The Inheritance (The Donatelli Series) (29 page)

It was the first time he’d called her Mommy since he turned ten. Maria kissed him and turned out the light. As she walked out the door, he said, “If you want to marry Blade, it’s okay with me.”

“I’ll keep that in mind. Goodnight, Robbie.”

“Goodnight.”

Maria felt confident that she’d done the right thing. She’d given him a chance to get used to the idea of having a different father than the other kids. He was already distancing himself from Fred, but Fred brought that on himself. By ignoring the other kids or beating on them and favoring Robbie, he’d driven Robbie away. Molly had cut herself off from Fred over a year ago, when she’d found him kissing her teacher. She hadn’t said two words to him since then, and Fred didn’t appear to notice.

If she and Blade stayed together for the long term, the boys would all be okay. Andy worshipped him, and Jimmy went along with whatever Andy said. Robbie had given his blessing, and Nick and Angelo liked Blade. The only ones she worried about were Molly and Mom.

Molly probably wouldn’t approve of any man, because she didn’t want her mother to marry again, but Mom was a different story. Mom wanted her to be happy, but she wasn’t sure Blade was the right man. Blade wasn’t sure either.

Where did that leave her?

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Blade put the tapestry valise with the paintings and sculptures in the trunk of the car the next morning when he went to the Banner-Covington corporate offices. He couldn’t leave something so valuable in the hotel room or even in the hotel safe.

Joe Grafton was in a meeting, so Blade walked around the offices, introducing himself to some of the employees. Some of the women gave him the once over, and more than one of the men seemed a little uncomfortable, but everyone else shook his hand or spoke fondly about his grandfather. One man asked if Blade was going to work there now, and Blade shook his head. “I’ll stop by from time to time, and I’ll attend board meetings, but the best I can do is stay out of your hair and let you do your job.”

This schmoozing stuff wasn’t so bad when your last name was on the company letterhead. People respected his grandfather, and some of that respect had rubbed off on him. It made him want to do his best to serve the company his grandfather had spent his life building.

<>

The FBI had their fingers in Sunny Banner’s murder case. Negotiations continued as the killer’s attorney tried to plea bargain the charges down so his client wouldn’t have to spend the rest of his natural life in prison. The shooter was the target of another FBI investigation, something the feds weren’t talking about. Gerry knew it could take awhile before any agreements were made, and in the meantime, whoever hired this guy could hire someone else to kill Blade,
if
he was their intended target.

In Gerry’s mind, there were two possible scenarios. The first was that Sunny owed someone more money than she could pay, and she’d promised to get that money from Blade. When he wouldn’t pay up, she couldn’t pay her bill, so they killed her. If this was the case, someone knew Blade had money, and they could do something else to get money from him. That meant that no one close to Blade would be safe.

The second scenario was that Jacobs or someone he was working with had hired the shooter. They used Sunny to throw Blade off guard and then had her killed in front of him to scare him into cooperating. If so, Blade would be a target in New York, and since Jacobs now knew that Blade was married, that made Maria a target, too.

Gerry knew Blade was trying to clear things up in New York, but he could be signing his own death warrant. On the other hand, Sunny was dead, and the trouble could be over.

But he wouldn’t count on it.

<>

Blade had a lunch meeting in Joe Grafton’s office with Martha Nettles and Gordon Phillips. Gordon had good news to report. “With the two million Blade wired to the company account, we were able to buy back all Colin’s shares.”

“Which creates another problem,” said Joe. “We’ll have to get a short-term loan to cover the operating budget.”

“Yes, but we did the right thing,” said Blade. “If we hadn’t bought out Jacobs’ shares, we could have lost control of the company.” They still had to contend with shareholders who owned a substantial chunk of the company stock, but they could handle it, at least for now. This was life in the corporate world.

Joe Grafton’s assistant came quietly into the room and handed him a note. He stared at it for several seconds before speaking. “Colin Jacobs shot and killed himself in his office about a half-hour ago. He left three letters—one for his wife, one for Gordon, and the other for Blade. The police have taken all three letters.”

“That’s two,” said Blade, and everyone stared at him. “Someone shot and killed my stepmother a few days ago, and I saw it happen. I don’t know if they meant to kill me or just scare the hell out of me.”

“That would have done it for me,” said Martha.

Blade stood. “I want to know what’s in those letters.”

“So do I,” said Gordon.

As Blade left Joe’s office, he flipped his phone open and called his driver. And then he called Mort and told him what happened.

“Aw, shit,” said Mort. “Have your driver pick me up on the way.”

Mort waited at the curb, briefcase in hand, and it took less than five minutes to get to Jacobs’ office building. A patrol car and crime scene van were parked in front. The driver dropped them off and drove away. With a feeling of dread, Blade rode the elevator upstairs with Mort. They were stopped on Jacobs’ floor by a uniformed cop.

“I’m Blade Banner and this is my attorney, Mort Schuler. We’d like to speak with whoever is in charge here.”

“Do you know the deceased?”

“Yes, we do, and we understand he left a letter for my client,” said Mort. “We have additional information for the person in charge.”

They were shown to a conference room and the doors closed behind them. Seconds later, a bald man dressed in civilian clothes and wearing a badge walked into the room. “Detective Gil Martin.”

Mort introduced himself and Blade, and they talked for over an hour about this case and the possible connection to the one in Washington.

“Maybe they are connected,” said the detective. “On the other hand, Miriam Jacobs tells us that her husband’s health had been declining in recent months. He’d been severely depressed and on medication.”

