Strangers in Death (18 page)

“Considerable, if she wants it, I suppose, but Ava’s never been interested in the business per se. In the charities, the programs, the publicity, but not the mechanics of running things. That will be for Ben.” He let out a long sigh. “In fact, he called just as I was finishing with London. He plans to arrange a meeting of the board and executive officers early next week. He’s asked me to consider coming on as his second in command.”

“Oh, Edmond.”

“I know.” It was his turn to pat his wife’s knee. “I planned to ease back a bit. More than a bit,” he admitted. “With the goal of retiring within the next two years. I hadn’t told Tommy yet. In fact, I planned to broach the subject when we golfed, the day…the day he died. He’d want me to help Ben during the transition, Linny. I may still make that two-year goal.”

“Mr. Luce, did Ben indicate he’d discussed this with Mrs. Anders?”

“No, why would he?”

“She has a seventeen percent share of the company now.”

“Yes, yes, of course. I’m sorry, I’m not thinking very clearly today. In any case, as I said, Ava’s never been interested in the company.”

“But as the next majority share holder, as the widow of the company’s president, she would be within her rights to expect a more hands-on position, a seat on the board maybe—and that goes along with that.”

“Technically, yes, I suppose so. But realistically, I can’t imagine it.”

“You knew Reginald Anders?”

“Oh yes.” Edmond’s face lightened with a smile. “In fact, it was Reggie who first hired me, more than half a century ago.”

“At his death, Thomas Anders inherited the majority share of the company, correct?”

“Yes. As Ben will now. Tommy considered Ben his son, and followed his own father’s lead on that.”

“Just so I have all the details straight. I understand Ava Anders has a small percentage of the company—well, a larger one now. But the initial share, did she come into that at her father-in-law’s death?”

“I believe that’s correct. Reggie was very fond of Ava.”

“All right, we appreciate you seeing us at a difficult time.” Her ’link signaled, and checking the display, she ordered it to answer, identify, and hold. “I need to take this. Is it possible I could use another room?”

“Of course.” Linny got quickly to her feet. “Let me show you to the office. Would you like to take your tea?”

“No, that’s fine.” She followed her hostess into a top-flight office done with plush leather and glossy wood.

“I’ll write down those names you asked for while you’re taking your call. Be comfortable,” Linny told her, and backing out, closed the double doors behind her.

Eve engaged her ’link. “This is Lieutenant Dallas, Mr. Bronson, thank you for holding.”

“Well, well. If I’d known you were this attractive, I’d have gotten back to you sooner. What can I do for you, Lieutenant Brown Eyes?”

“First, you can cut the crap.”

“Mmm. I love ’em sassy.” He grinned at her, the same shit-eating grin from his official ID photo. Eve figured he’d practiced and perfected that one in the mirror. “So tell me what a sassy, brown-eyed police lieutenant from New York wants with Dirk.”

Dirk, she thought, was a complete asshole who had smooth, tanned cheeks that told her he’d had considerable and skilled work. Golden brows arched over eyes of Mediterranean blue like the sea she caught glimpses of behind him. His golden hair waved in the undoubtedly balmy breeze.

“You were married to an Ava Montgomery.”

“Wasn’t I just? A brief yet memorable episode in my past. Don’t tell me Ava’s in trouble.” He laughed as though little could amuse him more. “What did she do? Hire the wrong caterer?”

“Her current husband was murdered a few days ago.”

“Really?” His eyebrows quirked, and for a moment his face seemed to hold an expression other than smug conceit. “That’s…inconvenient. He’s a, what is it, a sporting goods king or something? I believe I own one of his tennis rackets.” Then he laughed, all brassy amusement. “Do you think I killed him? After all these years, to win back the fair Ava? This is exciting.”

“Why don’t you tell me where you were on March eighteenth, and we’ll get that little joke out of the way.”

“Cruising the Aegean, as I am now—with a bevy of beauties, a number of friends, and a full crew. Would you like to come interrogate me?”

“I’ll keep that in reserve. When’s the last time you saw your ex-wife?”

“Which ex-wife?”

“Don’t waste my time, Dirk.”

“So serious. Let’s see, when did Dirk last lay eyes on the lovely Ava? Ten years ago? No, longer. How time does fly. Closer to fifteen, I think. I bumped elbows with her in New York, if memory serves, at some party or premiere. Whatever. I believe she’d been recently married to the sports king.”

