"Nothing. It's just cute when you pretend you're not investigating a murder."
I opened my mouth to tell him how un-cute it was to call a grown woman cute, but my phone buzzing from my purse saved him. I pulled it out to see Grant's name lighting the display.
I paused. I'd been doing a bang-up job of not thinking about everything Eckhart had told me about Grant that morning. Not to mention Snow White and her cute little stories about Grant's derrière. But I wasn't sure how well I could keep my head in the sand during an actual conversation with Grant. Guilt at talking to his former colleagues behind his back mixed with a weird sensation of suddenly wondering just how well I knew him.
I swiped to decline the call and put the phone back in my purse.
I thought I'd been discreet, but I looked up to find David staring at me.
"We're screening the boyfriend now?" he asked, something unreadable in his voice.
I shook my head. "He's not my boyfriend."
"Oh? Trouble in paradise?"
"No. I mean, it's just…we're just taking things slow. Right now."
"Who's taking things slow?" Ava asked, rejoining us, shifting her purse onto her shoulder.
"Grant and Emmy apparently," David said, his voice still holding a quality I couldn't quite put my finger on.
Ava laughed. "Sure, if you call sleeping over slow," she joked.
David quirked an eyebrow at me. "So, you're screening him the morning after a sleepover?"
I licked my lips, wondering how my love life had suddenly become the subject of an interrogation. "It's hardly morning."
David's mouth curved into a slow grin. "Touché."
"We ready?" Ava asked, as my Jeep pulled to a stop in front of us.
"Very," I mumbled.
CHAPTER TEN
The law offices of Levinson & Levine were located in a three story building just off West Napa that looked like it had recently had a modern facelift and paint job. We parked in the small lot in back of the building and took the elevator up to the second floor, where the sleek modern theme was carried through to the interior. A reception area was outfitted in a pair of upholstered mid-century inspired grey chairs and a low yellow sofa. White stone tables held a vase of flowers and a stack of magazines, and a long black reception desk took up the back wall. Behind it sat a young redhead in a tight pencil skirt and blouse with about a thousand ruffles on the front.
"Welcome to Levinson & Levine, may I help you?" she asked all in one breath.
"Emmy Oak. I have an appointment to see Barry Levinson," I told her.
"Of course. One moment, please," she said, picking up her desk phone and pushing a couple of buttons. Then she spoke in hushed tones to the person on the other end before turning her pleasant smile on us again. "Mr. Levinson will be right out." She gestured to chairs.
"Thanks," I told her, taking a seat on one of them as Ava did the same.
We didn't have to wait long, as a couple of minutes later a short guy in a dark suit emerged from the back offices, his hand outstretched as he approached.
"Barry Levinson," he said, his voice loud and brusque. "Pleasure to meet you."
"Emmy Oak," I told him as he pumped my hand up and down with vigor. "And this is my friend, Ava Barnett."
"Barry Levinson," he repeated, shoving his hand at Ava.
"Hi," she said.
"Come on back to my office," he said, not waiting for a reply as he spun on his wingtips and led the way down a long hallway. For a short guy, he was quick, and I had to jog to keep up.
"So, Linda said you knew Bill Buckley, huh?" he asked.
"Uh, yes, I was his employer—"
"Heck of a thing," Levinson said, cutting me off. "A guy going like that."
"Yes, it was very—"
"Of course, I've known Bill for years," he went on. "He's had his share of legal troubles in the past, but no one deserves to go out like that, am I right?"
I paused a moment, waiting to see if he'd actually wait for me to answer this time. "Right."
He stopped abruptly outside the door to a large office near the end of the hall and spun to face us, gesturing into the room with one arm. "After you, ladies."
I gave him a polite nod as I stepped into the room and took a seat in one of two leather chairs in front of a wide wooden desk flanked by tall windows that overlooked the street. The desktop was piled high with various file folders and binders, two thin computer monitors, and several stacks of loose papers.
Levinson followed us into the room on a cloud of expensive cologne and sat behind the desk, leaning forward and clasping his hands on its top in front of him. "So, what can I do for you, Ms. Oak?"
