Almost Dead (8 page)

There were no two ways about it, he’d have to stop by his apartment to shower and change before driving to the office. “Gotta run,” he said reluctantly. “Do you want me to take you up to your grandmother’s house to pick up the car?”

“Oh.” She glanced at the clock mounted over the mantel. “No, I’ll call a cab once Tanya gets here.” Her lips tightened just a bit when she mentioned the nanny’s name, the nanny Jack had found for their son, a woman of twenty-eight whom, for some reason, Cissy didn’t quite trust despite Tanya’s stellar list of recommendations.

“Are you sure? I’m not crazy about you going back there alone.” He was giving her an out, even though he didn’t have much time.

“I’ll be fine. Go on. You’ll be late.”

He hesitated.

“Jack, go. You were supposed to be out of here before I got up, remember?”

No use arguing. Especially when she was right. “Okay, I’ll talk to you later, but if you change your mind and want some moral support, I’ll come back and take you.”

“
Moral
support?” she said meaningfully.

“Give it a rest, will ya? I’m trying to help out.”

She started to come back with a hot retort, but instead she backed down and nodded. “Okay. You’re right. We both know where we stand.”

“Good.” He could barely believe it. She’d been so adamant, so prickly. As he passed by the couch, he ruffled B.J.’s hair and pressed a quick kiss to Cissy’s crown, surprising her.

“That’s not winning you any points, Holt,” she said, but she climbed to her feet and, still carrying Beej, walked him to the door.

“I’ll be back after work.”

“No, wait, you don’t have to—”

She didn’t finish her thought, and he took that as a good sign. As he jogged to the car, he felt her gaze on his back. When he reached the Jeep, he looked over his shoulder and saw Cissy standing on the porch in her bare feet holding the baby. Next door, Sara Delano, their neighbor, dressed to the nines, was picking up her soggy newspaper from the bushes near her front porch.

“Jack!” Sara said, waving and offering him a smile that was too wide for so early in the morning.

He waved as he hit the button on his remote lock. “Hey, Sara!” As he climbed into the Jeep, he saw that Sara, in long skirt, boots, sweater, scarf, and jacket, was picking her way across the adjoining lawns to the porch where Cissy stood. Good. He hated to leave Cissy alone even though she’d made damned sure he knew that she liked it that way.

Not that he really believed it. He glanced over his shoulder as he eased from his parking space and caught a picture of Cissy, ponytail blowing over her shoulder in the breeze as she clutched their kid. She was staring after his Jeep, her angry facade slipping, her expression pensive.

He grinned to himself.

Damn, if she didn’t look like she missed him already.

Cissy watched Jack pull away. From the corner of her eye she’d witnessed the quick exchange between Sara and him, then observed Sara’s eyes follow Jack’s movements.

So what?

They were all friends.

Sara and Jack had been close, no big deal.

It was nothing. Meant
nothing!

And yet a ridiculous spurt of suspicion stole through her. She couldn’t help but wonder if Jack and Sara had ever had a fling.

Like Larissa.

Don’t be stupid,
she instantly chastised herself.
Sara’s your friend.

But it happened all the time, didn’t it? The wife was always the last to know. How many times had Sara commented on how “hot” Jack was? How many times had he tried to set her up with one of his friends, always saying that Sara was a catch? Before finding him with Larissa, Cissy would never have thought for a second that there was anything between her husband and their neighbor, but now…

Cissy gave herself a mental shake. So the looks Jack and Sara had exchanged once in a while seemed more than just friendly. Who cared?

She would not—absolutely would
not
—become one of those suspicious women she detested. What was wrong with her? If she couldn’t trust Jack, she certainly could trust Sara.

You’re over the edge because of last night and Eugenia’s death. That’s it. And because Marla is on the loose.
She shivered at that thought and held her son closer as she thought about someone watching the house the night before. Had that been her imagination?

“Hey,” Sara called, holding a dripping newspaper away from her rust-colored jacket as she crossed the damp grass that separated their two houses. A redhead with porcelain skin and big eyes that flashed a deep forest green, Sara had been a model in high school and now was a high-powered realtor. She’d been married and divorced twice and now swore that she would remain single at least until she was thirty-five, which was still two years away. “I heard about your grandmother,” she said, tossing her hair out of her eyes as the newspaper dripped from one hand. “What a bummer. I’m so sorry.”

“So am I,” Cissy admitted as a gust pushed a few wet leaves across the grass and she turned her back to the wind. “It’s a shock.”