“Why did you and Ava divorce?”

“Who remembers? I’m sure I strayed, as I do enjoy variety. Dirk is no damn good and has a selection of ex-wives and women who would be delighted to verify that.”

“She didn’t satisfy you sexually?”

Avid amusement shone in his eyes. “Well, aren’t we nosy?”

She saw him shift, heard the rattle of ice in a glass, then watched him sip something tall and rosy. “She was—and my memory is clear on this—delightful in bed, and other interesting places. We wouldn’t have gotten as far as marriage otherwise. But I have a weak will and a roving eye. In any case, I wasn’t ambitious enough for her as I was—and am—content to coast and cruise. She wanted something—someone—who would provide her with opportunities for money and fame, respect. Like, I imagine, the dead sports king. I enjoy my sloth. We weren’t suited.”

“So she left you.”

“With a tidy sum and not a backward glance. Her cold heart and steely resolve were part of her appeal to me. As I recall, she introduced me to the woman I strayed with, and gave me far too many opportunities to take advantage. But somehow, she didn’t see it as her fault when I took advantage. Imagine that!”

“Imagine that. Thanks for your time.”

“It’s been entertaining. If you ever want to coast or cruise, be sure to look me up.”

“Yeah, I’ll jump right on that.” She clicked off, stood for a moment absorbing. Then she went out to take leave of the Luces.

S
ounds like a big, oily ball of smile,” Peabody commented after Eve filled her in.

“Yeah, he does. Polar opposite of Anders.”

“Devil’s advocate. A woman gets burned like that, it’s reasonable she’d look for a completely different type.”

“Yeah, absolutely logical, absolutely reasonable. Good plan.”

“You really think plan? Like, okay, sleazy ex-husband dispatched. Check. Now hook nice guy with deep pockets?”

“She introduced the ex to the woman he cheated with. Read between the lines, Peabody. If you know a kid’s addicted to ice cream, do you put a big chocolate sundae in front of him and walk away? If you want out of a marriage with a tidy sum, sympathy, and no fault on you, what better way than to set up your weak-willed, roving-eyed husband? It’s something she’d do. It’s exactly something she’d do.

“I want to talk to Greta again. You go back, pick up the files. If you need help transporting, order it up. When you get back to Central, do a search for repeating names. Any that show multiple times in any program. Run those first.”

She pulled over, spoke over the ensuing storm of horns. “Take the wheel. I’ll catch a cab, then tap Roarke for a ride to the memorial.”

She checked the address in her book, then decided to walk a few blocks to clear her head before engaging in the war for a cab. Since she was on foot, she pulled out her ’link to check on Feeney.

He answered, honking like a dying goose. “Man, you sound sick.”

“I
am
sick. Goddamn it. You think I’m lying here in bed drinking this disgusting boiled tree bark they gave me for my health?”

She waited a beat. “Well. Yeah.”

“I’m burning up. I’ve got hot shards of glass in my throat and ten pounds of snot in my head. And what do they do? What do they do?” His eyes bugged out like glass marbles. “They give me fucking liquid tree bark and the wife’s poured so much chicken soup down me, I’m starting to cluck. I don’t want to die here in this damn bed. If this is the end, I want to buy it at my desk, like a man. You gotta get me out of here, Dallas. You gotta bust me out. You can take Sheila.”

His face was wildly flushed, but Eve thought that was as much from sick panic as sickness. And she wasn’t altogether sure she could take Feeney’s wife. “Ah, what? I can’t hear you. It must be a bad ’link.”

“Don’t you pull that crap on me.”

“Okay, okay. How about this? I’ve got Peabody picking up files, hundreds of them from Anders Worldwide. It’s the wife, Feeney, I know it in my guts. But I’ve got nothing to take to the commander, much less the PA. The search and runs on these files are going to take hours. Maybe days. Peabody could fill you in, toss some to you. You could work from there.”

“Best you can do is throw me a bone?” He honked again. “I’ll take it.”

“It’s a big bone, Feeney, and I need somebody to dig out the meat.”

“All right. You tell the wife.”

“What? Wait!”

“You convince her you need me on this. Make it life and death.”

“No! Feeney, don’t—”

“Sheila!” He honked the name out, and in the lingering chill of March, Eve’s hands went damp with sweat.