"Well, for starters, you could tell me who Buckley's heir is," I said.
He raised his eyebrows at me. "You expecting an inheritance?" he joked.
I shook my head. "No, but I do owe him a paycheck for his last week with us. I'm wondering who I should send it to."
"Ah." He nodded. "Well, Buckley didn't have a will, so all of his assets will go into probate now before being dispersed. You can send the check to me, and I'll make sure it's included among those assets."
"But ultimately, they will be dispersed to someone, right?" I asked.
He nodded. "Next of kin." Levinson pulled a folder from his stack and flipped it open. "No kids, his parents both deceased. But it looks like he's got an older sister in Oregon. My guess is it will all go to her." He looked up. "Whatever is left after funeral costs and taxes, anyway."
"I'm guessing that's not a lot," I said, thinking of where he and Sheila had lived.
Levinson shook his head. "No. Not a lot."
"You think there will even be enough in Buckley's estate to cover funeral costs?" I asked, picturing Sheila Connolly's haggard face.
Levinson did a palms up and shrugged. "Up to the family what they want to do with that. But honestly? The guy was on the verge of bankruptcy. He was racking up credit card debt, his car was about to be repossessed, and he was way behind on his alimony payments."
"His ex-wife mentioned that," Ava said.
"Carmen?" Levinson narrowed his eyes. "You friends with her?"
"No," I said quickly, shaking my head. "Uh, but we did run into her recently."
"Poor you," he said with a laugh. "That woman is a whacko. I kid you not, she called my office ranting about one thing or another every day during their divorce. Every single day." He shook his head at the memory.
"What was she ranting about?" Ava asked, shooting me a knowing look.
"I don't know. Who paid attention?" he said, dismissing it.
"You know, Carmen mentioned something else when we talked to her," Ava started. "About money."
"Not surprised. It's her favorite subject," Levinson said, leaning back in his chair now.
"Specifically about the money Buckley took when he was on the force. The bribery money he was paid."
Levinson didn't say anything, but I could see his eyes narrow again ever so slightly.
"She said she never saw any of it," Ava added.
"Why should she?" He shrugged. "Hey, Buckley admitted he'd been wrong. He took bribes, he spent the money, he got caught."
"You sure he spent it?" I asked. "All of it?"
"That's what my client said."
Which did not exactly answer my question.
"Carmen said they lived a modest lifestyle. Buckley never brought home any fancy jewelry or clothes, no new cars. They never went on any vacations. She couldn't imagine what Buckley had spent it on."
"Carmen is a whacko," Levinson repeated. "I wouldn't put too much stock in anything she says."
"So, it isn't possible that Buckley tucked that money away for a rainy day?" Ava asked. "Maybe hid it somewhere, waiting for the attention to die down before spending it?"
Levinson's eyes narrowed again. "Lying to Internal Affairs and hiding bribery money? Now, that would be illegal, wouldn't it?"
The guy was a pro at avoiding direct answers.
<
br /> "How did Buckley pay you?" Ava asked.
He frowned at the change of subject. "What?"
"If Buckley was in such dire financial straits, how was he able to pay your fees?"
Which was a great question. The modern décor and newly renovated building did not speak to a bargain law office.
"We had an arrangement," Levinson said. What that arrangement was, was not elaborated on as he leaned forward in his seat again. "Was there anything else other than the check?"
There was, but he was doing a heck of a job of avoiding all of it.
"Does Sheila get anything?" I asked, my mind again going to the sad image of her. "Anything of Buckley's at all?"
"Sheila?" He frowned.
"Buckley's girlfriend," I clarified. "They lived together."
"Sure, sure." He nodded in recognition. "Well, like I said, Buckley didn't have a will. I mean, why should he, right? He was young, healthy…"
"Didn't have a lot of assets to leave to anyone," Ava added.
"That too. Anyway, no, I don't think she could claim much of anything. Even if there was much to claim. Really, the only person who is likely to profit at all from Buckley's death is Crazy Carmen."
