Deception (2 page)

“Doesn’t sound like Simon. He loved his scotch but he never mixed it with driving.”

“He did that night. We found evidence of it at the house.”

“You’re satisfied the crash was an accident, then?”

“Not you, too,” Wally muttered in disgust.

Dan’s antennae popped up. “Someone else suspects foul play?”

“Jill. She thinks her father may have been murdered.”

At the mention of Jill’s name, Dan felt that same old pull inside his chest. He tried to ignore it. “Why is that?”

“She says that a few days before his death, Simon was preoccupied, even nervous. When she questioned him about it, he brushed her concerns aside and told her she was imagining things. Then a couple of days after he died, she was going through his desk and found a request for a handgun permit.”

“You investigated the death?”

“My deputy and I went over the crash scene inch by inch, and found nothing to sustain Jill’s suspicions. I even sent a forensics team to the house. There was no evidence of foul play there, either. So, to answer your question, yes, I’m satisfied Simon’s death was accidental. Six years ago there was another crash at that exact spot. We put in additional signs, warning of the hazard, but…” He heaved a deep sigh and let his sentence trail unfinished.

Knowing Simon as well as he did, Dan found it difficult to accept the accident theory. His ex-father-in-law was an excellent driver, and a cautious one. In bad weather as well as in good, he would have paid particular attention to that stretch of road.

“What was Simon doing in the Catskills at this time of year, anyway? He doesn’t ski, does he?”

“No, but it was an unusually mild and dry weekend-until Sunday night. He probably wanted to make one more trip before the winter season. You know how he loved it up here.”

Dan knew perfectly. A fishing and hunting enthusiast, Simon had come upon the large tract of land by accident and had bought it within the week, claiming it was the most perfect place on earth.

Dan finally forced out the question that bothered him most.

“How’s Jill holding up?”

“Her father’s death hit her hard,” Wally replied. “But you know what a trouper she is. I can’t say the same for Amanda, though. She and Simon had just celebrated their thirty-sixth wedding anniversary.” Wally paused. “Talking of Jill, have you called her yet?” His tone was light and casual, as if the question was the most natural in the world.

Not sure why, Dan didn’t tell Wally about his earlier phone call. “No.”

“You’re going to, aren’t you?”

Dan smiled. Professionally, Wally Becker was known as a tough guy, but deep down he was soft as a roasted marshmallow. And a born matchmaker. Like Simon, he had done his damnedest to keep Jill and Dan from divorcing twelve years ago. Dan wouldn’t put it past him to try a little matchmaking now.

Taking his silence as a positive sign, Wally forged ahead. “The girl sure could use a little TLC right about now.”

“I was never very good in that department, Wally. You know that.”

“If you say so.” Wally sounded disappointed.

After another minute or so of friendly chitchat and the promise to get together the next time Dan went to New York to visit his family, the two men said goodbye and hung up.

For a long time afterward, Dan stood looking out the window. Chicago at sunrise was a sight he never seemed to tire of-the endless shimmering lake to the east, the city’s towering sky scape to the north and the bustling University of Chicago to the west. Today, however, the view left him indifferent. His thoughts were of Simon Bennett. During the short time Dan had known him, the man had been like a father to him, kind, understanding and supportive. After the divorce, the two men had even stayed in touch for a while, calling each other on the phone occasionally until, finally, they had drifted apart. But Dan had never forgotten him.

What if Jill’s instincts were right? he wondered as he watched the December sun turn the lake surface a brilliant shade of gold. What if Simon had been the victim of foul play?

He sighed. Not your problem, old boy. Not anymore. After a while, he left the window and went to the bedroom to dress.

For reasons he wouldn’t even try to explain, he was unable to get Jill out of his mind for the rest of the day.

Jill Bennett satin Wally Becker’s office in livingston Manor Town Hall, trying hard not to remember the last time she was here—with her father. Ten days had gone by since his death and though the fierce pain had turned into a dull ache, at times the void he had left was almost unbearable.

For the first twenty-four hours after the accident, she hadn’t wanted to believe he was gone, that she would never again see that familiar wink or hear his hearty laugh. It wasn’t until the memorial service that the stark reality of her father’s death had finally hit her.

