The Witness (8 page)

“You’re not married?” She stopped walking. “I’m sorry. I know so very little about you, or Henry, when it comes right down to it.”

She didn’t say Father and he didn’t expect her ever to; Henry would do. “I’m single, a year older than you, and about the only family you’ll have to absorb now that Henry has passed away. There may be a distant third cousin or two, but I’m it for close family.” He smiled. “Why don’t we walk awhile and you can listen and kind of mull it around while I give you a sketch of this side of the family history.”

“That would help, Daniel.”

“My aunt and uncle married in 1959 while my aunt was finishing her architecture degree and Henry was working his way up to be vice president of a local bank. Henry left to start the Benton Group in ’67. I’d call Henry a venture capitalist; he would leverage other people’s assets and his own to fund projects around the state where he could potentially turn a healthy profit. Henry had one sister—my mother. She taught at the local high school, and my dad built up a successful real-estate business here in town. My parents died in a car accident about a year before I went to work for Henry. Over the last five years, Henry had been slowly handing more and more responsibility for the business over to me as his health failed.”

“Thank you.”

“Are you seeing someone now, Marie? Someone who can help you with this?”

“No. I’ve had other priorities the last few years.” She settled her hands into her jacket pockets. “I admit I’m not feeling much yet. How much money? I think I’m ready for that shock now.”

“A little over thirty million to you; just shy of thirty million to Tracey.”

She blanched. “He was that wealthy?”

“Yes.”

“What am I supposed to do with that kind of money? Thirty thousand I can use, but thirty million—it doesn’t register.”

“You can afford to keep the Denart if you’d like to.”

She laughed, a bit broken, but alive again for a moment. “Thanks, I needed that perspective.”

“Let’s get some coffee. I’m afraid there’s still a lot we’ve got to discuss today.”

“Yes, the coffee would be good now.” She walked back with him in silence, and he didn’t interrupt her thoughts. She sighed. “The press know about this?”

“They’re going to soon. How do you want to tell Tracey?”

“She won’t be as shocked as I was; Tracey is the kind of person who can flow with where life goes. She’s skiing with her boyfriend for a long weekend.”

“We could fly out to meet them tonight for a late dinner.”

Marie shook her head. “Let her stay skiing; they’re planning to come back Sunday night. Maybe by then the worst of the press can be pushed off and I can get past the not knowing what questions to ask. I’ll talk with her by phone and kind of ease into the news of what’s coming.”

“I’m going to enjoy getting to know her.”

“Are you wanting us to be family, Daniel? We can be fine being holiday relations, seeing each other a couple times a year. You’ve got your own life to lead, and we just got dropped in your lap.”

“I’d like us to be family, Marie, in the way the best of family can be. I never had sisters, and I’ll gladly take two cousins and enjoy the time getting to know you both.” He smiled. “It helps that I decided I already like you.”

“Same here,” she replied with an answering smile, and he was relieved to see it.

He held open the door for her. “Let’s talk about the press, security, and how to handle all the friends that are about to show up at your doorstep. Then you can have a couple hours of peace to adjust to this before we plan tomorrow’s news conference.” He laughed at her expression. “Giving back the money is not an option. You’ll get through this fine. I promise you that.”

“And to think I thought just this morning that life was finally so peaceful. It’s not going to be that anymore, is it?”

“Not for a while,” he agreed, understanding the turmoil the change itself was going to cause. “You’ll adapt, because it’s necessary, because it is what is.”

“Yes. I am glad I have more family.”

“So am I.” He was going to like having more family, and it was his nature to want to protect where he could. “Coffee first. Then we’ll talk about details. Have you ever met the police chief? He’s a friend of mine.”

“Am I about to?”

“For dinner tonight, I think; his sister makes a fabulous chocolate cake.”

Chapter Five

SHE WAS RICH.

The thought clashed with years of feeling short of money, and the reality began to take substance as Marie walked the sidewalks back to her gallery. The Denart, a few of the other paintings she loved … she could collect for the first time in her life.