"Carmen?" I frowned. "I thought you said Buckley's sister would be considered his next of kin."
"Oh, she is. But Carmen's got the life insurance policy."
Ava and I shared a look.
Levinson must have seen it as he added, "Carmen didn't tell you about the life insurance policy?"
"No," I said. "She didn't."
"Ah." He looked from Ava to me, probably weighing how much to share. "Well, it was a term of their divorce. Since Carmen was getting alimony as long as Buckley was alive, she insisted on taking out a life insurance policy on him as well. In case anything ever happened to him on the job where he couldn't pay that alimony anymore."
Like now.
I felt my spidey senses tingling as I asked, "How much was the policy worth?"
Levinson smirked. "Five hundred thousand dollars. That whacko is now worth a cool half million."
* * *
"That settles it. Carmen is guilty," Ava said as we walked back to the car.
I laughed. "Just like that? Judge, jury, and executioner?"
"I didn't say she should be executed," Ava backtracked. "But I could have easily seen her killing Buckley just for the fun of it. Add in a half million dollars, and how could she resist?"
She wasn't wrong.
"She did fail to mention the life insurance policy when we talked to her," I conceded.
"And she had that shaky alibi," Ava noted. "Waiting in the restaurant bar for some guy who never showed up. Who can conveniently not back up her story."
"We should have asked for his name," I said, wishing we'd dug a little deeper as we both got into my Jeep.
"We should ask that now," Ava decided, already pulling out her phone and dialing. Two rings in, the nasally receptionist answered.
"Nadia's Nails, how may I help you?"
"Can I speak to Carmen, please?" Ava asked.
"No," came the reply. "Sorry, she's not here today."
"Oh. Well, do you know when she's scheduled to be there?"
"She was scheduled today," the woman said, not without a small hint of annoyance. "Called in sick at the last minute."
Ava raised both eyebrows in my direction. "Really? Sick?"
That spidey sense kicked into overdrive, and I suddenly wondered if she was out sick or out guilty.
"So she said," Nasally replied. "Anyway, can I book you an appointment with someone else?"
"Uh, no. Thanks," Ava said. "I don't suppose you could give me her phone number?"
There was a pause on the other end. "Yeah, we're really not supposed to give out personal information to clients."
"Oh, I'm not just a client," Ava assured her. "I'm…a friend. A good friend."
"Oh yeah?" came Nasally's reply. "Then how come you don't have her phone number?"
Touché.
"Look, if she's really sick, I just want to look in on her," Ava tried again.
"Sorry. Store policy." I could tell Nasally was going to stand firm on this one. "But I'd be happy to tell her you called." Which was going to be hard, as she hung up before Ava could even give her name.
"So much for that," Ava said, putting her phone back in her purse.
"You know," I said, thinking over what the lawyer had told us. "If Carmen knew she'd get the insurance money when Buckley died, the missing bribery money could have nothing to do with Buckley's death at all."
Ava scrunched up her nose. "So where do you think the missing money is?"
I shrugged. "I don't know." I glanced up at the lawyer's offices. "But did you see how Levinson evaded directly answering our questions about it?"
Ava nodded. "Yeah, I caught that too. You think Levinson knows where Buckley stashed it?"
I shrugged. "I don't know. But I don't think he believes Buckley spent it all."
"Neither do I," Ava decided. "If he had, wouldn't someone have noticed? I mean, a hundred grand is a lot of money. Even if you spread it out over some time. No one at the police department noticed anything different, and Carmen said he didn't spend any money at home. Unless he gave it away, he had to still have it."
"And he isn't striking me as the charitable type," I added. "So, where could Buckley have been hiding it?"
Ava shrugged. "Offshore accounts?"
I nodded. "Maybe. Seems sophisticated for Buckley, though."
"Coffee can in the backyard?" Ava suggested with a grin.
"If he had a backyard. He lived at Shady Meadows, remember."
"Okay, maybe under his mattress?"
"Wherever he hid it, maybe he finally needed it." I turned to Ava as I pulled on my seat belt. "Levinson said the shutdown had him in financial trouble. Maybe he finally felt like it was worth the risk to dip into his ill-gotten gains."
