If I could’ve murdered anyone, it’d be the man who’d done all he could to make my life hell. The only problem was that I’d be the chiefsuspect as soon as the bastard turned up dead—or went missing. Still, it was nice to dream.
“I’ll need a copy of the wills.”
“We did one together. Never got around to putting it in the Prasads’ safety-deposit box.” Despite my cooperative tone, my mouth was dry, my temples beating with a pulse that felt so big I was afraid it was visible. “The lawyers in LA will have a copy. I can get their name from my dad—he set it up. We just turned up and signed.”
“And your wife was fine with all this?”
“Why wouldn’t she be?” I scowled, my frustration real. “Look, I don’t know what you’re getting at, but there’s nothing weird in the will. Just the two of us giving our stuff to each other, and a few sentimental items to our friends or family.”
Though when Ackerson read the will, she’d see that it was Diya who’d made ninety percent of the sentimental bequests; I’d put only one name in there, the bequeathed item a particular piece of art from Susanne that I thought should go back to the Winthorpe family. “Most of the assets coming into the marriage weremine.”
I knew I’d made a mistake, that I’d spoken too much, when her eyes gained a sudden feral spark. “Balance has changed now, though, hasn’t it?”
“What?” My brain was lagging, my nerves eating up my thoughts.
“The Prasad family’s lawyer has confirmed that the doctors left everything to their children in equal shares. One of those children is most likely dead, his body all but obliterated. The other is clinging to life—but Diya Prasad has already become the beneficiary by being the sole survivor. If she dies, it all goes to you.”
My face burned, my leg threatening to pump up and down. Of all the possible avenues on which Ackerson could’ve pinned her suspicions, the financial one was the absolute worst.
Susanne. Jocelyn. Virna.
My history could bury me.
“What are you getting at, Detective?” I channeled my father’s cold and hard “asshole lawyer” demeanor. “In case you’ve forgotten,I wasn’t therewhen Diya was attacked and her family killed.”
“Thanks to the fire, there’s no way for us to pinpoint the exact timeline,” was the curt response. “For all I know, you attacked everyone, then began a small fire that you knew would take time to get going.”
I furrowed my brow. “What?”
“Act stupid,” my father had advised me at thirteen, after my mother had nearly broken me despite everything he’d already tried to teach me. “People who hold you in contempt will just give up if they think you’re not worth their energy.” Hope in his tone. “It’s also a useful tool in life—folks often forget to watch their words around those they see as less intelligent.”
It had never worked with my mother; Audrey was already well aware that I could do complex math in my head and that I’d never had to study for a single exam in my life. Socially, I’d far outpaced my brother, so I couldn’t even fall back on a lack of emotional intelligence—I’d had to develop a whole different set of tools to deal with her.
But Detective Ackerson wasn’t my mother. “You just said Diya only inherited everything because she’s the sole survivor. Now you’re saying I tried to murder her, too?” Confusion in every word, the simulacrum of emotion a little trick I’d learned from a mother who’d found great delight in making me believe she loved me…only to laugh hysterically when I fell for it.
Good grief, Tavish. Pull yourself together. It was just a little joke.
I’d been six years old and the “little joke” had involved the promise of an outing to the park. She’d sent me to my room to getchanged…then waved good-bye to me from the car as she left for the park with Raja in the passenger seat.
My rage was a hard kernel of ice lodged in my soul.
“And,” I added, “if you think my relationship with Diya has to do with money, I’ll have to disappoint you. There are plenty of rich older women in LA who like to spoil handsome young men. I never had to marry one to live the lifestyle.”
A calculated gamble to bring up my highly publicized past before she could. Taking ownership rather than allowing her to bludgeon me with the fact that I’d once lived off charm born of an insatiable need to fill the hole in my heart that was an old and bitter thing. I no doubt needed far more therapy than the few sessions I’d allowed myself, but what was the therapist going to tell me that I didn’t already know?
More important than that, I’d broken the loop when I fell for Diya, my flickering candle flame of a wife, so dazzling and bright, and full of mysteries.
“Your wife have any idea of how you funded your luxurious life in LA?” Ackerson blustered when I refused to buckle.
“Detective.” I gave her a tired smile. “My salary at my previous job was four hundred thousand dollars per year, with bonuses built in. I could fly back today and walk into another job, probably for half a million.” I’d always been good at bluffing—that was why I’d won a million at poker my first time out at real tables.
Slaps on my back, the rush not of the win but of what it made me.Important.Seen.All of it wrapped around the toxic need to feel the same again, the hunger inside me without end.
The casinos, of course, had been happy to roll out the red carpet, happy to help me chase the high, day after day, week after week.
“My future earnings potential is many multiples of whatever Diya has inherited,” I reiterated. “I know how to make my money make more money. The women I dated? I did so because they were beautiful, sophisticated, and interesting.”
From the way Ackerson blinked quickly before shifting the papers in front of her, she’d had no idea of my salary—or was doing a good job of pretending that she hadn’t. Because a second later, she looked up and said, “Tell me about Virna Musgrave.”
