I.L. Wolf - Her Cousin, Much Removed Page 7

  “No.”

  “Any packages?” asked Detective James.

  “No. Why would I see packages?”

  “I can’t tell you that.”

  “No, I didn’t see anything unusual. Until the police officer was pointing a gun in my face, of course.”

  Venetia heard the sound of the notebook flipping closed. “That’ll do. For now.”

  “Vennie, you can come out” Mason said, not really raising his voice. Venetia debated pretending that she couldn’t hear him.

  “Vennie, I know you heard me,” he said, “so you might as well come out.” Trying her best not to look sheepish, Venetia made her way back down the hall and into the living room.

  “All done then?” Venetia said.

  “For the moment. Excuse me,” said Detective James, getting up and pulling his phone from his pocket. “I have some calls to make.”

  He stepped out into the hallway, pulling the door shut behind himself.

  “Want to tell me what’s happening here?”

  “You know what’s happening,” she said. “Besides, as she said, you’re a member of the press.” She scooted closer to him on the sofa.

  “Ah, yes,” he said, placing a hand on her face and giving her a kiss. “Seriously, how are you doing?”

  “I don’t know,” she said, resting her head on his shoulder.

  “So much for the surprise,” he said. “They had to get Chuck to cover.”

  “Chuck? Really? Do you think he’ll be sober long enough to do the whole show?”

  “Doubtful,” he said. He cradled the back of her head with his hand, absently stroking her hair. “Do you want me to come to the funeral tomorrow? I’m great at deflection.”

  “Great? You’re the king.”

  He smiled, though she couldn’t really see it from her spot. “You really didn’t tell the cop you had a boyfriend?” he said.

  “Why would it matter? It’s not as though you could have anything to do with her dying. Or that ShamCorp.”

  He leaned back so that he could look at her. “Did you find out anything else about it?”

  “I haven’t had time, what with work today—”

  “You went to work?”

  “What else was I going to do?”

  “Are you sure you’re doing OK?”

  “Probably not,” she said. “It’s all so weird. And then there was the guy in the van—”

  He dropped his hand. “What guy in the van?”

  “Don’t get freaked out, nothing really happened—”

  “What am I not supposed to get freaked out about?”

  “Some guy was in the van today, after one of the stops. He told me I didn’t have to die.”

  “What does that mean?”

  “I don’t know. And he said that there would be a package for me tonight. Here.”

  “And?”

  “Nothing yet.”

  “So this lunatic—”

  “We don’t know if he’s a lunatic, really.”

  “This lunatic,” he said again, deliberately, “told you you’d have a package. Here. Where you live. After breaking into the van. And then Billie got hurt here?”

  “Yes.”

  “And why, exactly, should I not get freaked out?”

  “Because nothing happened. I’m safe. I’m fine, and no package.”

  “Yet.”

  “Yet,” she repeated, her inflection different.

  “Which then explains the guy with the gun. Who apparently seems to think I could be involved, since he wouldn’t explain this to me.” He bent forward, one hand across the lower third of his face and then down, his finger across his chin. He shook his head, his jaw tense.

  “Mason,” she said.

  He got up and strode across the room in about three steps, opening the door. The detective stood a little way down from it, still on the phone.

  “Detective,” he said, his tone tight.

  Cadby held up a finger.

  “Detective,” he said again. Cadby covered the speaker of the phone. “I’ll be in in a minute.”

  “No, Detective,” said Mason, “we’re going to talk now.”

  Chapter 9

  “I’ll get back to you,” Detective James said into the phone. “What do you need?”

  “What I need,” Mason said, still half out of the doorway, “is for you to explain to me what Venetia is doing here with someone—”

  Cadby held a finger to his lips and motioned Mason to go back inside. He followed, shutting the door firmly behind him. “We shouldn’t have this conversation in the hall.”

  “If it were up to you, we wouldn’t be having this conversation at all. When were you going to tell me that some strange man got into her van today? Or that he was supposed to be here, and it looks like Billie took the brunt of it?”

