Double Cross (19 page)
A squirrel scampered across the top of the fence, not twenty feet from us. I watched as it paused and then took an impossibly long running leap into a twisted oak tree in the corner of the yard. It sat on its haunches on a thick limb and looked around, as if wondering why it had bothered.
I leaned forward and hugged my knees. “When you came to the house the other day, I told you that someone was trying to blackmail Simon before he died.”
“And you thought I was involved, and I told you I wasn’t.” She sank lower in the water until only her neck and head were above the surface. “If I had had any interest in something like that, I could have done it long ago. I never even asked him for child support.”
That argument didn’t move me, since she’d given up Chase for adoption years ago. “If it makes you feel any better, I don’t think you were involved. Have you ever told anyone other than Stanley?” With no wind in the backyard, the sun was getting warm. I unbuttoned my jacket.
“No, I’m certain of it. When Simon became famous, I thought about it—actually quite a lot; but I decided that I wasn’t going to be that kind of person. And that was that.”
“I hate to say it, but that leaves Stanley. He’s the only one who could have done it.” Of course, that wasn’t true, but she didn’t know about Brandon, and I wanted to see how she would react to the idea that Stanley could have been involved. I braced myself for an explosion.
She ran her hands through her hair and leaned her head back on the deck again. Her reaction was surprisingly mild. “Stanley wouldn’t do anything like that. Besides, he’s known about this for nearly four years. Why would he just get around to doing it now?”
“Has he had any financial setbacks lately?”
She smiled. “I wouldn’t know. My job is to spend it, not keep the books.”
She’d become less flighty as the conversation wore on. I was beginning to wonder whether some of the flightiness was just an act. “Is there any way we can find out?”
For the first time, she turned her head and looked at me. “You’re a persistent little devil, aren’t you? Listen, I am not going to spy on my own husband. Besides, this is ridiculous. The idea that Stanley would blackmail someone is absurd. For goodness sake, he’s rich!”
Looking up at the gigantic second-story balcony towering over the pool, it was hard to argue with that. “Didn’t you just say a minute ago that you don’t really know what kind of financial shape he’s in?”
“No, I said I don’t know whether he’s had any financial setbacks lately. That’s what you asked me. He certainly hasn’t told me to stop spending money, if that’s an indication.”
“Do you know where he keeps his books?”
“In his study, I assume. That’s where he does all of his work when he’s not at the university.”
I squinted at the kitchen window. “Is he here now?”
“No, he’s teaching a class.”
“Can we take a look around his office?”
She shaded her eyes. “Why, of course you may not! This is insulting, Taylor. Besides, I’m not ready to get out of the hot tub yet.”
Despite her protest, I got a strange sense from the tone of her voice that she was intrigued by the idea that there might be a mystery connected with her husband. I pressed on. “Can’t you see that this is important? All we have to do is take a quick look around his office. Maybe flip through his financial records if you know where they are. He’ll never even know we were in there. That is, if we go now.”
Picking her book up off the deck, she sighed. “If it will keep you from talking about him anymore, all right.”
I shook my head. That was it? She was agreeing that easily? Despite her protests, she seemed to view this as an adventure.
She stood up, and the water poured off her body, making her look even more slender, more attractive than she had in the house. Without the thick makeup, she was really a beautiful woman. Beautiful and brilliant and troubled—that was the way Simon described her to me. A part of him had been fascinated by her, of that I was certain. And now it was easy to see why. A flutter-kicking fan of Dostoevsky. Not your average woman.
She grabbed her towel and moved it over her legs. A plush robe was draped over a deck chair next to the hot tub. She slid into it, grabbed her cigarettes, and motioned for me to follow her. “Well, my dear, we’re off to the secret world of Stanley Venable.”
CHAPTER
TWENTY
WE ENTERED THE HOUSE through a different door than we’d come out. This one opened into a Spanish-tiled hallway, with khaki-colored walls. The hall led past the pool bath and connected to the main hallway that ran from the kitchen to the east side of the house. We passed a game room on our left, with a massive mahogany pool table, and a bedroom on our right, with a queen-sized sleigh bed, before we reached a closed door where the hallway dead-ended. She tried the knob gingerly, as if she weren’t certain it would be unlocked. It clicked, and she swung the door open.
The room was forest green with a beamed ceiling and lots of leather. It smelled of cigar smoke. In the back of the room, in front of two large windows, was an ornately carved desk. The desktop was empty except for a framed photo of Stanley with both of the U.S. senators from Texas. The picture faced the door, intended to impress. The entire wall to our right was a built-in bookshelf packed with books of all sizes and shapes. The wall to our left was lined with framed sketches of oil derricks and drilling platforms. Clearly, oil was the professor’s real business.
“Impressive,” I said. “I wonder where he keeps his financial records.”
“In the second drawer on the left side of his desk.”
I raised an eyebrow.
She turned her palms up. “What? I like to know where things are.”
I smiled, walked over to the desk, and pulled open the drawer. It was full of hanging folders with titles such as Mutual Funds and Hedge Funds. One folder was labeled Mortgage-backed Securities.
I lifted that one out of the drawer. It had a few sheets that appeared to be quarterly reports. “Do you know whether these are the only reports? Or does he keep records on his computer, also?”
“I’m sure that he keeps his records current on his computer. He does everything on his computer.”
I checked the date on the top report in the file. It was a year old. “Did you know that he invested in mortgage-backed securities?”
“I had no idea.”
“You’re aware of what happened to that market on Wall Street, aren’t you?”
“I don’t live with my head in the sand, darling.” She went over to the bookcase and peered at some of the titles.