“Hang in there.” Sara came to the porch and trained her gaze on B.J. “Hey, there,” she cooed. Sara, who didn’t have any of her own kids, winked at Beej. The boy pulled his shy act, burrowing his face into his mom’s neck. “See that, it’s the effect I have on all men.”

Cissy doubted it. In fact, she knew better.

“God, Beej looks more like his dad every day.”

That much was true. Which wasn’t so horrible, Cissy supposed. Jack definitely was good-looking, which sometimes could be more of a curse than a blessing.

Sara squinted up at the sky, as if searching through the clouds for the sun. “Will it ever warm up?”

“It’s winter,” Cissy reminded her.

“I know. What I wouldn’t do for hot sand, warm water, and a cool margarita brought to me by a pool boy named Ramon.”

Cissy actually smiled. “Amen.”

“You know, Cissy, you could use a break. All that business about your mom? And now your grandmother? On top of the divorce?” Sara shook her head, and sassy, razor-cut red waves bounced around her face as she touched B.J.’s nose with a manicured finger. “Good thing she’s got you, though, huh, Beej? You’re the bright spot.”

He stared at her but clung to his mother.

Sara glanced over her shoulder, spying Jack’s Jeep negotiate a last corner and disappear from sight. “Sooo,” she said, gaze returning to Cissy. “Jack’s back?”

“Oh, no. He just stayed over last night. He gave me a ride back from my grandmother’s place. My car was blocked in by all the emergency vehicles.”

“Oh God, you were there?” Sara pulled a face. “That’s right. You always see her on Sunday. Don’t tell me you were the one to find her.” When Cissy’s jaw tightened and she nodded, Sara’s white skin paled even more. “How awful. Are you okay?” She rolled her expressive eyes. “Sorry. Dumb question. How could you be?”

“I’ll be fine,” she said and meant it. She had to be for Beej.

Sara’s mind was already going a mile a minute. “So. Wait a minute.” Her gaze swept the driveway. “What about your car? Is it still there?”

“Yeah.”

“Do you need a ride to pick it up or something?” She checked her watch as the wind caught in the fringe of her scarf. “I could take you over there.”

“Really? Don’t you have to go to work?”

“Working from home today.”

Cissy’s gaze skated down her friend’s outfit: maxiskirt, unbuttoned to the knee; expensive boots; big-necked sweater and suede jacket. And the scarf.

“You’re working at home dressed like that?”

Sara laughed. “Well, I do have appointments this afternoon, and once I shower, I just get dressed for the day. But I’m going to hang around here for a while. It’s one of the advantages of selling real estate and having a home office with Internet access. So if you want to pick the Acura up this morning, I’m available.”

“How about as soon as Tanya gets here? Around nine?”

“Perfect.” Sara flashed a grin that had probably sealed more than her share of deals. “Call me.” Gingerly, she picked her way back to her house. Cissy watched her, then looked down the street to where she thought she’d seen the figure standing in the dark. Curious, she packed Beej across the street and walked to the position where she’d thought the person had been lurking. The neighbor’s grass was a little mashed, and there was a cigarette butt in the gutter, but that didn’t mean anything…or did it? She stood in the spot and stared up at her house. From this very position she could see into the dormer of the master bedroom. With only a partial turn of her head, she had a full-blown view of Beej’s room.

Another gust of wind blew down the street, rattling the branches of the trees and chasing a chill as cold as death up her spine. Rain began to fall from the sky in a thick, icy mist.

It’s nothing, Cissy. You were imagining things.

But she held her son a little tighter as she dashed back across the street and entered the house to hear the phone blasting. A little breathless, she managed to scoop up the receiver before the phone went to voice mail.

“Hello?”

“Tell me it’s not true,” a woman’s thick voice said on the other end of the line. “Tell me Eugenia’s alive.” There was a loud sniff.

“Deborah?” Cissy guessed, thinking of her grandmother’s companion.

“I just got a call from the police, and then I saw on the morning news that she had an accident. Oh Lord, I should never have left her.”

“It’s not your fault,” Cissy assured her.

“What am I going to do?” Deborah asked, and Cissy spent another twenty minutes consoling her. Deborah flat-out asked about the terms of her employment now, and Cissy really didn’t know what to say. Eugenia was gone, and there was no need for her. As gently as possible, Cissy pointed out the obvious, saying that she would be paid through the end of the month.

After she hung up, she decided to call Lars, the chauffeur; Elsa, the cook; the maids; and the groundskeeper. They deserved to hear what had happened from her, and she wanted to assure them that she appreciated their loyalty. In that moment she determined they could stay on staff and be paid for another two months, and that they would be given excellent recommendations if it was decided that they were no longer needed at the house.

