Monsters Under the Bed (6 page)

I admit I had no idea what he was saying. “I, um….” I cleared my throat and started again, more confidently, though feeling less. “I seek the truth.”

Lovell sipped his tea, holding the cup with both hands. Still he did not look at me. “When the character of a man is not clear to you, seek out his friends.”

“Were you Mo’s friend?”

“One beam alone—no matter how strong—cannot support a home.”

I figured out then he was speaking in proverbs of some kind. I wasn’t 100 percent on board, but his personality intrigued me. Without any assurances or verifications from him or my own body of knowledge, I interpreted his latest statement that Mo had indeed either had friends, like Lovell, or he’d had no friends, which had made him unstable. I had no way to know which, so I had to keep Lovell talking, even if he spoke in riddles.

“What was Mo like in your opinion?”

“In a mind clear as still water, even the rising, cresting, and breaking of the wave is reflecting its light.”

Mo had been a child genius, and undoubtedly he had seen clarity and understanding in things where others saw only questions and confusion. “That might be so, but one could say there is no light without darkness. And from what I hear, there were a great many shadows in Mo’s life.”

Did I imagine that quirk of a smile from Lovell’s stony face? “We are all shaped by our thoughts, and we become what we think. When the mind is pure, joy follows like a shadow that never leaves.”

Did that mean Mo let his fears rule his life? He had withdrawn into himself, but he had still continued to interact with the world. His toys could have been manifestations of his creativity or his happiness, at first, but surely not later, not when he had lost so much? Innocence of the mind alone could not do that, in my humble opinion. I mean, that would be naïve.

My head was starting to spin. Though I was sitting, I felt dizzy and wholly unprepared for this level of thought. “You were Mo’s chauffeur as well as his bodyguard. Why did he go out alone on the night he died?”

Lovell’s eyes closed. “A flower falls even though we love it.”

“Falls on its own, or because someone shook the stem?” Two could play at this game.

He opened his eyes and finally looked at me. The candle flames flickered. “Flowers fade, weeds grow.” Funny but all this talk of flowers made me think about Ford, and I felt my cock stir. Talk about bad timing.

“Can you give me any possible names for these… weeds?”

Lovell frowned, and his eyes glazed over. “I suppose we all were weeds in his garden of innocence.” That was the first straightforward thing he had said to me. “I wanted an investor for this enterprise, Cecil wanted to manage all of Mo’s finances, and Giulia wanted to manage all of Mo’s life. We all had reasons to be near him.”

I considered what he had told me. If true, both Lovell and Cecil had greed as possible motives, while Giulia’s reasons had several potential interpretations. As far as Lovell went…. “I’m afraid I’m a PI, not father confessor. If you feel you have wronged Mo, you must find absolution by some other means. I cannot forgive you.”

Suddenly Lovell smiled, a pleased, contented gesture. His black eyes stayed locked to mine. “You could have lied, Mr. Garrett. A surefire way to get your answers from me. All you had to do was offer me forgiveness and wash me clean of my sins.”

“I cannot profess to being a seeker of truth if I play dirty.”

He bowed his head to me a bit. “Nonetheless….”

I glanced around. “You don’t strike me as a Catholic.”

Lovell shook his head, smiling. “Zen Buddhist.”

“Then why all this talk of sin?”

“Company is as company does.”

“Should I be mildly offended?” I grinned at his remark. “That didn’t sound like a Zen proverb, either.”

Lovell laughed then, a deep bubbly sound, profound and genuine. “How about this, Mr. Garrett? Do not seek the truth, only let go of your opinions.”

“I haven’t formed any opinions yet.”

“Instincts and emotions, not intellect or reason, formulate most of our first—and last—impressions of other people.”

“All right. I’ll bite. What’s your impression of Cecil?”

“He is Mo’s uncle.”

“And your accountant.”

“Former, sadly.” I waited for him to go on, and he did. “I found Cecil to be most gifted with numbers, a veritable prodigy of investment portfolios and stock markets and quarterly balances and tax forms and so on, into dreary infinity.”

“Why did you let him go?”

“He was confused as to what was my money and what was his.”

