Sex, Murder and a Double Latte (23 page)

What, no security guards to escort me out? This was a little too easy. “Do you mind if I sit?” Shannon nodded toward a chair. “All I need you to do is answer a few questions.”

“Go ahead.”

“All right, why don’t we start with why you think your father was killed. I’ve read articles about it—there were no signs of struggle, he even wrote a note.”

“The note was vague at best. Nowhere in it did he say, ‘I’m going to kill myself.’ It didn’t even say goodbye, just a whole bunch of ‘I can’t live without you’ nonsense directed at my mother.” She reached into her desk drawer and pulled out a stress ball designed to look like the planet Earth. “He was pathetic, but he wasn’t suicidal.”

Well, that was catchy. Maybe they could have that one engraved on his tombstone. “Were you and your father close?”

“Closer than I would have liked. I did have to live with the man for eighteen years.”

“So…you didn’t get along.”

“Very perceptive.” She used her left hand to smooth her perfectly straight hair. “He was an alcoholic, manic depressive. There wasn’t a lot to like.”

“You know manic depressives have a high suicide rate.”

“He managed to function perfectly well for forty-five years without so much as nicking himself while shaving. He didn’t all of a sudden decide to plunge the whole blade into his wrist. Anyway, I thought you were trying to prove that my father
didn’t
kill himself.”

“I am. I just need to understand why
you
think he didn’t.” I looked down at my palm and used an index finger to trace my life line. “I read that your mother doesn’t share your doubts.”

“But she doesn’t have any incentive to, now does she?”

My eyes moved back up to Shannon. “I’m not sure I follow.”

“My parents’ relationship had been over for years. The only thing they had in common was a house and a marriage license, and even that was imminently changing. She moved out just a few days before he…before they found him. When he died, she got everything. Everything! That’s a lot more than she would have gotten in a divorce, even in California. And do you know what I got?”

“Something less than everything?”

“Nine hundred thousand dollars. That’s it. A measly nine hundred thousand dollars.” She began to knead away at Earth. “That’s not even enough to buy a decent house. So now she’s living it up with money she never raised a finger to earn, and I’m stuck living paycheck to paycheck until someone decides to kill her too.”

“You don’t make much here?”

“Oh, please, I barely make six figures.” She had pressed the little stress ball into her desktop so that it had come to resemble a sort of Earth pancake. “The only way I’m going to get ahead is by marrying some sugar daddy. That’s what I’ve been reduced to. Unless, of course, I can prove that my darling father was killed.”

“You can financially benefit from his death if it was murder?”

“He had a five-million-dollar life-insurance policy that would have been mine.”

“Uh-huh, so, if you discovered that someone slit open your father’s arteries against his will…that would make you happy?”

“Are you here to help me or judge me?”

Funny, she looked and sounded much more socially adept than Mark Baccon, but there were some definite similarities. Something about that whole “I’m in it for myself and who the hell cares if anyone else is killed or mutilated along the way?” attitude of theirs. I sighed and tried to keep the disgust out of my voice. “It sounds like your mom made out real well. Any chance she did it?”

“The police did look into that, but she had an airtight alibi. She was at a charity ball. She didn’t leave until well after midnight and then she got a ride to her friend’s house where she’d been staying.”

“Maybe someone did it for her—a boyfriend maybe?”

“I can only encourage you to look into it, but I seriously doubt my mother was having an affair. Who would want her? She’s an anorexic shriveled old matron with no personality worth mentioning. My father, on the other hand, was involved with someone. That’s what spurred my mother to move out. To be honest, I’m surprised she left.”

“You expected your mom to hang out in an unhappy marriage after she found out that your dad was cheating on her?”

“You misunderstood me before. They were both perfectly happy with the marriage. It was just their personal relationship that was awful.”

“Okay, you want to explain that one to me?”

“My mother liked being Mrs. Tolsky. She liked the prestige, the party invitations, the money, basically the perks of the job. My father liked having a wife. Not just any wife but the mother of his child. Do you know how many men in this town are still married to the mother of their adult children?”

“Can’t say that I do.”