As soon as the thought crossed her mind, she caught herself up. Was it even up to her to make these decisions?

She decided that, yes, it was. Someone needed to talk to the Cahill employees. Someone needed to keep some semblance of order.

Thanks, Gran
, she thought, feeling a mixture of pain and frustration. Cissy wasn’t that crazy about Lars, and though Elsa and Rosa were both sweeties, Paloma was hard to read. Still, she needed to deal with each of them.

Her shower would have to wait.

“So what do we know about what happened to Eugenia Cahill?” Paterno asked the next morning as Janet Quinn, ever efficient, dropped a cup of black coffee onto the corner of his desk while she sipped from a similar cup that held all kinds of goop. Milk, sugar, caramel, foam, everything
but
coffee.

“Not much,” she said. “There was no sign of forced entry on any of the doors or windows, though one window, near the back stairs leading to the basement, was open just a fraction, probably to air out the old staircase, but we couldn’t find prints beneath it, and it’s pretty high, five feet off the ground. There was a stepladder in an outbuilding, but it looks like it hasn’t been moved in months, cobwebs all over it. The electronic locks on the garage and main gate were working.”

“Someone could have known the code. All the servants have to have a way to get inside. Same with friends and workmen. I’ll check. What else?”

“Phone records have been requested. Autopsy’s scheduled in a couple of days, and the lab will be working on her tox screens, to see what’s in her blood.” She took a sip and then had to lick a little foam from her lip. If another woman had taken the same action, it would have been sexy. With Quinn, it barely registered in the male side of his brain. “Nothing seems to be missing. She had jewelry in a box in her bathroom, looks like the real thing—diamonds, rubies, you name it—and we found the safe, had it opened. More jewelry, a little cash, and I did come across a couple of insurance policies and her will.”

Paterno looked up, interested, as a phone in the department started ringing and a fax machine began sputtering out pages just around the corner.

“A little money thrown at charities here and there and to loyal members of her staff, but the inheritance falls to three: Cissy Cahill Holt, her brother, and uncle.”

“Who are still in Oregon. Never left. I checked. So far, I think the last person to see Eugenia alive was Deborah Kropft, who usually has Sundays off but stopped by to take Eugenia to church services. She walked Mrs. Cahill into the house, offered to fix her something to eat, but Eugenia had said she was fine. Deborah claims she left her very much alive in the living room.” Paterno leaned back in his chair and sipped some of the hot coffee.

“You think she’s lying?”

Paterno shrugged. “I think we should interview her in person.”

Quinn was nodding. “I don’t like changes in any routine. Why did she call Deborah?”

“They both go to the same Methodist church, and Eugenia usually rides with her friend, a widow, Marcia Mantello, but Marcia was ill. I’m checking it out.” He took another swallow of his coffee. Despite what he said, he didn’t like the change in Eugenia’s routine either. “So what about the insurance policies?”

“Originally the beneficiaries were split between the same three—Cissy, her brother, her uncle—but eighteen months ago, about the time Cissy had the baby, Eugenia changed the beneficiaries. Only Cissy and her child are listed. Cissy for a million, her child for two.”

“Millions? The old lady had that much life insurance?” Paterno asked, whistling through his teeth.

“Yeah, it looks like she took the policies out about ten years ago.”

“Oh.” Paterno picked up a yellowed file on Marla Cahill, flipped it open, and found his notes. “Let’s see…Yeah, now I get it. There was a time when Cahill International was in financial trouble. I didn’t think the old lady knew about it, but it could be that she’s smarter than we all gave her credit for. She might have figured that if she kicked off, everything the family owned would be gone.” He scowled, studying his own chicken scratchings. “That’s probably it. She was the matriarch of the family, felt responsible.”

“And then, when the company turned around and Cissy gave her this new great-grandson, she changed the policies.”

“I wonder if Mrs. Holt knows?” Paterno said.

“Doesn’t matter. The estate is worth so much that
if
she were greedy and needed money, she’d inherit a fortune
without
the insurance benefits.”

Paterno drummed his fingers on the cluttered desk. He didn’t figure Cissy for a killer. He’d already talked to a couple of members of the staff. Deborah Kropft and Elsa Johanssen, who both had solid alibis, told the same story of familial devotion, of Cissy Holt visiting her grandmother like clockwork on Sundays. He glanced at the list of names Cissy had given him and frowned. He hadn’t been able to get through to the chauffeur or either of the maids.

