditching the sling for an hour or two each day to give himself some freedom. That hour happened earlier when his shoulder cramped up. Now he was stuck in the sling for the remainder of the day. Unless he wanted his doctor to rail on him. What he doesn’t know won’t hurt him.
He stepped to the side of the concrete walkway leading to the porch and waved Lexi forward. “Do the honors.”
She climbed the stairs, her long coat covering her amazing rear, and on any day he’d call that one of the great tragedies of his lifetime. And that was saying something for a Chicago PD homicide detective.
Twisted perhaps, but hey, the little things kept a guy like him sane.
Lexi rapped on the door, then turned back. “Did you say something?”
Could be. While working a case he talked to himself. A lot. “Probably.”
She wrinkled her nose. “I’m sorry?”
“I talk to myself. I work crime scenes by talking my way through them, trying to figure out what happened. Half the time I don’t know I’m doing it.” Like now. “What did I say?”
Because given his lack of focus on anything but her delectable rear, he could easily be accused of lascivious thoughts. Thoughts he’d never deny when it came to a woman who looked like Lexi Vanderbilt.
“You were mumbling something about tragedies.”
Phew. Easy one. “Ah. I was thinking about this house versus the one we left. The whole situation is tragic.”
“That it is.”
The front door eased open and a petite brunette wearing jeans, boots and a long gray sweater greeted them. She wore her shoulder-length hair tucked behind her ears, and minimal eye makeup accented her brown eyes. Beautiful eyes. Big and round and probably at one time alluring to any man. All he saw now was sadness.
“Hi, Lexi.”
“Hi, Brenda. We’re a little early. I hope that’s all right.”
“It’s fine. But I just got home, so I’ll need a minute. Come in.”
Brodey followed Lexi into the foyer, where a blast of warm air thawed him. Directly in front of them a staircase with an oak rail and cool twisted spindles led to the second floor. To his left, through a set of glossy white French doors, was the living room.
Children’s voices carried from the end of the hallway. Kitchen probably. Most of these row houses were built with the same basic layout. Living room, small dining room, kitchen on the first floor. Three bedrooms upstairs. He’d lay money on it.
Lexi spun back to him. “Brodey Hayward, this is Brenda Williams.”
“Hello, ma’am. I’d shake your hand, but...” He pointed to his bad arm.
“That must be horrible in this cold. Aren’t you freezing?”
“It’s not bad.”
No sense in complaining about it. In the grand scheme, he could count his problems in three seconds or less, and that alone was enough to be thankful for.
Brenda led them down the long hallway to the back of the house where the kitchen—called it—conjoined with a small sitting area. Didn’t call that one, but he was close enough. That particular room must have been a modification to the original floor plan. That was what he’d go with.
An older boy of about eleven sat with two girls at the round kitchen table. Table for four. The boy met Brodey’s eyes, and nothing in his gaze conveyed anything he should see in a preteen boy’s expression. No mischief, no relaxed demeanor, no lightness. All he saw there was suspicion. A shame, that.
The girl with long blond hair kept her gaze focused on her notebook. Not even a glance at him. The other girl, the one with her brown hair in a ponytail, gave him a cursory once-over and managed a whisper of a smile. Cripes, these kids were locked up tight. Of the three, he guessed the order of ages would be the boy, blonde girl and then ponytail rounding out the pack.
“Sam,” Mrs. Williams said, “please take the kids upstairs to play for a few minutes while I speak with Miss Lexi and Mr. Brodey. We need to leave in half an hour, so make sure you have everything.”
The boy glanced up, his big eyes drooping and, well...miserable. Suppressed. “Okay,” he said. “C’mon, guys. Let’s go.”
The kids left, shuffling out of the room like obedient soldiers, and to Brodey, none of it seemed right. When he was a kid, all they did was yell and run around and get hollered at. They were kids. Kids did stuff like that. This? He didn’t know what this was. Check that. He did know.
This was decimation.
Mrs. Williams watched them go, her gaze glued to them. “It’s a sad day when the eleven-year-old becomes the man of the house.”
“That it is.”
She slid into the chair her son had vacated. “Please, have a seat. I thought we’d work in here so we could spread Lexi’s samples out.”
Would it be rude if he groaned? Probably. But he was a damned homicide detective. What did he know about decorating? He dragged a chair out for Lexi. “You first?”