“You can count them on your fingers. So, as you can see, my parents were part of a very elite group.”

“Oh, I heard this story. He was in the Russian circus, and she, just a teenager herself, helped him defect….”

“If I have to hear that story one more time, I’ll scream.”

I pressed my lips back together. I didn’t particularly want to hear Shannon scream. Although a bit of crying after I slapped that spoiled face of hers might be okay.

Shannon freed Earth from her clutches and studied it as it gradually resumed its shape. “Fairy tales only exist in movies. There is no greater evidence of that than my parents’ marriage. There was no intimacy, no passion—it’s really a wonder that I was conceived at all. Nonetheless, marriages of convenience are usually stronger than ones of romance because they are based on logic. My mother is a very logical person, so why in the world would she risk her carefully cultivated lifestyle just because her husband discreetly went elsewhere for a little companionship?”

“He was discreet?”

Shannon shrugged. “I still don’t know who he was seeing.”

“So how can you be so sure he was having an affair?”

“I found out from my mother. I didn’t question it at the time, I didn’t really care. Since his death, some of his friends and co-workers admitted to me that they suspected something. Lots of private cell-phone calls and the like, but no one I’ve ever talked to will confess to actually seeing him with someone. The more I think about it, the more amazed I am that my mother found out at all.”

“Do you think your mother will talk to me?”

“No.”

“Even if you asked for me?”

“My mother and I are not on speaking terms.”

For God’s sake, Hamlet’s family was closer knit than this. “Shannon, do you have anything that would point to murder other than, well, other than wishful thinking?”

“They did an autopsy at my insistence and he had a blood alcohol level of .24 and he had taken several of my mother’s Valium.”

“That doesn’t sound all that strange. You just said he was an alcoholic.”

“But he didn’t take pills.”

“Yes, but if he was going to kill himself anyway—I mean, if I were going to slash open my wrists, I would want to be as out of it as possible.”

“You don’t understand. My father
hated
pills. He was tormented by the fact that my mother took Valium. When he broke his foot eight years ago he refused to take painkillers. Do you have any idea how many nerve endings are in the foot?”

“A lot?”

“Of course, he did drink himself into a stupor on a fairly regular basis. The man wouldn’t touch an Advil, but he had no qualms about downing half-a-dozen vodka tonics.”

“Well, everybody has to have a vice.” I shifted position in my chair. “I’ve got to say, Shannon, the more I talk to you the more I question my conclusion that this was a murder. According to you he was an alcoholic with a mental illness who had just been abandoned by his wife of thirty years.”

“Did you ever see
Silent Killer?
”

“Yes, but…”

“Scott Reynolds’s wife drugs him, gets him into the bath before he loses consciousness, then slits his wrists and leaves him there to die. Sound familiar?”

“Okay, but if I remember rightly, she uses a pretty heavy-duty drug to knock him out.”

“Excuse me, but what do you think hard alcohol mixed with eight Valium will do to you? Yet he managed to cut two perfectly straight lines going up the vein of each wrist. Rather impressive for a man who shouldn’t have been able to stand up.”

I slid my foot back and forth across the hardwood. Shannon might be obnoxious but she was clearly not stupid. “What do the police say about that?”

“All they care about is making their own lives easy. Suicide with a note. Open-and-closed case, no actual work involved.”

“You don’t have a copy of that note, do you?”

“Oh, no. Mommy dearest wouldn’t allow that, too personal.” Shannon rolled her eyes as if her mother’s desire to keep her husband’s last words to her private was completely ridiculous.

“But you did read the note.”

“A day after his death I fulfilled my family obligations and paid a visit to the grieving widow. The note was on the nightstand. I read it while she was in the bathroom. You should have seen the hysterics she staged after she found me with it. The woman should go into acting—she’d have a gold statue for every room in her house.”

“Right—well, do you have anything else that might help me?”

“No. Oh, wait, yes. There’s a chance that his mistress lives up in San Francisco.”

“His girlfriend lives in…” My mind immediately went to Tolsky’s frequent visits to the San Francisco Ritz. “Wait, didn’t I just ask you if you knew anything about his supposed lover?”