And there was still the matter of Marla Cahill, he thought, spying her mug shot in the folder. A cold-hearted bitch if there ever was one, but beautiful and bewitching as well, a woman who had a history of twisting men around her little finger. There had been sightings reported, to the state police, to the FBI, and to the station. None of the “leads” had led authorities to anyone resembling Marla Amhurst Cahill.

He scratched at his chin while another detective dragged a reluctant suspect or witness toward an interrogation room. The man was protesting all over the place.

Paterno barely noticed as he studied Marla’s file.

Where the hell was she?

Who was her accomplice?

The state police were looking into that angle of the investigation, and, in truth, Marla’s whereabouts weren’t a part of his caseload. Yeah, he was the cop who had nailed her, but now she was someone else’s problem.

Except that her mother-in-law was killed within days of Marla’s escape.

Paterno took another swallow of the coffee, felt a case of heartburn coming on. He opened the second drawer in his desk, where he found a bottle of antacids, and popped a few, washing them down with the coffee.

“Did you drop off the dog?” Janet asked.

“I was glad to get rid of that yappin’ thing.”

“She’s sweet.”

“My ass.”

Quinn was an animal lover. All animals. Period. If it had two legs or four; hard shell, fur, or feathers; beak, wings, scales, or webbed feet, she loved it. She’d even gone so far as to give up meat, becoming a vegan, which, when they were on the road together, was a royal pain.

“I bet Cissy was glad to see her.” Quinn’s eyes lit up behind her glasses. She’d probably wanted to adopt the damned thing and add it to her already swarming brood of five cats.

Paterno snorted derisively.

“Oh yeah,” Quinn said, finishing her drink. “You’re so tough.”

“That’s just the kind of guy I am,” he said as his cell phone rang and Quinn took her leave. He made some notes to himself as he heard the frustration in the voice on the other end of the line. Oscar Benowitz worked with the California State Patrol. A good friend, lousy poker player, and ace golfer, Oscar and he traded information between the two agencies, especially when cases overlapped.

“I saw you called,” Oscar said. “I figured it was about Marla Cahill. Well, the truth of the matter is we got squat. Unbelievable. It’s like the woman literally vanished into thin air.”

“Someone on the outside helped her.”

“That we got figured,” he snapped, then added: “We’re checking all the phone calls and visitors who came by to say ‘hi.’ Her cell mate claims she didn’t know a thing, which is what we’re hearing from all the inmates. We’re still looking, working with the prison, but so far we’ve got nothing.”

Paterno glanced over at the open file on his desk to Marla Cahill’s mug shot. Her damned eyes seemed to stare back at him, taunting, as if she were thinking,
You’ll never get me.

“Anyone talking inside the first place she was locked away in? The real prison?”

“She hasn’t been there in a while.”

“My guess is she’s been planning this for years.”

Oscar seemed to want to argue, but said simply, “I’ll keep you posted.”

Paterno hung up and finished his coffee. He wasn’t surprised that Marla Cahill hadn’t left any clues. He suspected she’d planned this a long, long time ago, and the truth of the matter was, from Marla friggin’ Cahill, he expected no less.

“A dog?” Tanya said, stepping backward at the sight of Coco. She was a short, frail-seeming woman whose looks were deceptive as she spent hours rowing on the bay or running to keep in shape. “You got a dog when you know I’m allergic to all animals, including dogs!”

“She was my grandmother’s, and she’ll be staying with us.”

“Permanently?” Tanya asked, her brown eyes round and wide beneath shaggy bangs. “I’m serious about the allergies.”

“I don’t know how long she’ll be here,” Cissy said tightly, fighting back her annoyance. “She’s an old dog. She’ll just sleep in her basket…. Look, if she bothers you, put her in the crate, with a pillow or blanket or towel. That—detective—just brought her over here without any of her things. But I’ll pick them up and bring them back.”

“You’re seriously thinking of leaving me and Beej with it?” Tanya said, recoiling as if Coco were a ferocious wolf, snarling in the darkness, blood dripping from her snout. As if sensing Tanya’s abhorrence, Coco growled and yapped.

“Give me a break, will ya, Tanya?” Cissy snapped. “My grandmother died last night. I found her body. She might have been murdered, so deal with the dog, okay?”

Tanya’s eyes widened. “Oh, wow, I’m sorry. I didn’t know…. That’s too bad, but really, I’m allergic.” To prove the point, and too much on cue for Cissy to fully believe her, the girl sneezed.