"You think that's what got him killed?" Ava asked.
I shrugged. "I mean, maybe someone realized Buckley had the cash still and killed him for it."
"Well, if we're talking about someone close to him, there's Sheila," Ava offered.
I thought back to our meeting with her. "She seemed pretty desperate for money." I paused. "But she's not the one who was at the crime scene the next day. Jamie was."
"Okay, so Jamie finds out his mom's boyfriend has been lying this whole time and sitting on a pile of cash. Maybe he finds Buckley's offshore account numbers or sees him digging up the coffee can," she added with a grin. "He's no fan of Buckley's anyway, so he goes where he knows he'll be alone and isolated, kills him, then takes the money."
I nodded. I could easily see it all playing out that way. "So, where's the money now?"
Ava shrugged. "Jamie must have it stashed somewhere."
"Most likely close to home. Probably still at Shady Meadows."
"Didn't Sheila say she usually worked the dinner shift at the diner?" Ava's eyes had that concerning twinkle in them as she glanced at the dash clock. "It's happy hour now. She's not home."
"I don't know…"
"And Jamie's at the Links. Their apartment should be deserted." The twinkle became downright dangerous.
"I'm not sure I like where you're going with this," I hedged.
"But do you like it less than investors giving the 'deadliest winery in town' a wide berth?" Ava reasoned.
I sighed and turned the car on. "You win. Let's go commit B&E."
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Shady Meadows was no less depressing in the early evening than it had been the previous morning. The sun setting behind the building cast long shadows across the ground that felt almost ominous in their gloom. Most of the outdoor lights looked either busted or burned out, leaving a single one casting pale light on the rusted staircase. It buzzed as we climbed up to the second floor, signaling that like most of the place, it too was on its last leg.
Not much had changed since our previous visit, though
2A seemed to be playing some heavy metal instead of the bassy hip hop from earlier, and 2B had upped the ante on the curry, the scents so strong I was sure it seeped through the walls of every unit.
We stopped outside the door to 2C, and Ava raised a hand and knocked. "Just in case Sheila called in sick," she said in a low voice.
We both listened, though no telltale footsteps echoed on the other side. In fact, no sounds came from within the apartment at all. The windows were dark, and I could tell no lights were on behind the thin curtains. The place looked as deserted as Ava had anticipated it to be.
"Now what?" I asked.
Ava shrugged then stuck a hand out and tried the knob. Predictably locked. Then she reached down and lifted the edge of the worn welcome mat. A roly-poly bug crawled out, but no key was conveniently stashed there.
"So how do we get in?" I asked.
Ava bit her lip, glancing up and down the hall. "I wonder if there's a super on site."
I shrugged. "I didn't see a sign, but that doesn't mean much."
Ava backtracked a few steps to the door to 2B, rapping sharply on it. A few minutes later it was opened, and the aroma of spices almost knocked me over. A short woman about my age with long dark hair stared back at us. She had a toddler attached to her hip, and her sweats looked like she'd just been on the losing end of a baby food battle. "What?" she asked impatiently, shifting the toddler.
"Hi!" Ava gave the woman a bright smile.
One that was returned with a scowl of suspicion.
"Uh, I was wondering if you could tell me if there's a super on the premises?" Ava went on. "I'm new to the building and forgot my key."
"Bottom floor, first apartment on the right," the woman said.
"Thanks so much. I really appreciate—"
But the door had already shut in her face.
"So much for being neighborly," Ava mumbled as we stepped away.
"To be fair, you're not really her neighbor," I pointed out as I followed her back down the stairs to the first floor.
We both stopped outside apartment 1A.
"What are you going to tell the super?" I asked. "I mean, he's gonna know you don't live there, right?"
Ava thought about that a beat. "Here." She pulled her small crossbody purse off her shoulder and handed it to me. "Put this in your bag," she said, gesturing to my larger purse, which was slung over my shoulder.
Killer Among the Vines (Wine & Dine Mysteries Book 7) Page 11
