Pool Of Lies Part 3

"You'll have to pull cash out of the real estate," offered Rae.

"It's in the works. Or will be now that we've gotten rid of Gil."

Gotten rid of Gil? Rae had the uncomfortable feeling that she'd just discovered her true purpose at the meeting. "I'm not hungry," she said, eyeing her iced coffee with distaste. It, too, had been overpriced in her opinion.

"Don't worry," said Danny. "I've still got some plastic left." He slapped a VISA card down on the table to prove it.

Finally she relented and let Danny talk her into ordering an appetizer--calamari, while he chose a Reuben sandwich.

After their waiter had left for the second time, Rae asked, "What happened after the funeral to set your in-laws off?"

Danny's brow furrowed as he appeared to dredge the depths of his memory.

Come on. It hasn't been that long.

"It was at the reception after the service. Josh and I were talking to Beth, my stepdaughter. She'd been staying with her Aunt Morgan since we got back in town. Josh and I just wanted her back with us, like before."

"When your wife died, her daughter was living with you and Josh?"

He nodded. "Dee was in no shape to take care of herself, let alone a kid."

"Uh-huh. So you left Dee...alone."

Rae watched anger shoot into Danny's eyes. And guilt? "What was I supposed to do? That was my leverage. Get into rehab and we'll come back." He gave Rae a pleading look. "What would you have done?"

Rae shook her head. "G.o.d's truth, I have no idea. I can't imagine..." She paused as another idea hit her. "When you say you wanted Beth back with you and Josh--that would be where?"

"In our home, of course."

"That...place where I picked you up this morning?"

"Well, yeah. I know it's ugly, but that doesn't explain why Morgan just went ballistic, grabbed Beth and took off. People stared at me like I was some kind of perve. Beth had been my daughter for three years. Her mother's death didn't change that."

As the words tumbled out in increasing volume, Rae saw Danny's eyes well up. She put a hand on his arm, "Danny, that was the house her mother died in. How do you think that would make Beth feel?"

He shrugged as if it had never crossed his mind. "But it had been her home. And it would probably be temporary, until I can liquidate it."

"Your sister-in-law may have considered this insensitive on your part. I can't say I wouldn't have reacted the same."

"Morgan threw hot coffee at me, made a horrific scene. People looked at me like I was a pariah. Wouldn't you say that was a bit of an overreaction...on Morgan's part?"

"Depends." Rae shrugged, then c.o.c.ked her head. "Didn't your wife have a son, too?" she asked as the waiter returned with their order.

"Kevin's nineteen. A legal adult who does as he f.u.c.king pleases," replied Danny after the waiter had left. "We hardly ever saw him."

"Sounds like a real winner." Rae paused, fork in midair. "My G.o.d, Danny, where was your brain? Marrying into a mess like that. What was the attraction?"

Under Danny's gaze, Rae picked at the sauteed squid, instantly regretting her outburst.

Finally Danny replied in a small voice, "We made each other laugh."

She'd always thought herself possessed of a healthy sense of humor, but..."Laugh?"

"I know. Doesn't exactly fit the picture. Granted, the humor was usually on the dark side."

"I can imagine."

"It kept us going. Let us forget sometimes. About the load of baggage we were both carrying." Then he smiled wistfully as he added, "And the s.e.x was--"

Rae cut him off with a raised hand. "Danny, that's more information than I want, if you don't mind."

Rae guessed that embarra.s.sment overcame him as Danny began to wolf down his Reuben. As the moment pa.s.sed, he looked up at her and asked, "How's your calamari?"

Like rubber. "G.o.d's truth? Not like Grandma's."

She caught the hurt feelings as Danny's eyes burrowed back into the remains of his sandwich. "I'm sorry, Danny. It's not the food. This's a great place. I'm still so ticked at those attorneys. Anything I eat right now is going to taste like...rubber bands."

As she chewed...and chewed, Rae found herself agreeing with Danny. The sister-in-law had overreacted. What wasn't Danny telling her? Was it maybe because he didn't know all the answers either?

"What's with the hurry to get rid of all the properties?" asked Rae after swallowing the last of her misnamed appetizer and biting into a new angle. "If everybody but you is so well-heeled, why rush?"

"Beats me. Maybe that's where they've buried the family skeletons."

"Let's get the digging started."

Rae fished around in her handbag and came up with her cell phone, which she handed across the table to Danny. "Call Sandy."