W
hat people did for friendship, Eve thought, as she paid off the cab. Now
she
was responsible, according to Mrs. Feeney, if the work set back his recovery. Should’ve left him hacking up a lung at his desk in the first place, she told herself as she buzzed Greta Horowitz’s apartment from street level.

She angled toward the view screen.

“Lieutenant Dallas?”

“Yes. Can I come up?”

“I’ll open the locks.”

The doors beeped clear, opened smoothly. Inside, the entryway was small, and absolutely pristine. Eve imagined Greta would tolerate no less. The elevator hummed cooperatively to the fourth floor where Greta stood in the doorway of her unit.

“Has something happened?”

“Just some follow-up questions.”

“Oh. I was hoping you’d found who killed Mr. Anders. Please come in.”

The apartment was as unpretentious and efficient as its occupant. Sturdy furniture, no frills, a scent of…clean, was the only way Eve could describe it.

“Can I get you something hot to drink?”

“No, thanks. If we could sit down for a few minutes.”

“Please.” Greta sat, planted her shoes on the floor and her knees together. Smoothed down the skirt of her dignified black suit.

“You’re attending the memorial,” Eve began.

“Yes. It’s a very sad day. After, I’ll go to Mrs. Plowder’s, to help with the bereavement supper. Tomorrow…” She let out a little sigh. “Tomorrow, I am back to work. I will prepare the house so Mrs. Anders can return home.”

“Prepare it?”

“It must be freshened, of course, and some marketing must be done. The bed linens…you understand.”

“Yes.”

“I’ll supervise having Mr. Anders’s clothes packed.”

Don’t waste time, do you, Ava? “Packed?”

“Mrs. Anders feels it will distress her to see them. She prefers they be removed before her return, and donated, of course, to charity.”

“Of course. Mrs. Horowitz, how long did it take you to put away, give away, your husband’s clothes?”

“I still have his dress uniform.” She glanced over, and following, Eve saw the framed photo of the soldier Greta had loved. “People grieve in their own way.”

“Mrs. Horowitz, you strike me as the sort of woman who not only knows her job, but does it very well. Who not only meets her employers’ needs, but would anticipate them. To anticipate, you’d have to understand them.”

“I take pride in my work. I will be glad to get back to it. I dislike being idle.”

“Did you anticipate Mrs. Anders instructing you to pack away her husband’s clothes?”

“No. No,” she said again, more carefully. “But I was not surprised by the instructions. Mrs. Anders isn’t sentimental.”

“I doubt anyone would describe either of us that way, either. As sentimental. If I lost my husband…I’d need his things around me. I’d need to touch them, to smell them, to have them. I’d need those tangible pieces of him to get me through the pain, the shock, the sadness. You understand me?”

Gaze level on Eve’s, Greta nodded. “Yes, I do.”

“Would you have been surprised, if the situation were reversed, and Mr. Anders instructed you to pack up his wife’s clothing?”

“Very. I would have been very surprised.”

“Mrs. Horowitz, I haven’t turned on my recorder. I’m just asking you for your opinions. Your opinions are very helpful to me. Did she love him?”

“I managed their house, Lieutenant, not their marriage.”

“Greta,” Eve said in a tone that had Greta sighing again.

“It’s a difficult position. I believe honesty and cooperation with the police is an essential matter. And I believe loyalty to and discretion about an employer is not a choice, it’s duty. You would understand duty, Lieutenant.”

“Mr. Anders was your employer, too. Yes, I understand duty. We both have a duty to Thomas Anders.”

“Yes.” Greta looked at her husband’s photograph again. “Yes, we do. You asked me before about their relationship, and I told you the truth. Perhaps not all shades of the truth, perhaps not my feelings on that truth.”

“Will you tell me now?”

“Will you tell me first if you believe Mrs. Anders had anything to do with her husband’s murder?”

“I do believe it.”

Greta closed her eyes. “I had that terrible thought, not when I found him that morning, you understand. Not then. Not even that night, or the next morning. But…with so much time on my hands, so much time to think instead of work, I began to have those thoughts. Those terrible thoughts. To wonder.”

“Why?”

“There was affection, gestures—on both sides. An indulgence on both sides. You would see this and think they are nicely married. Comfortably married, you understand?”

“Yes, I do.”

“If she encouraged him to go out, play his golf, or attend his games, how could you fault her? If she encouraged him to take his trips, even to extend them, it would be natural enough. Women come to prize their solitude, especially when they’re long married. A little time without the man underfoot.”