“No, you asked me if he had been discreet. I just chose to volunteer this. If you’re going to play detective, you’d better learn how to ask the right questions. Isn’t that what Alicia Bright would do?”

If Mark Baccon ever got out, I was definitely going to set her up on a blind date. I leaned forward and gave her my most insincere smile. “Okay, then, is there anything else you’d like to volunteer? It is your five million on the line, after all.”

“Can’t think of a thing.”

“Do you, by chance, have your mother’s number?”

“She won’t talk to you.”

“Why don’t you give it to me anyway?”

Shannon released a rather dramatic sigh before pulling out a piece of notepaper to write down two of Margaret Tolsky’s phone numbers. “Here’s her home and her cell phone. I hope you like voice mail. My mother thinks it’s chic to be unavailable. However, I believe the Chanel boutique is getting a new shipment today— I’ll write down the address and directions, maybe you’ll get lucky and catch her there. Do you know what she looks like?”

“I’ve seen her picture before.”

Shannon nodded and walked around the desk to hand me the information. “I’m afraid we’re going to have to wrap this up. I have a meeting in a few minutes. We’re trying to decide how to publicize
Dark as Night.
Not that it’s really necessary— DC Smooth’s current living situation will give the film enough publicity to keep it in the public eye for the next ten years.”

Someone must have sucked the oxygen out of the room, because all of a sudden I was finding it difficult to breathe. “DC Smooth? DC Smooth had a part in a recent Tolsky production?”

“Yes, it’s not a huge role but it’s memorable. The movie’s already controversial, and now with DC serving a fifty-year sentence for murder, well it’ll be on the cover of every magazine around, from
Time
to
Teen People.
”

“So he…he did…wait.” Shannon was looking at me like I was completely insane and I couldn’t really blame her. Questions were spinning around in my head like a tornado and I couldn’t grasp any one of them long enough to voice it articulately.

“I’m sorry but I really must ask you—”

“Are you in contact with him?” I blurted out.

“With who?”

“DC Smooth—is there any communication between Tolsky Productions and DC Smooth?”

“Well, yes. There is some communication with him. It’s obviously a lot more limited now that he’s been convicted, but he likes to be updated on developments.”

“Can you put me in touch with him?”

“Are you a fan? He’s not talking to fans.”

“No, I mean yes, but that’s not why I want to reach him.” I took a step closer to her, eager to explain my interest. “I think there may be a connection between your father’s death and JJ Money’s.”

“Really?” Shannon fingered her tennis bracelet as she considered the possibility. “That’s a bit of a stretch, don’t you think? Well, never mind, if you think researching it may prove that my father’s death wasn’t a suicide, then it’s worth the effort. I’ll see what I can do about setting up a phone appointment for you with DC. Can I reach you at your home number?”

I stood up. “That would be great. I left it with your receptionist when I made the appointment. Do you need it again?”

“No, no that will be fine.” She escorted me to the door. “Just be sure whatever you dig up is tangible enough to sway the insurance company.”

“It’ll be my top priority.”

“Right, well then, off you go.”

“One more thing, you don’t by any chance know Jason Beck or Mark Baccon, do you?”

“Never heard of them.”

“How about Anatoly Darinsky, do you know him?”

Shannon wrinkled her upturned nose. “Unfortunately, yes.”

CHAPTER 14

“The hot ones are always gay, married, or murderers.”

—Sex, Drugs and Murder

M
y hand fell from the doorknob. “You…you know Anatoly?”

“I believe that is what I just said.”

“H-how?”

“My father knew him when they were children in Russia. Supposedly my father was some kind of mentor to him.”

“Were they in contact while living in the States?”

“Not much. Anatoly lived in New York, but when my father went back East they would meet, and Anatoly paid a visit every other year or so. The man tries to come across as intelligent and competent, but in truth he’s a complete imbecile. My father told me they met when he rescued Anatoly from some kids who were giving him a beating. My father always had to champion the underdog, and Anatoly, being a Jew and all…oops, no offense.”