The civilian clerk at the information window of the Wheat Ridge Police Department was adamant. "I can't give you that, Mr. Farris. You're not a party in interest."

"Why would I be a suspect? According to you people, there's been no crime."

"Suspect?" The clerk hesitated. "Oh, you've got it confused with person of interest. Party in interest is someone ent.i.tled to the information by law."

From her cubicle a few feet away, Sergeant Emily Wehr could hear the argument escalating. The clerk could handle the situation, Wehr was sure of that.

"That should apply to me," snapped the man.

"Not according to CRS 24-72-304." The clerk definitely knew her job.

"I'm Mrs. La.s.siter's brother-in-law."

That name got Wehr's full attention. She moved outside the cubicle and looked beyond the clerk, at the man on the other side of the window.

His face was livid. "She was my wife's sister, for G.o.d's sake."

Wehr heard the impatience in the clerk's voice. "Have your wife come in and fill out a form. Then I'll see what I can do."

Bad idea, but the clerk had no way of knowing. Wehr stepped forward. "What's the problem?"

He was a peac.o.c.k of a man. Fiftyish, fitting a tad snugly into a fifteen hundred dollar suit. That he showed up at Wheat Ridge P.D. dressed as if for a board meeting p.i.s.sed Wehr off to start, never mind the rest of it. His hair, a mix of gray and blond, was cut fas.h.i.+onably. Some Cherry Creek barber, no doubt.

"Sergeant Wehr," said the man, looking at the name tag on her blouse, "I'm Nathan Farris. I've requested copies of reports concerning my sister-in-law, Deidre La.s.siter. She died recently."

"I know." Wheat Ridge wasn't that big.

"Your department checked on her safety last January. I think you call it a welfare check. You see, there was a man--"

"I know about the incident." Wehr had done the interview. The adjoining munic.i.p.alities of Wheat Ridge and Lakewood had played hot potato with this one, neither wanting jurisdiction. Wehr referred to the incident, an informed choice of words, since the report no longer existed.

"My wife's under a doctor's care. She can't fill out any paperwork in the near future. Can't you make an exception and let me have a copy of your report?" The man smiled ingratiatingly, showing a lot of freshly whitened teeth.

His hands on the counter top, clear polish on manicured nails, turned Wehr's stomach. "No exceptions. All the information you need can be obtained from the Coroner's Office."

It was nearly noon. The sign, visible through the window, read "Closed from Noon to Two P.M." Wehr slid the window shut, turned her back and walked away.

"What was that all about?" the clerk said when the man had gone.

"Don't ask." Wehr returned to her desk. Weeks ago, when the other man had come looking for the La.s.siter reports--the geeky old guy with gla.s.ses--it had already been too late. The hand-written reports had been scooped up and carried off by a detective she knew who was on loan to the DEA. All because of the references those reports contained to a certain James Joseph Camacho, known on the street as JJ. But Wehr had already transferred the contents to her computer.

"Delete the file." Her boss's terse instructions had brought her up short.

Wehr had ten years in with the Department. She intended to retire from this job. "Yes, sir." Sometimes it was best not to ask why. But her boss must have seen the question in her eyes.

"Sergeant, are you familiar with CRS 24-72-305-5?"

"Something to do with disclosure being contrary to public interest?"

"Don't sweat it, Wehr. Crack wh.o.r.e got what she deserved."

Cold, Wehr thought. This had been a human being--a woman with kids, but Wehr had looked the other way, then deleted. Now the La.s.siter report didn't even exist on the computer.

She couldn't help but wonder about Lakewood. Could Wheat Ridge's neighboring city be so easily persuaded to make Deidre La.s.siter's tormenter disappear? What might happen if there was an inquiry? Who'd be left holding the bag of blame?

As soon as she'd pressed the delete key, Wehr realized that her eagerness to obey orders and not make waves might cost her. With that thought in mind, Wehr had decided to keep something as an insurance policy for herself--her taped interview of Deidre La.s.siter.

Nathan Farris drove slowly away from the Wheat Ridge Police Department, sifting through the past, looking for clues to explain the enigma that had reared its ugly head the day before and was now rapidly devouring him. What was so d.a.m.ned important about Dee's police interview?

The incident that was making Nate crazy had occurred the day he'd returned a day early from a trip to New Mexico. He'd checked out a potential investment in a shopping center there on behalf of Bayfield Enterprises.