“I’ll take care of it,” Cissy said through clenched teeth. She marched across the room, found a towel in the upper hallway, a small dish in the kitchen, filled the bowl with water, and stuffed the towel, dish, and Coco into the carrier. “If she drives you nuts with her whining and scratching, just take B.J. for a walk in his stroller.”

“It’s supposed to rain.” Tanya glanced through the patio windows. Cissy wanted to scream. Tanya was trustworthy enough, but the girl would rather whine about something than do it, which was weird because, as far as Cissy could see, Tanya could do about anything she wanted. She was artistic and smart and, at times, clever. Cissy believed that Tanya would never do B.J. any harm, nor neglect him, and if spurred, as in a crisis, would ultimately do the right thing, but Tanya was
forever
grumbling, and it was a total pain. Nothing was ever right, and that less-than-sunny disposition bothered the hell out of Cissy. She didn’t want her kid being partially raised by a downer. As soon as she dealt with Gran’s funeral and found a replacement, Tanya would be history.

“Perhaps the dog could go outside,” the girl ventured, as if it was a new, incredible thought.

“You just said it was going to rain.”

“The garage?”

“Believe me, this animal has never spent one minute in a garage. You’ll be okay. I’ll be back in about three hours at the latest, it all depends.” She didn’t wait for any more complaints, just told Tanya that Beej had already had breakfast and been bathed, then, using her cell, called Sara.

She was out the door before Tanya could muster up another complaint and crossed the yard quickly. Sara was backing out of her driveway. She stopped, and Cissy climbed into the new Lexus, buckled up, and started pointing the way to her grandmother’s house.

“Oh, I know where it is,” Sara said. “On Mt. Sutro, backs up to the college’s medical school, right?”

“You’ve been by?”

“Half a dozen times since I met you.” Her eyes were on the road as she wove through traffic that was still thick from the morning rush hour. “It’s a great place. I would love to see it. Never been inside, you know, but it has to have a fantastic view.”

“It does,” Cissy said carefully. She knew where Sara was going with this.

Sara flipped on her blinker as they reached Golden Gate Park, and Cissy gazed out the window. Bikers, joggers, and people walking their dogs were already on the paths cutting through the trees and grass. Normal people who didn’t have to worry about psychotic escapee mothers and dead grandmothers. They rode up the hill to the house, and Cissy glanced at Sara, who was practically salivating as she parked on the street. The gate was left open, thankfully, as Cissy’s remote was in the car. “Mind if I take a peek?” Sara asked, and Cissy decided it really didn’t matter.

“Sure, why not. But remember, the police were here. They searched the place for evidence, dusted for prints. I don’t know what it’s going to look like.”

She and Sara walked up the brick path, Sara eyeing the exterior, obviously calculating the home and property’s worth.

Cissy unlocked the front door, steeled herself, then pushed it open.

“Oh God!” Sara gasped, spying the bloodstains on the foyer floor, the black powder covering everything, and the cold, certain feeling of death that seemed to settle throughout the old house’s bones. “Oh, I didn’t know….” Sara, to her credit, swallowed hard. “I’m sorry, Cissy.”

“It’s all right.”

Sara’s eyes were drawn to the marble tile floor and the dark stains. “This house…this house is worth a fortune…if, um, if you ever want to sell….”

“Sell the family home,” Cissy responded flatly. She couldn’t think about it.

“I figure you’ll inherit, right? You might want to unload the property, what with the bad memories and all. I’m telling you, it’s worth millions. Exactly how much, I’m not certain yet. But I’ll walk around, and when I get back to my computer, I’ll pull up some comparables. However, I’m sure they’ll be few and far between. This place is almost one of a kind.” She was on a roll now, looking beyond the black dust and blood, eyeing the woodwork, the floors, the wainscoting, as she traipsed from room to room. Her mental abacus going into overdrive, Sara mounted the stairs to the next story.

Cissy let her go. Selling the house was the furthest thing from her mind. She strolled slowly through the cold, empty rooms and felt as if the estate had somehow lost its heart with her grandmother’s death. It just felt different.

She could hear Sara walking upward to the third story, so Cissy climbed to the second. She paused on the landing, envisioning her grandmother, who had probably been in the library, walking across this strip of hardwood toward the elevator and stopping about…here. Cissy positioned herself over the spot and wondered what had happened. Gran had to have gone over the railing right here, but who would push her? How would the killer get into the house? And why? For God’s sake, who would hate Eugenia enough to want to kill her? She’d made her share of enemies over the course of her seventy-plus years, but for someone to come in and murder her?