My eyebrows rose in surprise. That was awfully plainly spoken. “You mean to say he embezzled money from you?”

“Yes, I mean to say.” He waved a dismissive hand about. “It meant nothing. Money is a necessity in business, but not in life.” I had to disagree with him on that, but I held my tongue. “I forgave him, he replaced the missing funds, and I dropped the matter. Of course I ended our work relationship, but that was that.”

“Why didn’t you involve the police?”

“What good could that have served? It would have been publicly disastrous for both Cecil and Mo. And Mo held his uncle in such high esteem. I could not do that to Mo. Not in good conscience.”

I suspected there was more to this than that. Forgiveness was a skill like any other, requiring a long commitment of practice in order to master it. I would have to consult Cecil on this issue. At this point I had to assume either one or both of them was lying about this for whatever reasons, so I needed more and accurate information on both of their financials. Their banks might be helpful in this matter. That would shed some light on this web of secrecy.

But that would be a task for later. For now…. “Did Mo have any enemies?”

“He was the golden boy of the world. Everyone loved him.”

“No professional animosity from a rival, perhaps?”

“No. There were those who envied his talent, but no one that would harm him.”

I studied him, as he surveyed me. “Do you believe Mo killed himself?”

Lovell frowned, searching for words. “He was troubled by the past. But no, I do not believe it.”

“And if I told you the car in which he died was found crashed on Lincoln Boulevard?”

His head cocked to the side, and the furrows on his brow deepened. The candles on the table flickered, as if caught in a breeze. “Really?” I didn’t reply. He blinked hard. “I….” He paused, as if lost in thought. His gaze seemed to turn inward. Then he shook his head steadfastly. “No, I still would not believe it. Mo was a force of nature, a vibrant being despite his many sorrows. If he died…
there
, it was an accident. A horrible coincidence, yes, but most definitely an accident.”

“Or murder.” Lovell acquiesced to my hypothesis with a minor nod. “When did you see Mo last?”

“The day he died, before lunch. I drove him back to the mansion.”

“Where had he been?”

“At the toy factory. Where else? Mo spent most of his mornings there. He absolutely loved watching how the wild, theoretical designs from his imagination morphed into something real and tangible. Alive, you understand.” Lovell smiled then, his stony face transforming into a picture of happiness. “He was so animated then, like his hands couldn’t stay still. Once he even sloshed his morning tea on one of his workers, drenching his coat. By the gods, he was apologetic that day. But the lady in question was all right and even amused by the incident.”

“Morning tea?”

“Yes. Mo had tea every morning, noon, and night. He was fond of his teas.” Lovell chuckled softly then. “He experimented with various flavors, textures, colors, anything he could think of. Tea was one of his passions.”

Mo seemed like a wonderful kid, I thought with a sympathetic smile. Too bad I never got the chance to meet him in person. “Parkinson didn’t mention Mo’s tea drinking habit.”

“That’s because Parkinson only made Mo’s noon tea, after lunch. Mo prepared his own morning tea, and Cecil his evening tea. It was the one activity the two of them shared.”

“You don’t think much of Cecil, do you?”

Lovell took a deep breath and then nodded firmly. “He seemed like a gold-digger to me, family or no. But I can hardly claim pure motives regarding Mo myself. He offered to invest in my company, and I didn’t refuse. I should have, though, not just because he was my employer and my charge, but because he was my friend.”

“How’s business now?”

“Booming.” Yet he didn’t sound particularly thrilled about it. In fact, he sounded kind of forlorn, the way Parkinson had sounded. Mo may have felt alone, but he had made an impact in the lives of these people. I really wished then he had not taken his own life. Not that murder was a happy outcome, but the idea that Mo hadn’t seen he’d had friends around him, that was a damn sad prospect.

“So, when you dropped him off for lunch, that was the last time you saw Mo?”

“Yes.” Lovell nodded. “He said whatever errands he had to run, he would take care of them himself.”

“Do you have any idea what those plans entailed?” There was a huge gap between his meager lunch with Parkinson and the time when his car drove off the road. What had Mo been up to then? Who had he met? His poor condition suggested he might have been poisoned before lunch, so that ruled out Parkinson. Or perhaps not, if the butler had made Mo’s breakfast, just not the tea.
Great, more conjecture
.