His employment by his wife's late grandfather had been one of the perks that went with his marriage to Morgan. Or maybe it was the other way around. As Jerome Bayfield had aged, the team of Nate Farris and Sam Garvin had become so effective that n.o.body even missed a beat when the old man died last year.

Nate had gone straight to the office upon his return from this routine business trip. The deal was a no-go. The center, a loser. A feeling of depression weighed on him as he parked in front of the Bayfield Commons building. It was common, all right. A nothing building. One story, nineteen fifties, across from a strip mall whose largest sign boasted Adult Books. Jerome Bayfield had been a tight-fisted old fart. There would soon be some long-needed changes made. Dump the old fire-trap and move to Denver. Cherry Creek, maybe.

He entered the building, noting the secretary's absence. It was lunch time. Time to dump the old secretary as well. Trade her in on a couple of younger models. Not models. Versions. Virgins? He'd snickered at his own mental meanderings, then froze like a bird dog at the sound of his wife's voice coming from Sam's office.

"We have to find out what she told Wheat Ridge."

"I already tried." Sam's voice. "They told me I'm not a party in interest."

Nate held his breath. She who? Interest in what? A suspect?

"We can't take any chances on that police report showing up before we know what's in it." Morgan's voice.

Police report? Of course. The welfare check. Nate knew about Dee's calls to Sam for money and Sam's calls to the cops. The cops had grabbed Dee to check on her safety. Not just once, but twice. Then she'd turned up dead.

"Do you think there's a chance Beth heard it all?" Sam's voice. Heard what?

Sam's voice again. "She'll have to be told eventually."

A board creaked under Nate's s.h.i.+fting weight. The voices stopped abruptly, like a switch had been thrown.

He paused to gather his wits before opening the door. Sam was alone in the office, his hand on the phone, surprise playing across his gaunt face.

"I think we should pa.s.s on the center." He dropped his briefcase on the floor beside Sam's desk and tried to act normal. "I have pictures and financials, if you want to have a look."

"No need. I trust your judgment."

Nate was aware of a faint odor of perfume, the scent Morgan wore when her migraines were in remission. "I thought I heard Morgan's voice."

"You did," Sam replied. "On the speaker phone."

"What did she want?"

"Needed her prescription refilled. She thought you wouldn't be back till late."

"She usually has the pharmacy deliver." Nate kept his voice congenial.

"Apparently not today."

"I'll go pick it up."

He'd left Sam hunched over some paper work, gone back through the front door, then raced around the building. The exit at the rear of Sam's office opened onto an alley. Of course, the alley was empty of vehicles. But Morgan's voice hadn't sounded as if it came from a speaker phone.

His mind conjured up myriad scenarios, none of which included infidelity. His beautiful Morgan with a nerdy pencil pusher, old enough to be her father? What, then? Cover up some fiscal fiasco? Embezzlement from the estate? Who was there to embezzle from? Dee's kids? Morgan's own niece and nephew?

As he drove toward the pharmacy, his mind contorted. Why would Sam have Morgan on a speaker phone when they had been discussing something so confidential that Sam needed to lie about it?

Had he really detected Morgan's perfume in the room, or could it have been an olfactory hallucination triggered by his thought of her?

Another idea quickly changed his destination from the pharmacy to home.

When he entered the long driveway, he turned off the engine and coasted toward the three-car garage, touched the opener and drew up beside Morgan's white Jaguar. High maintenance, like Morgan.

Her bedroom was on the other side of the house. A wedding present from Jerome Bayfield, the house had been custom-designed to buffer the pain of Morgan's chronic migraines. A sprawling one-story contemporary, built of taupe colored stone, trimmed in slate, it was a larger, more saturnine version of its sister house across the lake--the house Jerome built for his daughter Elisabeth, the family home where Morgan and Deidre grew up. The house in which Deidre died.

Even if Morgan had recently returned, the structure and the layout of the house made it unlikely that she would see or hear him. Morgan had been groggy, full of pain medication since a few days after Dee's death. Her hereditary migraines that had abated with the onset of menopause had returned with a fury. Nate couldn't imagine her driving anywhere.

As he exited his vehicle, he became more convinced that his senses were hexing him. Then he touched the hood of Morgan's car and felt its warmth spread through his fingers on that cool April afternoon.