River Road (15 page)

T
here was nothing unusual about the terms of the Brinker estate.” Lucy studied the data on her computer screen. “He left everything to Tristan. The trust stipulated that if Tristan predeceased his father, the assets were to be divided equally among some distant relatives.”

“How distant?” Mason asked.

Lucy flipped to another screen full of data. “Some cousins on the East Coast. We’re not talking enormous sums of cash, by the way, at least not when you consider what half the company must have been worth. Still, the total amounted to a few million.”

Mason lounged back in his chair and sipped his coffee. His eyes were half closed. He was in some kind of Zen zone, Lucy thought—running scenarios and contemplating possible outcomes. Aunt Sara would have appreciated the aura of deep focus.

They were sitting at the kitchen table. She had made another pot of coffee after Nolan Kelly had left. She knew Mason had not been happy to see Nolan in the house. When he came through the door, his eyes had borne an uncanny resemblance to those of the dog. But he’d had the good sense not to lecture her about the dangers of allowing real estate agents through the front door. The man was learning.

Mason emerged from his contemplative state and fixed her with an intent look. “You said that none of the distant relatives got a huge amount of money out of the Brinker buyout.”

She glanced at the screen. “I’ve worked on a lot of big family estates. I’m not an expert on hedge funds, but it looks like Brinker sold his half of the company to Colfax for a surprisingly small amount of money.”

“Wonder why Brinker gave up his half for less than it was worth?”

Lucy looked up from the screen. “Maybe, like people say, with his son and heir dead, Brinker just didn’t care anymore. But there’s another possibility. Maybe by then Brinker knew he was dying.”

“A fortune doesn’t look so interesting if you know you’re not going to live long enough spend it and if you don’t care much about any of the people you’re leaving behind. Wonder if he realized he’d fathered a sociopath?”

“Knowing Tristan was a psycho wouldn’t necessarily lessen a father’s grief.”

Mason folded his hands behind his head. “I’ll bet Jeffrey Brinker knew that he was ill.”

“Why are you so sure of that?” Lucy asked.

“Because otherwise he probably wouldn’t have taken the low offer. He was still in his prime. He could have remarried and maybe tried for another heir.”

“Huh.” Lucy picked up a pen and tapped the point lightly against the table.

“What?”

“It occurred to me that everything you just said about Brinker could apply to Warner Colfax. I’m not saying Quinn is a sociopath, but evidently he isn’t management material. For whatever reason, his father has never given him anything except a token position in marketing, and that job is here in Summer River at the winery, not in San Francisco at the headquarters of Colfax Inc. Warner obviously doesn’t consider Quinn to be a fitting heir to the throne.”

“What are you thinking?”

“Just wondering if Warner dumped the first Mrs. Colfax in an effort to try for another heir.”

Mason whistled softly. “Wow. That’s cold. And I thought I was a tad cynical.”

“I’m sure cops see it all, but I can guarantee you that when it comes to Machiavellian-style scheming and manipulation, nothing beats the warfare that goes on inside families when a large estate is at stake. I take that back. There doesn’t even have to be a lot of money involved. There are plenty of stories of siblings not speaking to each other for years because one of them got Mother’s antique hutch and the other one got the gilt mirror in the living room.”

“Well, as we both observed going into this thing, there’s no feud like a family feud.”

“The infighting is supposedly over money or property, but deep down it’s always the result of the underlying family dynamics.” Lucy tapped the tip of the pen on the tabletop a couple more times. “And there’s nothing like throwing a second wife into the pot to stir things up. If the objective is for her to be more than just arm candy—if her job is to produce a second heir to the throne—things get really, really messy.”

Her phone rang, startling her. She glanced at the screen and winced, but she took the call.

“Hi, Dad,” she said.

“I just got an email from your mother,” Richard Sheridan said. “What’s this about a body in Sara’s fireplace?”

She knew her father was in his office. She could tell by the brusque tone. He was probably preparing for yet another academic meeting. But he was very good at compartmentalizing. She could tell that she had his attention for the moment, so she gave him a quick rundown of events.

“Sara was more than a little eccentric, but it’s hard to imagine her murdering anyone, let alone concealing the body in her fireplace,” he said when she had finished.

“Well, when you think about it, it’s not that easy to get rid of a body—not if you want to be absolutely certain it won’t be found, at least not in your lifetime,” Lucy said.

“I’ll admit I haven’t given the problem a lot of thought,” Richard said dryly. “But it’s just damn weird. And it will probably have a negative effect on the asking price of the house. Any way you can keep the information off the listing form?”

“Believe me, I don’t plan to mention it. Doubt if the real estate agent will want to make a note of it, either.”

“Thirteen years ago, Ellen and I were very relieved to find out that Brinker came to a bad end. You do know he’s the reason Sara sent you back to us that summer, don’t you?”

“Yes, I know.”

“The son of a bitch had it coming, is all I can say. When I found out what had almost happened to you, I wanted to go straight to the police. But Sara was convinced that wouldn’t do any good. I was consulting with a lawyer about our legal options—restraining orders, that sort of thing. Then Sara called your mother and me, and said Brinker was believed to be dead. She sounded very, ah, positive about that.”

“Now we know why.” Lucy paused. “Thanks, Dad.”

“For what?”

“For consulting with the lawyer and . . . and everything. I appreciate that you were looking for a way to protect me.”

“I’m your father. What the hell else would I do?”

Lucy felt tears gathering in her eyes. “Thanks.” She cleared her throat. “About the house—”

“Have you found a real estate agent?”

“I’ve, uh, interviewed one.”

“Like I said, make sure you keep the business about the body off the listing form if at all possible.”