She still had nightmares about the way he’d died. In the unconsciousness of sleep, images would flash—her father’s Jeep skidding on the wet surface, flying over the edge, bouncing against the rocks, exploding.

She shook her head as if to chase the disturbing images and watched Wally pull out a file from a drawer. He was a short, stocky man with craggy features and a bushy mustache that had turned the same pewter gray as his hair. He’d been a friend of the family ever since her father had built the summer house twenty-one years ago.

“Here it is, Jill. A detailed report of my investigation.” Wally dropped the file in front of her. “I know it’s not what you were hoping for, but I’ll stand by what I said at the memorial service last week. Your father’s death was an accident, a terrible, senseless accident.”

“But it can’t be.” Jill’s voice was tight with emotion. “My father was too good a driver, and he knew that road too well to have had such an accident.”

Wally leaned back in his chair and stifled a sigh. “It was very late. He was probably tired.”

“Did you talk to the mechanic?” she asked stubbornly. “Inspect the car?”

Wally nodded. “There wasn’t much to look at, but Marcus is positive the brake lines weren’t cut. If they had been, the master cylinder would have been empty. And it wasn’t. There was plenty of brake fluid left.”

“What about the house? Whose fingerprints did you find?” Jill felt silly questioning an experienced policeman like Wally as if he were a novice, but she knew he hadn’t taken her suspicions seriously when she had first approached him last week, and she had to be sure nothing had been overlooked.

“All we found were Simon’s prints and those of nearly every member of your family, which isn’t surprising since you all spent the Thanksgiving weekend up here.”

Despite her determination to be strong, Jill’s eyes welled up with tears. What a wonderful three days that had been. On Thanksgiving Day her mother had cooked a gigantic turkey, nearly burning it to a crisp. After dinner, her uncle Cyrus had sat at the piano and played a medley of Christmas carols. Within moments, the whole family was singing, most of them terribly off-key. Even her cousin Olivia, always such a bitch at family gatherings, had been almost pleasant that day.

“We also found spilled liquor next to his glass,” Wally said gravely. “And on the floor.”

Jill frowned. “What are you saying?”

“I’m saying that your father may have been drinking a little more than usual that night, and that his motor reflexes weren’t as sharp as they should have been. To that you add the late hour, and the heavy rain.” He shook his head. “That’s a terrible combination, Jill.”

“But that, too, doesn’t make sense, Wally.” Jill leaned forward, every nerve taut. “My father never drank before a road trip. Especially in bad weather.”

“But he was drinking, honey. And it’s his fingerprints we found on the glass, and on the bottle, not anyone else’s. You said yourself he was troubled those last few days. Maybe whatever was bothering him drove him to drink, to do all the irrational things he wouldn’t normally do.”

As Jill’s shoulders sagged in frustration, Wally nodded at the file on his desk. “Why don’t you take a look at my report, Jill. It’ll only take a few minutes. And maybe after you’ve read it, everything will make more sense to you.”

His index finger curled around his mouth, Wally watched her leaf through the detailed six-page report he had compiled since Simon Bennett’s death ten days ago. Just sitting there looking at her, he could see why his new deputy had turned into a bumbling fool at his first sight of her.

Although Jill was a Bennett in many ways, her good looks came from her mother, Amanda. Not as classically beautiful as Amanda, Jill nonetheless had the same proud carriage, the same wide, mobile mouth, the same thick, glossy auburn hair. Only the eyes, a deep marine blue like her father’s, identified her as a Bennett.

But while Amanda was very conscious of her beauty and always strived to enhance it, Jill had a total disregard for her own. Even the way she dressed had a healthy, girl-next-door quality to it that belied her social status. He was glad to see that, unlike Amanda, she had abided by her father’s wishes not to wear black after his death. Today’s outfit was a riot of autumn colors that suited her perfectly—slim brown pants tucked into knee-high boots, a bright yellow sweater and a rust-colored suede jacket. Wally didn’t know much about fashion but he knew style when he saw it.