The sack she carried brushed her knee. She’d taken Daniel’s advice and stopped at her favorite paint-supply store and bought the paints and tools she’d always wished she could afford. Her studio was about to be her safe haven and retreat from this uncertain place she was in. Security upgrades, unlisted phone numbers, background checks on future staff she hired … there were serious changes about to arrive in her life.

The gallery would become a visitors’ stopping place, browsers hoping to meet her rather than buyers coming to shop, and the need for more staff would be immediate. The studio would be her place to push back against some of those pressures. Tracey would have it easier, Marie thought, for she’d left her job with a medical counseling group to continue her schooling. The changes in lifestyle necessary to accommodate the unfortunate facts coming along with the new wealth could be factored in without a problem.

The sidewalk in front of her gallery had a few people waiting for the crossing light, and against the brick wall a man in a jacket and jeans waited beside the door to her private entrance to her apartment above the gallery. He had seen her approaching and was watching as she walked toward him. A compact man, dark hair, and eyes that studied her with more than casual inspection, his hands holding leather gloves rather than wearing them. Her steps slowed.

“Marie?”

“Yes.”

“Lieutenant Connor Black. Daniel sent me.”

She flushed. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to keep you waiting. Please come up.”

“It’s no problem; Daniel caught me on this side of town. And I hear shopping is good thinking time.” He pushed away from the wall as he smiled, and she caught the change just that smile caused as it lightened the intensity of his face and made hazel eyes soften.

She smiled back at him. “Shopping for work: some paint supplies, and I still stood and debated with myself the prices for which kind of brush to buy.”

He laughed. “I doubt that will ever change. Daniel asked for a quick answer on what kind of security needs you might have for the next few days, and I had an ulterior motive for agreeing with his request. Your sister Tracey is dating Caleb Marsh—my partner.”

She turned from wrestling with her key in the old lock. “Marsh is—” She beamed. “Oh, I adore him. Do you have time for a cup of coffee first? I would say we have a good deal to discuss.” She got the door to unlock, and he held it for her.

“I don’t know that I’ve ever thought of Marsh as adorable, but lately the man has looked happy in a way I haven’t seen in years; for that reason I already like your sister a great deal.”

She led the way up the stairs to the second floor. The hallway turned and made its way across the gallery space below. “Storage rooms and utilities are on the east side, and we combined rooms on this side to create an apartment flat.” She unlocked the middle door and turned on the flat lights. “Please come in. Lieutenant—”

“Make it Connor, please.”

“Connor. It’s been four hours since I first got the news. I admit I’m still in a bit of a fog about it all. You’ll have to tell me what you need to see.”

“I’d say that fog is understandable.”

“I’ve been trying to figure out what to tell Tracey, but the words aren’t there yet.” She set down her packages on the dining-room table.

“It’s not a small thing, finally putting a name to the father you didn’t know,” he commented.

She relaxed. Beyond a glance around the flat his attention had stayed on her, and his words were unexpectedly kind. “Thank you. That’s been the bigger of the shocks; the money doesn’t feel real yet. But I knew Henry in a casual way—he bought paintings from me, I served him coffee, and all the while I was sitting across from my own father.”

“Makes you mad?”

“Yeah. Furious. But it’s another emotion for after the shock of all this fades. Please make yourself comfortable. Look around. I’ll start some coffee.”

The apartment was large and open, the kitchen counter one of the few room dividers beyond the door leading into the bedroom wing. She found the canister of coffee and filled the carafe with water, glad to be back in her own kitchen and on her own turf. She set the coffee to percolating and pushed open lids to find something to share. She bit into a shortbread cookie and found it still fresh; she got out a check-patterned blue-and-white plate to set out the rest.