“I’ll be careful.” She hesitated and then decided to update her father. “There’s another problem. The police told me that the house is no longer a crime scene, but it appears there was an intruder last night. Someone searched the place.”

“Were you there?” Richard’s voice was laced with alarm.

“No. I’m staying at an inn in town.”

“Good.” The sudden alarm faded from Dick’s voice. “Did you inform the police?”

“No, because I can’t prove anything. Nothing was taken, as far as I can tell. You know how the cops are when it comes to chasing down suspects in a burglary—especially when nothing was stolen.”

“Empty houses are magnets for vandals and burglars—everyone knows that. The news about the body in the fireplace no doubt drew plenty of attention in the area. Maybe some kids broke in to have a look around.”

“Except that there was no sign that anyone forced his way into the house.”

“According to the media, the average thief can get through the average household lock in about sixty seconds.”

Lucy met Mason’s eyes across the width of the table. “Yes, I’ve heard that, too.”

“Look, there’s no need to hang around Summer River. Get Sara’s things packed and have a charity pick them up. Call in an appraiser to give you some advice on the value of the furniture and those antiques. Get a local contractor to do the touch-up work and get the house on the market.”

“Sure thing,” Lucy said. “Thanks for the advice, Dad.”

Mason looked amused. Probably something about the way she had thanked her father, she decided.

“Have you contacted Warner Colfax about selling those shares you inherited back to him?” Richard asked.

Lucy took a deep breath. “We haven’t discussed price yet.”

“I told you, let the lawyer for the estate handle the negotiations.”

“I understand,” Lucy said dutifully.

Mason raised his eyebrows.

“Got to go,” Richard said. “I have a meeting in a few minutes. Let me know if you need any more help.”

“Thanks for the advice, Dad. Bye.”

“Bye.”

“Love you,” Lucy added.

She was always the one who said it first. But Richard always responded, even if he did need prompting.

“Love you, too, Lucy girl.”

Lucy ended the call, squelching the old wistfulness that always whispered through her when she talked to her father. She put the phone back into her tote. When she looked up, she saw that Mason was watching her with a thoughtful expression.

“Thanks for the advice, Dad?”
Mason repeated, brows slightly elevated.

“He gave me a long list of instructions. Get the appraisal on the furniture and the antiques, hire a mover, hire a contractor. He means well.”

“And you’re used to listening politely and then doing exactly what you want to do.”

“It works for both of us. It’s not that he’s wrong. Eventually, I will get around to doing all the stuff on the list. But at the moment, I’m more interested in finding out what happened to Aunt Sara and Mary.”

“I notice you didn’t mention your suspicions to your father.”

Lucy sipped some coffee and lowered the glass. “Didn’t tell Mom, either. They would only worry if they knew.”

A knowing look illuminated his eyes. “You’re used to telling both of them what they want to hear and then going your own way.”

“I never lie to my folks, but I often proceed on the philosophy that what they don’t know won’t hurt them.”

“Unless things blow up in your face.”

“Unless that happens, right. But I’ve got a secret weapon in this case.”

“What?” he asked.

“You. I’m sure Dad would approve. He’s always very keen on hiring the best. He says it pays in the long run. And as it happens, I am working with one of the preeminent cold case consultants in the world.”

“And that’s what you plan to tell your folks if the wheels come off this little project of yours—that you were working with a consultant.”

“A
preeminent
criminal investigation consultant.”

“
Preeminent
is a big word,” Mason said. “Does it mean not too smart, by any chance?”

“Nope, it means outstanding.” Her phone rang again, an unknown number this time. She took the call. “This is Lucy.”

“Lucy, it’s Teresa. I called to see if you would like to have dinner with my husband and me this evening. My niece says she’ll watch the kids. There’s a new restaurant in town. Rafe and I have been looking forward to trying it out.”

“Thank you,” Lucy said. “I’d like that very much.”

“And please invite Mason Fletcher along. It’s all over town that the two of you are seeing each other.”

Lucy winced. “That was fast. Hang on, he’s right here. I’ll ask him if he can join us.” She held the phone so that the mouthpiece was pressed against her shoulder. “This is Teresa Vega. She’s inviting both of us to join her and her husband for dinner. Are you free?”

“Sure,” Mason said. “Tell her I said thanks.”

Lucy put the phone back to her ear. “We’re both delighted to accept. Meet you at the restaurant.”

“Perfect. Got a pen?”

“Yes.”

Lucy scribbled down the name and address of the restaurant, said good-bye and ended the call. She cleared her throat.

“Something you should know before we go out to dinner with Teresa and Rafe Vega tonight,” she said.

“I’m listening.”

“Evidently, word has gotten around town that you and I are seeing each other.”

“That was fast.”

“Exactly what I said. You were right, one thing about Summer River has not changed over the years. It is still a small town in some ways.”

Mason’s mouth quirked faintly. “Probably why we got invited out to dinner as a couple. Teresa and Rafe want the latest hot gossip on the murder.”

“Oh, I’m sure of it. But here’s the thing. I don’t doubt that Teresa and her husband will try to pump us for inside information, but we will be able to return the favor. Teresa was raised in Summer River. She knows everyone.”

“What about her husband?”

“I think Sara said he’s relatively new in town. Teaches high school.”

“Gosh, this is exciting.”

She eyed him warily. “What are you thinking?”

“Just that this will be date number three for us.” He held up one hand and extended his forefinger. “On date number one we discovered a dead body.” He extended a second finger. “On date number two we were entertained with various and assorted veiled threats from a bunch of rich clowns wearing too much wine-country casual.” Mason raised one more finger. “Date number three is going to be all about interrogating local witnesses.”

“Your point?”

He gave her a wolfish smile. “My point is that this relationship of ours is getting off to an interesting start.”