The world narrowed into a breathless spiral. But I was my father’s son. “It’s easy to tear apart a reputation without evidence,” I said with a slumping of my shoulders. “The media doesn’t care. Not when it sells advertising space and gains clicks. I took you for a good detective, not a tabloid muckraker.”
A flush of color on her cheekbones, a slight pinching around her eyes. “That doesn’t answer my question.”
“Virna was a friend who gifted me a chunk of money. Despite her framing it as a gift, I insisted to her that I’d pay it back as soon as my own investments matured. Unfortunately she died in an accident before we could put our agreement on paper.”
“If it’s that simple, why is the ‘accident’ still under investigation, with you as the main person of interest?”
Oh, Ackersonhadbeen busy. “Do you know who inherited Virna’s millions? Her son. Who then contributed an entire million of that to a fund that supports retired cops and firefighters.” I didn’t break eye contact. “She gave me a quarter of a million. A big sum,yes, but nothing compared to Jason Musgrave’s staggering inheritance.
“She was also talking about gifting me ridiculous diamond cuff links as well as a luxury trip to the Maldives for Christmas. Not only am I not the one with the most motive where Virna is concerned, I inheritednothingin her will. It’d have been far better for me if she was alive and showering me with a continuous array of gifts.”
Leaning toward her, I said, “You ask me, Jason was getting angry about his mother using her money to spoil me even though that was literally small change to her. That washismoney as far as he was concerned. His fucking inheritance. I heard him yelling that at her one day—told the detectives in LA about it, too, but he’s the poster child for charity and philanthropy after that donation; they don’t care to look too hard at Jason.”
I’d definitely surprised Ackerson this time; the tell was subtle—a minute twitch of her left eye—but I had it now. She hadn’t known about the donation. Most people didn’t. My father had told me to keep the information in my back pocket in case things went from bad to catastrophic.
But Ackerson wasn’t ready to admit defeat—and she was a far better detective than I’d realized. “Let’s talk about Susanne Winthorpe.”
A ghost whispered in my ear, the scent of her signature Baccarat perfume in the air.
Chapter 22
Susanne
Susanne closed her menu and looked up at the handsome young man who’d come to pour her and Cici water out of a silver pitcher coated with a fine layer of fresh condensation. He performed the service with panache, spilling not a drop.
“Would you like to order a glass of wine to go with your lunch today, Mrs.Winthorpe?” he asked, well aware of her habits by now. “We have a beautiful crisp white that just came in from a small but excellent winery in Napa that I believe you’d enjoy.”
“Oh, why not, Tavish, you’ve twisted my arm. And for my friend, an oat milk latte, single shot.” Lowering her voice, she mock-whispered, “Cici doesn’t approve of my midday drinking.”
Cici rolled her brown eyes but waited until Tavish had grinned and left the table before saying, “Really, Sue?” She compressed her lips, the exquisite deep pink of her lipstick dynamite against the rich brown of her skin tone. “He’s barely out of high school and you’re flirting like you’re a tiger.”
“Cougar, darling, that’s the vernacular.” Where Susanne’s expat family had sent her to a boarding school stateside, Cici’s parents had chosen to have her educated in Singapore. At a top private school, of course, but it wasn’t the same, was it? Though there was also Cici’s disdain for all things modern. Including new terms in the language.
“And why not?” Susanne asked after a sip of the water. “I’m filthy rich, very well-preserved in the looks department thanks to a lifetime of moisturizer and a dynamo surgeon, and in the market for a hot fling.” Sad to admit, but her pale white skin hadn’t held up anywhere near as well as Cici’s—not that anyone could tell, not with all the maintenance work she had done on it on a monthly basis.
Susanne’s face was as fresh as a daisy.
Cici, who’d been born with a rule book in tow, pressed a bejeweled hand to her heart. “You are sixty-seven, Susanne. Act your age.”
“Doing that is why you have all those grays, dearest Cici.”
“Don’t come crying to me when you put your back out getting frisky with that young man.”
Susanne almost snorted with laughter. This was why the two of them were friends, despite their diametrically opposed personalities and lives. Cici might be a contented grandmother who babysat her grandchild out of choice, not necessity—a grandmother for whom lunch out with Susanne was the high point in her social calendar—but she’d never lost the sharp wit that had bonded them as young girls plucked out of their lives in the US and placed in the hothouse beauty of Singapore.
“It’d be worth it,” Susanne purred after she’d recovered. “I didn’t marry a strapping young man like you, my dear heart, never got the chance to be adventurous in bed.” Her husband had been in his forties when they’d fallen in love, twenty years her senior, and while she didn’t regret it, she did regret not sowing some wild oats.
“You’re going to do what you’re going to do.” Cici tapped one nail on her wineglass, her manicure a classic French tip. “Just make sure he has permission from his mother.”
Susanne was still laughing when the gorgeous waiter with his golden-brown skin and intelligent dark eyes, his jaw square and his shoulders broad, returned with their drinks. “Thank you, darling,” Susanne purred. “So, how does a lady go about asking for your number, Tavish?”
His smile made his eyes sparkle…and her heart skip a beat.
Well now…
Chapter 23
I spent time with Diya that evening, the curtains pulled to shield us on either side, and the nurse on duty having gone to watch from the main station, so we could have a bit more privacy.