“So he was depressed,” said Mort. “Don’t you think there was a reason for that depression? He got himself into something sinister, and if he hired the man who killed Blade’s stepmother, he knew he’d never see the light of day again. I’d shoot myself before putting my family through a murder trial.”

Blade leaned back in his chair. “Maybe he thought they’d kill him anyway, and he didn’t want to risk the lives of his wife and family. What do the letters say?”

“The one to his wife was about family, personal affairs, and money.”

Leaning on the table, Blade asked, “What about the one to me?”

The officer didn’t answer, and Blade glared at him. He and Mort had been sitting here, trying to cooperate, and this guy was giving them the run-around. Blade had asked several times to see the letter Jacobs wrote to him, and so had Mort. The letter was evidence in a possible suicide, but this jerk could make a photocopy. He didn’t have to touch the original. “I want to see the letter or a copy.”

Using his cell phone, Blade made another call to Gerry. “We’re getting nowhere here. Can you get me the name and phone number of the fed in charge of Sunny’s murder case?” Watching the detective’s eyes narrow, Blade scribbled the name and phone number on Mort’s legal pad.

The detective walked out of the room and reappeared with a copy of the letter Jacobs had written to Blade. There were only two short sentences:

I underestimated you. The company is yours.

“This is it?” Jacobs didn’t sign the letter, he’d said nothing about Sunny’s murder, and he expressed no regrets about trying to cheat Blade out of his inheritance. There was nothing in the letter to help them understand why Jacobs killed himself or if he’d ordered Sunny’s murder.

“That’s it,” said the detective.

“Damn,” Blade muttered under his breath. Jacobs didn’t expect him to catch on. He thought Blade’s fortieth birthday would come and go, and he’d get control of Edward’s estate, including the stock. Jacobs never expected Blade to marry or get involved in the company. And neither did the people Jacobs was working with, whoever they were.

Before, Blade knew the enemy. Now, Sunny and Jacobs were both dead and he had no idea what to expect next. At this point, he couldn’t even identify the enemy.

How badly did Hanzer Ships want Banner-Covington?

Or was something else going on?

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Blade returned to his hotel and made a series of phone calls, the first to Gerry. He recounted his conversation with the detective. “I don’t know if he thought I was responsible or what.”

“You’re not responsible for Jacobs’ death, Blade. He killed himself.” Gerry paused for several seconds before asking, “He did kill himself, didn’t he?”

“It looks that way. He left three letters, and the gun was registered to him.” Blade told him what his letter said. “Whatever he got involved in, he couldn’t get himself out of it, and the more I think about it, the more I know Sunny wasn’t involved. He may have used her to get to me, and she used him to get money to support her drug habit, but Jacobs was too smart to tell her anything of importance.”

“Do you think he regretted—”

“I don’t know, Gerry. I just know it had something to do with the possible takeover of Banner-Covington. Maybe he thought they’d come after him, and maybe he had financial trouble. Maybe there was something else going on. I don’t know.”

“Did you call that phone number?”

“No. I asked you for the number to push the detective into showing me the letter Jacobs left me.”

“I suggest you call him and fill him in. The hit man was from LA, but his payment was wired from a bank in New York. Sonny’s killer is still trying to plea bargain to a lesser charge, so I don’t know any more than that.”

Blade turned cold. “Damn! I hoped it was over.”

“I wouldn’t count on it,” said Gerry. “Even if Jacobs ordered the hit on Sunny, he didn’t act alone. He and his cohorts waited until your grandfather died to get control of his stock. They thought they had it locked up, and then Jacobs failed to finish the job.”

They couldn’t get their hands on Edward Banner’s stock now. It belonged to Blade.

He ended his call to Gerry and called the fed in charge of Sunny’s murder investigation. They talked for several minutes. Blade laid out all his suspicions and talked about Jacobs’ suicide. He even gave the man Lonnie’s phone number. “He’s been doing a little behind the scenes investigating for me about the connection between Sunny Banner and Colin Jacobs. Jacobs told Sunny where to find me. She wouldn’t have the slightest idea how to track someone down, and she wouldn’t have wanted to find me unless she thought I had something to give her. She knew my grandfather had died, and she didn’t see it on the news or read about it in the obituary column. That means Jacobs told her.”

“Why? Why would he tell her?”

“She was bleeding him for money to support her expensive drug habit. He wanted to shove her off onto me, so she’d stop bugging him.”

“Why kill her in front of you?”

“I don’t know. Maybe he meant to kill me, too, and maybe they did it to scare me. When you find the person responsible, ask him. Or her,” Blade said, remembering Vanessa Milhauser’s ashen face in the board room that day. “Try Vanessa Milhauser and her stepfather, then work your way down to Anson Baker the third and James Adler. Whatever they have going involves Hanzer Ships. Lonnie thinks it could be diamond smuggling. In any case, they want Banner-Covington for a reason. Find the reason and you’ll find the answers to Jacobs’ suicide and Sunny’s murder.”

Blade gave the man his cell phone number. “The cops here told me to hang around the city for a few days, but I’m leaving tomorrow. I’ll be at the Andrews estate in California for the next few days.” He ended the call, and as he put the phone in the cradle, he spotted something odd on the lamp near the bulb. He’d never seen a listening device before, but he had a sinking feeling that was what it was.

He changed clothes, searched his suitcase and suit bag to be sure there were no more little bugs in them, packed his things, and walked out the door. In the lobby, he checked out and called his driver.