With any luck, she’d disagree, which was what he really wanted, but since he’d already crashed her meeting he might as well at least try to be accommodating. Even if he hoped it went the other way.
She shook her head. “No. You go first.”
The decorator is growing on me. He gave her chair a gentle push and walked to the other side of the table next to Mrs. Williams.
“What can I help you with, Mr. Hayward?”
From across the table, Lexi handed him the legal pad he’d asked her to stow in her briefcase. Using his usual pocket notepad was impossible with one arm in the sling. Another reason he needed to deep-six the thing. He angled the pad on his lap so he could write on it without disrupting the elbow too much. “It’s Brodey. I have questions. Basic timeline stuff. I’m sure it’s in the case file, but Hennings & Solomon doesn’t have access to those files.”
“Of course. Whatever you need.”
“You separated from your husband a few months before his death. Is that right?”
“Yes. Two months. Things in the marriage had been off. For a while. We tried therapy, but he was so distracted with work, it was a wasted effort. Toward the end, I couldn’t stand his moodiness and the children were miserable. I knew we had to get out.” She waved her hands around the room. “We found this place and moved in.”
Brodey jotted notes, taking a few seconds to get his thoughts in order. Distracted husband. Any number of things could cause that. Money, job in jeopardy, gambling, drugs, an affair. “Were his work distractions typical?”
“Yes and no. He’d always been obsessed with his job, but that last year was worse. When I asked about it, he continually put me off. I knew something was wrong. I just didn’t know what. After he died, I found out he was stealing from his clients, basically using their money to fuel our lifestyle.”
And, hello, fraud investigation. “How?”
“Every time he signed a new client, he’d take money from their account. He’d keep part of it and then pay dividends to existing clients with the rest.” She squeezed her eyes closed and shook her head. “My husband ran a Ponzi scheme.” She opened her eyes, stared right into Brodey’s. “We lived on stolen money.”
Beside him, Lexi shifted, played with her fingers, staring down at them as if fascinated. She needed a poker face. But, in her defense, the average citizen should be uncomfortable with this conversation. Not Brodey. To him, this was nothing. “Do you know if he’d received any threats prior to his death?”
“I don’t know. The police asked me, but I was such an idiot—completely in the dark. I know we had a plan. At least I did. I wanted that happily-ever-after. Only, my husband turned out to be a liar and a thief. I’m not the one who committed a crime, but I’m left with the fallout and the paralyzing debt. I guess you could say my plan blew up.”
Sure
did.
She shrugged. “I’m trying to make it right. As much as I can anyway. My kids don’t deserve this, and I’m not sure how much to tell them. Sam is old enough to have suspicions, but he’s never asked specific questions and I don’t have it in me to tell him. Does that make me a strong parent or a weak one?”
Brodey wasn’t sure she really wanted an answer and it probably wasn’t his place to give one, but being naive didn’t make her a criminal.
Unless, of course, she murdered her husband.
“I’d say it makes you human,” he said. “You’ll figure out what to tell them when the time is right.”
She met his gaze and her eyebrows lifted a millimeter. Classic body language for surprise. Excellent. If he’d scored points, great, but in this situation, he was damned certain his answer was the right one for different reasons. Reasons that involved three kids who’d lost their father.
Williams was a schmuck, but he was their schmuck.
Brenda glanced at the oversize clock on the wall. “I’m sorry. We’ll need to leave in a few minutes and I know Lexi had some samples for me.”
“Of course,” Brodey said. “Is it all right if I follow up with you in a day or so?”
“Certainly. And thank you. If we can, I’d like to know what happened to him. He wasn’t a great husband, but I loved him. Whatever his sins, I loved him.”
* * *
AT SIX-OH-FIVE Brodey hustled through his parents’ front door and got the shock of his life.
Jenna and Brent, his sister’s massive US marshal of a boyfriend, had beat him there. What the hell? On any normal day, he arrived early and they were late. Tonight, he needed them to be later than he was because one thing was for sure. If dinner was ready and you weren’t there, they didn’t wait.
No. Sir.
“Well, hell. The one time I’m late and you two can’t throw me a bone and be even later than I am?”
Brent scooped a mountain of mashed potatoes onto his plate, then passed the bowl to Brodey’s youngest brother, Evan. “My fault,” he said. “Problem with my witness got squared away faster than I thought.”
The Detective Page 3