A graduate of Columbia School of Architecture, Jill had incorporated that very style into her work by blending modern and traditional architecture in a unique way. Her first major commission, the new Symphony House in Tucson, Arizona, three years ago, had firmly established her as one of the country’s most talented young architects. A reporter for Architectural Record once wrote that while Simon Bennett was the genius behind Bennett & Associates, Jill was its heart and soul.

She was tough. She’d had to be to compete in a profession that was still largely dominated by men, yet there was a vulnerability about her that was touching and refreshing. Wally had never been more conscious of that vulnerability than when Jill’s divorce had become final. The poor kid had fallen apart, and it had taken months for Simon and the rest of the family to get her through the ordeal.

When Jill was finished reading the report, she snapped the folder shut. “Thanks, Wally. I truly appreciate the time you and your deputy spent on this.”

She gave Wally a brave smile, and for a moment he almost believed that she had accepted the inevitable conclusion that her father’s death was an accident. But something about the way she held his gaze told him she wasn’t about to give up so easily. The girl might be appeased but she wasn’t convinced. And that scared the hell out of him. A widower with no children, Wally had developed a deep affection for Jill and hated to see her consumed by this need to investigate Simon’s death.

“Let it go, Jill,” he said’ knowing damn well she wouldn’t. “Allow yourself to grieve and then go on with your life. That’s what your father would have wanted.”

Jill didn’t answer. Suddenly restless, he stood up and walked over to the window. It was only mid-December, but in the Catskill Mountains winter had arrived. A light dusting of snow coated the parking lot, and in the distance the roaring sound of Sno-Cats could be heard as they groomed the rolling hills.

Her gaze swept across the snowcapped mountains her father had loved so much. With a pinch in her heart, she remembered that this was the year he’d wanted to learn how to ski.

“And you’re going to teach me,” he had told Jill one morning during one of their frequent mountain hikes.

Although thrilled at the idea, she hadn’t been able to resist a little harmless teasing. “You want to do what at your age?” she had exclaimed in mock horror. “Are you sure those old bones can take it?”

He had laughed with her. “I’ll show you what these old bones can do.”

Feeling the familiar prickle behind her eyelids, Jill bit her lip to stop the tears that threatened to erupt. She had done enough crying in the last ten days. From now on, her energy would have to be focused on something a little more constructive. Like finding out what had truly happened to her father. And if he had been murdered, as she was beginning to suspect, then she would extend her efforts one step further.

She would find his killer.

After a while, she turned away from the window. “I’d better go. Mom will be calling the loft to see if I’m back.” She attempted a smile. “She’s a little gun-shy about mountain driving these days.”

“I’m sure she is.” Wally rose from behind his desk. As they walked in silence toward the door, he wrapped a comforting arm around her shoulders. Out in the small parking lot, Jill kissed him on the cheek. “I’m sorry I gave you a hard time in there.”

He made a dismissing gesture. “You did no such thing.” He returned the kiss. “Don’t be a stranger, now, you hear?”

“I won’t.”

He watched her walk toward her old green BMW, her stride quick and brisk, like her father’s. As she backed the old sports car from its parking space, she touched the horn once and waved. He returned the wave, wishing he had the power to make her happy again. Then, with a sigh of resignation, and a silent promise to call her in a couple of days, he walked back inside.

Two

It was six o’clock by the time Jill returned to Greenwich Village where she had lived for the past thirteen years. After parking her car in her usual spot at the garage off Washington Square, she headed south toward MacDougal Street.

Once a mecca for street peddlers and drug addicts, Greenwich Village, or the West Village, as the locals called it, had undergone a gentrification of sorts over the last two decades. A new, more artistic crowd had moved in—writers, painters, jazz musicians and, of course, the inescapable aspiring actors without whom New York wouldn’t be New York.

With the arrival of nighttime, the thick clouds that had threatened to spill open earlier had dissipated, and a cold wind blew in off the Hudson, sending pedestrians scurrying home.

On an impulse, Jill stopped at Eddie’s Market, the small grocery store on Bleecker Street, to pick up what she needed to make an omelette. She even treated herself to a slice of Eddie’s homemade pumpkin pie and a container of Cool Whip. She always functioned better when her sweet tooth was satisfied.