  Cadby held up his hands as if to fend off the words. “OK, Mr. Certain, calm down.”

  “Calm down? Calm down. You were going to allow her to sit here, with everything that is going on, and wait for some random lunatic?”

  “We don’t know that he’s a lunatic,” said Cadby.

  He looked from Cadby to Venetia and back again. “Did you rehearse that? What kind of person do you think breaks into a plant-watering van?”

  “Urban gardening,” said Venetia, distractedly.

  “Call it whatever you want, there’s nothing to steal in there, unless he wants a 100 pound potted plant. Which means he broke in it specifically because of you.”

  No one said anything.

  “Look Detective, I don’t know what kind of job you do or how good you are at it, but it’s absolutely within my means to find out. Why would you have her here? Why not put her in hotel while you wait? And what are you, the cavalry?”

  “I’m going to need you to lower your voice,” Cadby said, his words cool and even. “You know that there are uniformed officers downstairs, you spoke to them yourself.”

  “And I nearly got in here before they approached me.”

  “That would be the point,” he said, “though as you said earlier, they recognized you. As for putting her in a hotel, yes, that could have been an option, but we don’t know if he’s watching her.”

  “He’s watching her?”

  “I said we don’t know if he is or isn’t. If she wasn’t here, he might not have come. Even as it was, with her sitting at the hospital for most of the evening, it looks like it’s not going to happen. Or maybe he saw you and was scared off.”

  “I would hope so,” he said. “Or maybe he found Billie instead.”

  “The plan was for me to be here. Uniforms outside. Me inside. She was completely safe.”

  “You mean like Billie,” he said.

  “We don’t know what happened with Billie.”

  “Why weren’t you here then?”

  “I really don’t have an answer for that,” he said. “It’s not the only case going. There should have been uniforms. I don’t know why there weren’t. Or if there weren’t. I only know that no one saw anything.”

  “How reassuring,” he said. “What about this ShamCorp with Vennie’s name all over it?”

  Cadby paused for a moment. “You know about it?”

  “She’s my girlfriend, Detective, do you really think she wouldn’t tell me that someone put her name all over a corporation she knew nothing about?”

  Cadby looked directly at Venetia, who was tucked into a corner of the sofa, as he answered. “No, I guess not,” he said, eyes still on her. “I guess not.” He went over to the coffee table, grabbed his half-empty coffee and took swig. “Cold,” he said.

  “Want another one?” said Venetia.

  “I doubt the Detective will be staying here much longer,” said Mason. “At least, not in the apartment.”

  “I’m not sure—”

  “You can watch from the hallway, if you want.”

  “He’s unlikely to approach if I’m out there,” said Detective James, the distance between Mason and him fe
eling tight, “that was the point of being in here.”

  “No doubt it was,” he said. “Feel free to do as you need to do, from elsewhere.”

  “Mason,” said Venetia. “I understand you’re concerned, but come on, there’s no need to be rude.”

  “You have a pretty exhausting day ahead of you,” he said, “and you shouldn’t be more stressed than you have to be. You worry about what you need to worry about, and let the police do their jobs.”

  “He’s doing his job,” she said. “You act like I had nothing to do with this plan.”

  “You’re not the professional, Vennie. He is. He should know better.”

  Venetia bit her lips between her teeth, the skin around them pressing pale. With a sharp nod, she rose. “OK. You two can continue talking about me as though I’m not here, if you’d like, but I’ve really had it. It’s been a long, ridiculous day, my oldest friend is in the hospital, Delenda’s still dead, and for some reason, someone wants to pin some money laundering scheme no one’s figured out yet on me. And apparently that person’s got friends.

  “So maybe you’ll understand if I say that I’m done with today. You two can do what you want with the remainder, but I’m going to bed.”

  She stomped off to the bathroom and shut the door.