“I cannot be sure, but Mo did mention Giulia. It’s possible he met with her. Those two had a tempestuous relationship. By the gods, sometimes it felt like she was his mother and other times as though she were his mistress. They had the craziest connection I had ever seen, especially for a nanny and her ward.”

Mo had been eighteen when he died. Why would he still see his nanny? Giulia Capello was a family friend, so that could have been the reason, I suppose. I needed more information on her. “Is it possible there was some kind of love affair? Mo was a teenager, yes, but… you know, raging hormones and/or adults who lust after the young to feel young themselves. As a teenager I felt like a walking erection, unfortunately. We’ve all been there.”

Lovell cocked his head, studying me with a smile. “I haven’t. I’ve lived an austere life, not quite cloistered, but pure.”

“Sex doesn’t have to be dirty.”

He actually chuckled at that, and the candle flames whirled about for a moment. “No. But with Giulia? I would think Mo had more sense than that. And class.”

“I’ve heard Giulia Capello is all about class.”

“Mmm, is that so?” Lovell shrugged noncommittally. “Well, I’ll let you be the judge of that. I assume you are going to meet up with her?”

No point in lying. “Tomorrow. Her PA told me she was otherwise engaged tonight.”

Lovell laughed wholeheartedly, deep from his belly, a real sound of amusement. “It must be another fundraiser at some posh address then. She is high-class, to be sure, and classy. But sex with her? I would fear getting eaten alive—during.” His look was mischievous, but there was an underlying sense of seriousness there that made me worry a bit. Ms. Capello was apparently quite a woman. Mo seemed to have collected unique characters around. Yet, in their own way, they were all flawed.

But had their weaknesses led or contributed to Mo’s death? I had no answer for that.

I gave Lovell my farewell and asked him if he was planning on leaving town anytime soon. He said no, I thanked him, and then left the security company.

In the elevator, I went over what I had learned. The first step in a murder inquiry is to get to know the victim. Often enough for statistics the reason to kill is there, in the deceased’s personality. But Mo had been a child genius, part extrovert, part introvert, and his thought processes were beyond my capabilities to decipher.

Or were they? I would have to try nonetheless. With his last words, though written instead of spoken, Mo had asked me to find the truth. I wasn’t going to give up now.

I came out of the building and started walking along the curb toward my car.

Suddenly, two pairs of hands grabbed my arms, and a fierce slap across my forehead and eyes disoriented me. I was carried away from the street to somewhere shadier, and the smell of rotten trash and human waste filled my nostrils.

My attackers stopped, and a man whose face I was only able to glimpse punched me in the gut harshly. It was a love tap, I knew from experience. Though all the air inside my lungs was pushed out, I felt no serious damage done to me. Still, I fell on one knee, struggling to stay upright.

I was yanked up roughly by the two men behind me, and then a sharp hit connected with my cheekbone, sending my brain scrambling for cover inside my skull.

My mouth still worked, though. “What do you want?” I croaked.

“Leave the Chance case alone, you dumb, flatfooted gumshoe.” Great, two clichés for the price of one, I thought sardonically, and found myself smiling at that. The least they could have done was pick one and stick with that. “What the hell are you grinning at, fool?”

Another hit me across the jaw. My teeth rattled in my mouth, and the taste of blood was all over my tongue. I think I felt one of my teeth loosen, but I couldn’t be sure. I was too hazy on the details at that point. I fell back down on the ground, this time all the way. My palms and knees scraped the asphalt, and my head banged against something metallic, making me see stars.

“Stay away from Mo’s death, you hear?” the man spat at me, thankfully not with real spit. The vehemence in his tone sounded rehearsed, so I guessed they were mere hired goons, not emotionally invested cohorts. “Trust me, boyo, you don’t want a repeat visit.”

They kicked some puddle water my way, the drops hitting my face like raindrops, and then they were off. I heard their boots hammering the street, receding fast. I should have followed them, but I couldn’t even get up.

God, I’m too old for this shit
.

There was a cold, gray fog wrapping itself around my mind, and I was falling.

Where to
? I wondered.

Tickets, please.