She watched as Connor walked around looking at some of the artwork she had displayed around the living room. She’d hung a set of small oil portraits capturing four generations of one family, and on the far wall a fascinating piece that tried to capture the feeling of an urban city market. She particularly loved the small watercolor beside the clock, the scene capturing water flowing over a cliffside and falling into the sea below. She tried to keep variety in the art around her, to keep her own perspectives ever widening for what was possible to accomplish with paint. Over one of the couches hung her newest addition, a bold study in cubes and lighting, its vivid reds and greens dominating the white-painted brick wall behind the canvas. Connor’s expression was difficult to judge. “What do you think?”

“You’ve got good natural lighting, and the tall ceilings—it makes this space really great. And the paintings—those are pretty nice too.”

She smiled at the soft teasing she could hear in his reply. “Tracey calls it our brick warehouse, but she laughs as she says it. She’s the one who figured out how to get the stencils to work on brick.”

He turned from studying the waterfall. “You’ve got a nice home. It’s elegant, Marie, and at the same time comfortable.”

“I think so.” She pulled out a tray and when the coffee was done brought it over to the low table set between the two love-seat couches.

He took a seat in the barrel chair and accepted the coffee mug she offered. “Thank you.”

“I can almost see the lists being written; you took one look at this place and nearly winced.”

Connor smiled. “Actually, this place I love. It’s that old door and lock downstairs, the dim hallway, the fire escape coupled with very old windows—there will need to be some work done in the next twenty-four hours to make it safe for you and Tracey to be here.”

“I’m not willing to consider moving away from the only home I’ve known in the last decade just because I inherited some money.”

He held up his hand. “Relax; there’s nothing here that money can’t deal with—new locks, doors, security system, and for the next bit, a security guard on-site for another layer of help. It doesn’t do much good to have a security alarm sound trouble and have the cops still be five minutes away from arriving to help, not when the risk is more personal than just a robbery.”

“What kind of risk?”

“With serious-sized new wealth? You’d be surprised, Marie.” He settled back in his seat with the coffee and studied her a moment before answering. “Any former boyfriends in your life? They’ll find reasons to want to pick up the relationship again. Anyone imagine they were once a boyfriend? How about former school friends who have hit a bad patch lately? Former or current business partners? There are dollars attached to your name now and all kinds of past grievances to imagine.

“And that’s just the beginning, Marie. Then there are those who want to be near the fame and publicity of it all or be involved in creating it—the autograph hounds, the reporters wanting photos of you ‘relaxing at home,’ the admirers who would like to get to know you, the other lost children of Henry who will begin appearing wanting to claim a piece of the pie too, the financial advisors who will have sure things for you to invest in. Money brings out all kinds. And while most will be just a nuisance for you, there’s going to be a couple that are the reason you should have—and need—some rapid security upgrades around here.”

“At least it’s no to most of those categories you mentioned.” She sighed. “There will be others claiming to be Henry’s kids, presenting themselves as also being my relatives?”

“It’s inevitable,” Connor replied. “Henry names you and Tracey in his will, and you can be sure he knew who his kids really were. So when the letters arrive, the phone calls, just pass them on and don’t worry about it. Daniel and the estate have the resources to deal with all those who will come forward.”

The thought gave her a pounding headache. “Paternity tests were run for a reason, I guess. Daniel mentioned Henry had already had them done for Tracey and me.” She set aside her coffee.

“Any past boyfriends to worry about? an ex? the personal kind of trouble?” he asked again quietly.

She looked over at him and shook her head. Did that make her life boring or simple, that there weren’t troubles in the back of her personal closet? She thought it made her sound like what she was: alone.

“Family?”

“Nothing closer than a very distant cousin or two. Tracey and I were all the family that was left.”

“Then you’ll survive this, Marie. It’s those close to you who can do the hurting—the rest of the world will take care of itself. Marsh won’t get rattled by the money, so Tracey is in pretty good hands. And once the gallery downstairs is secured, and this apartment, your day-to-day routine won’t necessarily have to change much. You’ll still have a business to manage if you want that.”

“From the sound of it, I’m going to need that slice of normalcy. How long have you and Marsh been partners?”

“Six years. We started working homicide at roughly the same time.”

“Marsh doesn’t say much about work.”