  ***

  Venetia skulked around at the back of the funeral parlor, wondering if she’d be able to get away with staying near the exit and ducking out as soon as it was over. After Aunt Sissy relented and finally called her back to tell her where she’d decided to hold the service, she’d also informed her that expected Venetia to serve the food and clean up afterward at Aunt Sissy’s house. She was hoping to escape before that happened.

  “I’m sure people have been delayed,” came from behind her.

  “Hi Aunt Sissy,” Venetia said, both of them giving the other a kiss on the cheek while taking care to avoid any actual kiss. “Not really much of a turnout.”

  Dane stood inside the room, near the front, awkwardly off by himself. There were a couple of other people that Venetia didn’t recognize. No sign of Higson Boggs. Not yet, anyway.

  “Did you know Venetia was married? And I hope you didn’t spend too much on this, Aunt Sissy, because I could have told you there wouldn’t be a whole lot of people here.”

  “What kind of question is that?” she said. “And if I couldn’t do that for my dear departed cousin’s dear departed daughter –”

  “Wasn’t she a cousin-in-law? And weren’t you only related for about eleven months?”

  “Family bonds last,” she said.

  “Yeah, tell that to my mom the next time you speak to her,” Venetia said mostly under her breath.

  “What was that?” she said.

  “Nothing.”

  “I thought so,” she said, one hand darting down her salt-and-pepper bob. She straightened her fitted jacket, her custom Animals First tiger broach glinting its emerald eye.

  “Julian told me to tell you that he’s sorry he couldn’t make it, but they can’t close the business on a weekday.”

  Sissy raised one immaculately arched eyebrow. “Really? They can’t close a plant-watering business?”

  “Urban gardening.”

  “Whatever it may be.”

  “He was, what, four husbands ago? Does it really matter?” Venetia said.

  “Speaking of whether things matter, how is dear Marlene?”

  “Seriously, Aunt Sissy? Marlene is great.”

  “Of course she is.”

  “I can’t believe we’re having this conversation,” Venetia said. “Again. And here, of all places. Besides, you were having your affair with, man, I can’t remember his name, he was husband number three—”

  “Julian was number three,” she said. “That’s the first one that counts, by the way, the third.”

  “If it counted, maybe you shouldn’t have had the affair with…this is driving me crazy, what was his name?”

  “Charles,” she said.

  “Charles. That’s right, Charles.”

  “He was a very dashing journalist,” she said, “you, of all people, know how alluring that can be.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “Why do you always have to take everything so seriously?” She pulled a silver compact out of her purse and carefully applied another coat of chicly neutral lipstick to the lipstick already there. “Hello,” she said to a couple of people as they walked past. Venetia didn’t recognize them.

  “Who are those people?”

  “Fillers,” she said. “I had a suspicion or two that she might not pack the room, and I didn’t want to be embarrassed.”

  “Embarrassed?” It didn’t matter, Aunt Sissy wasn’t listening. She was watching a man entering the funeral home, her face aglow.

  “Mr. Bloaerd,” she said, “it’s so nice to see you again.” She wrapped her arm around his arm, and he crooked it for her. Venetia’s heart stopped when she saw the tall, thin guy right behind him.

  Higson Boggs.

  Of course, it shouldn’t surprise her, they were married. Or supposed to be married. It would be strange if he wasn’t at the funeral. Memorial service. Whatever Aunt Sissy was calling it. Anyway, it would be strange if he wasn’t.

  “And dear Higson,” said Sissy, “I’m so sorry for your loss. You should have had much more time together.”

  He said nothing, but his thin lips pulled tighter across his face in a half-smile-half-grimace. He stopped in front of Venetia. “I’ve seen you before,” he said.

  “This is my niece, Venetia,” she said, “dear Delenda’s cousin. So sad you didn’t get to meet under better circumstances, but Delenda wasn’t terribly fond of her.”

  “Where have I seen you?”

  “Don’t know,” said Venetia, not wanting to own up to her eavesdropping, “I have one of those faces.”

