Keepsake (15 page)

Carla snorted. “Social Services, bullshit. There’s a million reasons why kids won’t tell the whole story about their parents.
Jeez, he’s probably abusing her, the sonuvabitch.”.

“Let’s not jump to conclusions,” Blackthorn said. “And let’s not forget that April Harrington is the person who has gained
the most from Rina de Sevigny’s death.”

They all chewed in silence for a few seconds while they considered this.

“So far she checks out clean,” Carla said. “You’ve seen what I’ve got on her—nothing. Good citizen, exemplary businesswoman,
respected expert on crime fiction, but not on crime.”

“I’ve been checking phone records, faxes, and electronic mail,” said Jonas. He grinned. “Don’t even ask how. I’m looking for
anything interesting, but particularly for contact between Rina and Harrington. If we can find contact, we can assume she’s
lying about not knowing the contents of the will. But so far I’ve got no communication of any kind between them.”

“Dig deeper,” Blackthorn said. “I think she’s hiding something. I don’t know why. Just a gut feeling.”

Jonas nodded. “There’re some other places I can try.”

“Professional hits cost money,” Carla said slowly. “Of all the people we’ve mentioned, April Harrington has the least in the
way of financial resources. Any of the others could probably hide the transaction—get the cash somehow without leaving a paper
trail—but not her.”

“You don’t think she’s a killer?” Blackthorn said.

Carla shrugged. “She’s lower on my list of suspects than she is on yours.”

Actually, she wasn’t too high on his, but Blackthorn kept that opinion to himself. He kept thinking about the way April had
behaved that day in the lawyer’s office. If that was acting, hell, she deserved an Academy Award.

And he kept imagining other things about her—like what it would feel like to bury his hands in that thick, wavy auburn hair.
And kiss those soft lips. And caress those sleek thighs.

He hadn’t thought of a woman that way since Jessie’s death.

And he certainly shouldn’t be thinking of a suspect that way now. Chemistry was a dangerous thing.

“There are other possibilities, too,” he said. “People who weren’t as close to Rina as her family, but who may have motives
anyhow. Clients, for instance. The other folks who worked for Power Perspectives. Disgruntled former employees—we’ve got to
check for those. Lovers, if there are any, of either the husband or the wife.”

“And let’s not forget the JFK assassins,” Carla said with a grin.

“I’ll be checking computer files on all the suspects,” Jonas said. “If there’s a paper trail of any kind, I’ll find it.”

“There’d better be a paper trail,” Blackthorn said. “We got nothing else. No physical evidence except a bullet from a gun
that we’ll probably never find. Jesus. I hate professional hits.”

“Hey, don’t worry,” Carla said, chewing hard as she bit into her second well-stuffed fajita. “Nobody’s infallible. Maybe he’ll
kill again, leave more evidence next time.”

“Now there’s a comforting thought,” Blackthorn said.

“Oh, damn, not again,” April muttered to herself. She was bent over her desk, in the process of adding figures on a small
calculator. Apparently, she’d been making some minor mistake while entering a long column of numbers, since she kept coming
out with a different sum.

She sighed, wishing she knew how to use one of those computer programs that made bookkeeping and other financial matters so
easy. But so far she’d gone through life without learning the difference between a RAM and a ROM, whatever those were.

“What’s the matter?” asked Charlie, who had just come into her office. He’d been very helpful over the past few days. Any
questions that she had, he knew the answers.

“I’m just stumbling over some numbers. No big deal. I was checking our finances.”

“Delores does the books. She’s a trained accountant.”

“That’s great. Delores has a lot of talents.” Delores, she’d discovered, was the general factotum around here.
She was a skilled secretary, an organized office manager, she was a whiz with computers, and now it seemed she knew bookkeeping
as well. “I’ll have to get her to take me through this stuff.” She glanced at her daily calendar. “I think I have some time
later this afternoon.”

“If you don’t mind my suggesting it, there are a lot of other things you should maybe think about doing first,” Charlie said.
“We’ve got to get moving on that new video, and if the hotel in Maui doesn’t get a signed contract back from us soon, they
won’t hold our block of rooms.”