“Did Stanley inherit his money?”
“No, he grew up poor. He’s a real engineering genius, though—chemical engineering. In fact, I’ve got one of his inventions in me.” She pulled a book out, opened the cover, and examined it.
I cocked my head. “What do you mean, in you?”
She looked at me over her shoulder. “Right here.” She pulled the sleeve of her beach wrap off her shoulder and pointed to a small purple dot in her skin, just behind her shoulder blade. “He implanted a chip under my skin. In case I ever get lost again, the way I used to.”
I walked over to get a closer look. “Lost?” I touched the purple dot with my fingertip. I don’t know what I was expecting to feel. Heat? Vibration? I felt only skin.
“Lost like when I was living on the streets.” She turned away from me. “He said he always wanted to be able to find me, no matter what.”
“You mean it’s a homing beacon?”
She closed the book and slid it back onto the shelf. “I don’t really know. It’s just something that he says will allow him always to find me. He said he invented it.”
I crossed my arms in front of me. “That’s creepy. Sort of
Blade Runner
type stuff.”
Blade Runner
type stuff.”
“What is Blade Runner?”
“It’s a movie. Never mind. And you let him do that?”
She shrugged. “It didn’t hurt. He used this little thing like a staple gun. It punched it right in. Besides, you don’t understand. You’ve never slept beneath a highway overpass.” She hiked the collar of her robe up and held it there, as if to keep a chill off her neck. Then she turned and looked directly at me. “I’ll never allow myself to be out there like that again.”
I could see the fear in her eyes and I wanted to reach out and touch her. But I didn’t. I just stood there like a stranger. “It must have been awful.”
She turned back to the bookshelf. “The parts that I remember weren’t so great. Most of it is a blur. Like a movie where the characters are walking in fog.”
I was not willing to be a stranger any longer. I took a step forward and touched her arm.
She flinched and lowered her head. “I’m fine now. That was another time.”
I let my hand drop from her arm. I thought she might cry, but she straightened her back. “So, I’m bionic, you might say. The woman with the computer chip in her back. That’s a bore. Where were we?”
She pulled out another book and flipped the pages. I took the hint that she wanted to move on. I walked back over to the desk. “If Stanley grew up poor, and he’s a college professor now, how does he pay for all this?” I waved my hand around the room. “College professors don’t make this kind of money.”
“Like I said, he’s a genius. He’s developed patents for the oil industry. Drilling inventions. He’s also written some textbooks, but mostly he’s made his money from the patents. I get the impression the patents have been sort of like his own little oil wells. He just sits back and watches the royalties flow in.”
I put my hand on the desk. “I don’t see any computer around here. Does he work on a laptop?”
“Yes, the house has a wireless network. He likes to sit in front of the television and work.”
“Do you know where he keeps the laptop?”
“The only time I ever see it is when he has it with him. He must have it with him now.”
I opened the other drawers of the desk and found nothing of any interest. On the floor beside the desk was a leather computer case with a brass buckle. I unhooked the buckle and opened it. In it was a small laptop. “He must not have taken it today. Here it is.” I pulled the computer out of the case.
She narrowed her eyebrows. “That’s not his laptop.”
“How can you tell from over there that this isn’t his laptop?”
“That’s an Apple; his laptop is a Dell.” She paused. “That’s how I know; he’s computing very well.”
I just stood there looking at her.
She tapped a finger on her forehead. “It rhymed. Didn’t you get it? That’s an Apple; his laptop is a—”
I held up a hand. “I know it rhymed, Mother.” I sighed. “Why are you so certain he uses a Dell?”
“He told me he owns stock in Dell and that he always buys Dell computers. Believe me, one thing I’m sure of is that Stanley has never owned an Apple.”
“Well, then what is this?” I held up the laptop.
“I don’t know, but it’s not Stanley’s laptop.”
I was opening the lid when a door slammed at the other end of the house. My mother’s back stiffened.
“Hil?” It was Stanley’s voice.
Her arms dropped to her sides. “I didn’t expect him for another hour, at least.”
I put the laptop back in the computer bag and fastened the buckle. Stanley’s footsteps moved down the hall toward us. It was too late to get out of the room.
I walked over and stood by my mother, next to the bookcase.
The door opened and Stanley stepped into the room. His silky, cream-colored sport shirt had two buttons unbuttoned, revealing a stringy gold chain and a pasty, hairless chest. With his balding head and slight build, the whole picture made me think of a blinged-up Chihuahua. “What are you two doing in here?” His voice was as flat as his expression.
I opened my mouth, but she beat me. “I was just showing Taylor the way we did the built-in shelves. She’s thinking of building a house and wanted to get some ideas. We’re learning all about each other. She’s as much of a book lover as you and I are.”
He shoved his hands in his pockets and stared at me. A crease formed in his forehead, just above the bridge of his nose.
“We both love Dostoevsky.” I cleared my throat. “What are the odds?”
He turned back toward my mother. “You’re wearing a bathrobe.”
She looked down and laughed. “Oh, my, I completely forgot. We came in from the hot tub. Well, c’mon, Taylor, I want to show you some things we did in the bathrooms, too.”
Stanley stepped aside as we walked past him. Just before we got out the door, I glanced over my shoulder. He was glaring at me.
When we got to the kitchen, she turned and grabbed my arms. Her face was flushed and her eyes bright. “That was a close one, wasn’t it?” She put a finger to her cheek. “Now, how can we find those financial records?”
I took a step back and studied her face. “Are you sure you want to try? He didn’t look happy.”
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