  He didn’t respond, but allowed himself to be led by Sissy, who grasped his forearm with her free hand.

  “It’s very kind of you to do this for Delenda, Sissy,” said Bloaerd as they headed toward the front of the room, propelled by Sissy. “Very kind of you, indeed.”

  And that would do it. No wonder Aunt Sissy decided to put on the service and host people, however few there might be, at her house afterward. Apparently, Tammy, the receptionist at Walter Bloaerd’s firm, was on to something. Walter Bloaerd was definitely having an affair.

  Venetia just didn’t expect it to be with Aunt Sissy. Although distinguished looking older guy, named partner in a law firm, it wasn’t surprising she’d find a way. Sissy had a gut instinct for men like Bloaerd.

  She wondered if any of those people from the dinner parties Delenda threw were coming. Probably not.

  Detective James came through the door, deep in soft conversation with what looked like a colleague. He hadn’t spotted her yet.

  To be honest, she wasn’t really sure why she hadn’t told him about Mason. It’s not like they’d had long, drawn out conversations, she really hadn’t gotten the chance. That’s all it was.

  Mason still seemed edgy this morning when he’d left. He’d offered one last time to come with her, but she knew it would turn into one of those things, and there he’d be, Local 9 News Anchor Mason Certain instead of boyfriend Mason Certain.

  She had to stop doing that. It wasn’t his fault.

  Cadby caught her eye and gave her a quick nod. She couldn’t tell if he seemed annoyed, or was trying to do his job. He said something to the other detective with him and came over.

  “Talked to the hospital this morning, they said Billie’s doing well.”

  “I know,” Venetia said, “I called them myself.”

  Detective James didn’t say anything as he scanned the room. “Do you know who those people are over there?” he said.

  “Seat fillers,” she said.

  “What?’

  “Seat fillers.”

  “You’re kidding.”

  “No, Aunt Sissy was afraid that ther
e wouldn’t be enough people here for her not to be embarrassed. So she hired some.”

  “Your Aunt is putting this service on?” he said.

  “Yes.”

  “Why?”

  “I’m going to go out on a limb and say it’s because of Higson Bogg’s lawyer over there,” she said.

  “That’s his lawyer?”

  “Yes, Walter Bloaerd.”

  He dropped his voice. “The yeller?”

  “The very same.”

  “Well, they’re looking cozier today, I’d guess.” He scanned the room again. “Is that Billie Kay’s lawyer?”

  “Dane? Yep.”

  “Were he and Delenda close?”

  “I don’t know if I’d put it that way,” she said. “Besides, Dane never misses a trick. Or,” she said as Dane pulled out a business card and handed it to a seat filler, “a chance to pick up a client. Or pick up, period.” Dane shook the fillers hand, and he crossed the room to Aunt Sissy, giving her a warm kiss on the cheek. He gave Walter Bloaerd and Higson Boggs a quick handshake each.

  “Is it me or does it look like Dane and Higson know each other?” she said.

  “Listen, Venetia, I’m sorry if my being there last night caused any trouble—”

  “No, it really didn’t.”

  “I was taken off guard, especially given how we found Mason in your apartment, and that guy with the package, and Billie, and you not mentioning that you had a boyfriend.”

  “You’re really stuck on that one point, aren’t you?”

  “I wouldn’t say that,” he said. “but it seems like a pretty big detail. Are you sure you can trust him?”

  “Of course I can trust him. Why would you think otherwise?”

  “I was going to tell you this yesterday, but I didn’t think it was the right time, and then with him there—”

  “What?”

  “If everyone could please take your seats,” said the funeral director, “we’re going to begin.”

  Chapter 10

  After the service broke up, Venetia made a beeline for Detective James. “What were you talking about?” she said. “Right before they started. What were you saying?”

  “I can’t really tell you now,” he said, “not in the crowd.”

  “You can’t say something like that and not follow up,” she said. Sissy glided over and posed herself next to Venetia.