“I understand,” said April. “But I’d really like to go over the books while the subject’s fresh in my mind.”

“Well, I’m sure Delores’ll be glad to explain everything to you.” He sounded just a tiny bit patronizing, and April hid a
smile. One thing she was good at was the nuts and bolts of managing money. Although she’d already discovered that Power Perspectives
was infinitely more complicated than the Poison Pen Bookshop, she saw no reason why she shouldn’t be able to create the same
order out of chaos on a large scale as she had on a small.

Both Charlie and Delores were in for a bit of a surprise.

“Changing the subject, I’ve got a question for you,” Charlie said.

She looked up.

“Do you happen to know anything about the book that your mother was writing at the time of her death?”

April shook her head. “What book?”

“A manuscript. I don’t know the subject—something autobiographical, I believe. I had a call a little while ago from her editor
inquiring about it.”

“No one’s mentioned it to me,” April said.

“Her editor is quite anxious to get her hands on the manuscript. Under the circumstances, I guess she thinks it’ll be a big
best-seller.”

“Well, my mother certainly led a very interesting life,” April said thoughtfully. “She traveled in elegant circles, she knew
a lot of famous people, and now she’s been dramatically murdered. As a bookseller, I could probably sell quite a few copies
myself. The self-help titles she wrote have done very well.”

“Well, the manuscript seems to have disappeared. Unless it’s turned up among Rina’s effects.”

April frowned. There was definitely a suggestive note, underlying his words. “Why do I get the feeling that you think I know
where it is? This is the first I’ve heard of an autobiography.”

Charlie looked abashed. “I’m sorry—I don’t mean to imply anything. It’s just that I wondered if the manuscript may have been
among the personal effects that were left to you by your mother. Apparently a large manila envelope was placed in the hands
of her lawyer, and then turned over to you?”

“That’s right. But the envelope didn’t contain a manuscript.”

April wasn’t going to tell him that all it had contained had been a faded photograph in a cheap frame. Nor that the cheap
and faded keepsake was now sitting on the table right next to her bed.

“Are you sure this manuscript exists? Lots of people who claim to be writing a book are really just fantasizing about doing
so.”

He nodded. “Good point. But she mentioned it to several people, and after all, she did complete several other books.”

“Have you asked Armand about it?”

“I suggested to the editor that she contact him.”

“Well, I’ll take a look around the apartment, but I haven’t seen anything resembling, a manuscript. Before I
moved in both the police and the FBI had been through the place. Armand, too, I believe. They didn’t leave much.”

“I’ll call the editor back and tell her. Maybe it’ll turn up.”

April mused about the missing manuscript as Charlie left. An autobiography? Would there have been anything in the book, she
wondered, about her?

And why, if it had indeed existed, was the manuscript missing?

“Father, what I’m telling you, dammit, is that the corporation is in trouble.”

“I would appreciate it if you would not use that tone with me.”

Christian raised his eyebrows in exasperation. Armand de Sevigny was such a stickler for courtesy and civility that he probably
believed it would be impolite for a bank officer to call in a few overdue loans.

He and his father were meeting in the conference room on the top floor of De Sevigny Ltd. Down on a lower floor were the offices
of Power Perspectives, which Christian tended to avoid. He had no desire to tangle with his bitch of a sister or her love-struck
boyfriend. April Harrington was somewhat more intriguing. Attractive, too, with those long legs and that sylph-like slenderness.
Of course, she was probably over her head in Rina’s job, but he was secretly hoping that she found a way to blow Isobelle
right out of the water.

Christian had never forgiven his sister for introducing Miranda, his wife, to her own disreputable lifestyle. If Isobelle
hadn’t insisted on taking Miranda to those vile clubs she frequented, seducing her into a fascination with kinky sex, the
damn divorce and all the subsequent unpleasantness would never have happened.

Miranda might still be alive today.

With an effort, he refocused. “Look, Father, you have got to take this situation more seriously. We are overextended in just
about every direction. I’ve set up a meeting for next week with our accounting firm. I’d like you to hear it directly from
them, since you seem to have so much trouble believing me.”

Somewhat to his surprise, Armand nodded. “Very well, let’s have the meeting.” He looked down at his hands. “This has always
been a profitable business,” he said.

“Times have changed. We’ve had a rough few years. There are signs that things may be picking up—certainly the economy is improving—but
we must adopt some emergency belt-tightening measures if we’re to ride it out until our profit margins improve. Our first
priority is to solve our cash-flow problem. If we don’t come up with the interest on several of our biggest loans the banks
could call them in and then we’d be seriously screwed.”

“Are you telling me that no subsidiary of De Sevigny Ltd. is turning a profit?”

“Well, no, not exactly—it’s not that bad—we have several profitable ventures. It’s just that taken together, they’re falling
short of those that are losing money.”

“Then let’s get rid of the poor performers. Cut off the limbs, if necessary, to save the body.”

This was exactly what Christian was hoping to hear him say. Trim away the deadwood. Downsize. Hell, everybody was doing it.

“I think that’s an excellent idea.”

“We must be practical,” Armand said. “Perhaps, in the aftermath of Sabrina’s death I have been denying the true situation.
If so, I must pull myself together, mustn’t I? You are right to insist upon this.”

This was a switch, Christian thought. Usually, his father
treated his opinions with skepticism, if not disdain. Was it possible that after all these years he was finally getting through
to him?

“You know, it’s really too bad Rina insisted on keeping Power Perspectives a separate entity,” Christian mused. “I’d love
to have those profits rolling into De Sevigny Ltd.” He looked at his father curiously. “Why did she insist on that, by the
way? When she started her company, De Sevigny Ltd. was still pretty golden. I’m sure you would have backed her. Why was it
so important to her to do it on her own?”

Armand shrugged. His expression was sad, and he seemed very frail. “She was seizing her own power. I guess she no longer had
any use for mine.”

For the first time in his life Christian noticed that his father seemed tired… and old.

April jerked her head up. She had not heard the door to her office open. Armand was there on the threshold, dressed in a dapper
suit and tie, but looking pale, as if he were not getting enough rest.

“Forgive me if I startled you,” he said.

“No, no, it’s nothing,” April assured him. She rose and came around her desk to greet him. He embraced her warmly, his eyes
crinkling as he gave her his Maurice Chevalier smile.

“I was upstairs in the main offices, consulting with my son. I thought it might be nice to stop by and see how you were doing.”

“Thanks. I’m doing well. I’m actually enjoying myself.”

“The job suits you,” he told her. “There is spring in
your step and a sparkle in your eye that is delightful for a man to look upon,
cherie’’

“Well, thank you very much, sir. It’s more interesting here than I expected, actually.”

“That pleases me. You will take to this, I’m sure, as— how do you say it in English—as the fish takes to water.”

“I don’t know about that. Sit down, please. Can I get you something?”

“No, no, I’m fine.” Yet he seemed slightly distressed, and he paced nervously around the room before settling on the edge
of a chair. “How are you getting along with the others? My daughter, she is behaving herself?”

“There is some tension, but that is to be expected,” she answered tactfully. “Charlie is easy to work with, though. And Delores
is terrific. She’s an excellent secretary, very organized. She seems to be doing a good job with the bookkeeping, too. I was
just going over a few things with her in that area, as a matter of fact.”

He raised his eyebrows. “You are familiar with accounting procedures?”

“As the proprietor of a small bookshop, I had to be. Yes, indeed. Financial management is one of my favorite aspects of business,
as a matter of fact.” She grinned. “I should have worked on Wall Street.”

“Indeed?” He smiled. “You continue to impress me, mademoiselle.”

“I see no reason why the finances of a fifty-million-dollar corporation can’t be managed as successfully as the finances of
one that does only one percent of that. Although Delores keeps excellent accounts, we haven’t yet addressed the issue of whether
our costs can be trimmed and our overall expenses reduced. I have to admit that I still don’t have a very good overall picture
of what all our various
expenses are—” she smiled “—somewhat to Charlie’s annoyance.”

“I see,” he said, nodding. “Well, good for you, my dear.” He stood, wandered to the window, looked out, then turned. “And
the apartment? Is it satisfactory? Are you enjoying it? Is there anything that you need?”