Dead Lies (30 page)

Anna’s pulse quickened. She had been planning to ask Web how he had lost his leg—she admired how unselfconscious he was about it and knew he’d be open to sharing the story—but something told her they weren’t going to get to that tonight. There was a gleam in his eye. “What?”

“My parents told me I was adopted.”

She couldn’t hide her shock. “Adopted?” The older couple at the next table was staring at them, so she lowered her voice. “Was Serena adopted too?”

Web smiled, and Anna realized how ridiculous the question was. Of course Serena was adopted, too. They were twins.

“She never knew,” he said.

Anna was quiet for a moment while she considered the implications. It almost seemed like too much of a coincidence that Serena was adopted and thirty years later had given up a child of her own. “So history repeated itself,” she said aloud.

Web frowned, and she wished she could take the statement back, regretting how judgmental it sounded.

“How did you find out?” she asked quickly. She imagined Web stumbling across the adoption papers the same way he’d found his sister’s file on McGrower.

“My father confessed after I told my family about Violet.” He paused. “I think he finally realized there was no more room in our lives for family secrets.”

So his parents felt guilty. What a terrible burden for them.

“Did they explain why they never told you?” she asked.

“According to my dad, my mom always wanted to tell us, but my father wouldn’t let her. He said he never wanted us to feel like we were different, that we were inferior in any way.”

Inferior.
What an awful way for a child to think. On principle Anna didn’t agree with what the Marinos had done, but part of her understood. Growing up she’d overheard a neighbor whispering to her mother that the kid down the street was adopted, like it was some sort of shameful secret. It taught Anna that to be adopted was a bad thing. “People gossip; kids can be cruel,” she said. “Your folks probably wanted to spare you that.”

“Spare
us
?” he asked incredulously. “No, I think they wanted to protect themselves. You know, when my parents first moved here, Avondale was a purely WASP town, and the neighbors looked down on them because their last name was Italian. Not only that, my father was Catholic. They applied to get into the country club three years in a row and were rejected each time. They only got in when they finally let it be known that my mother’s maiden name is Webster, of the Philadelphia Websters”—he looked at her and added, “the
dictionary
Websters.” Web’s voice was laced with bitterness. “So, imagine how having two adopted kids fit into that picture. What would the neighbors have said then? No, the lie my parents perpetuated served them as much as it did us.”

“And yet your mother gave you her name,” Anna pointed out.

Web blinked in surprise. “I hadn’t thought about that.”

“There may have been a time when people thought there was something wrong with adoption,” Anna said, “but I think times have changed. I mean, look at Angelina Jolie. She and Brad made adoption cool.”

“You’re right to some degree,” he said. “But we’re not totally there yet. You know, one of my clients is the rock singer Amanda Cross…”

Web didn’t have to explain who she was. At 26, Amanda Cross was already a rock legend. She was impressed.

“…and she and her husband adopted a child last year,” Web continued. “There was an article about her in the paper this morning, and I noticed that they pointed out he was adopted. He’s not just her son. He’s her
adopted
son. Like there’s something salacious about that. I don’t think I would have even noticed the media’s penchant for doing that before this happened to me.”

“I see your point. The bias is insidious.”

“Exactly,” he said.

“So, what are you going to do now? Are you going to look for your biological parents?

Web shrugged. “Maybe.”

At that moment the waitress arrived with their appetizers, and neither she nor Web spoke as Grace made room on the table for all the plates. Anna surveyed the banquet guiltily. The portions were huge. They’d never be able to eat it all.

She stole a glance at Web, and he was eyeing the food hungrily, seemingly unbothered by the excess. She’d never been with a man like him—a man who had the kind of money that allowed him to order indiscriminately. And at such prices! There was no appetizer on the menu under $15, even the salads. She wasn’t sure if she liked Web’s attitude or was turned off by it.

“Enjoy,” she heard the waitress say.

Delicious aromas wafted around her, and Anna allowed herself to get caught up in Web’s excitement. Her stomach rumbled. Until now she hadn’t realized how hungry she was.

Web picked up his fork and pointed to the ravioli. “Try these first, Anna,” he said.

“They’re practically translucent,” she pointed out. “Just the way they should be. They look amazing.” She picked a steaming square up with her fork. It glistened with butter. She put it in her mouth and let it melt on her tongue. It was sinfully good. She couldn’t have made a better one herself. She tried the fried calamari next, stabbing a fat ring and slipping it into her mouth. The batter was light and salty, and the meat wasn’t rubbery like calamari too often gets when it’s overcooked. It, too, seemed to melt on her tongue, and she sighed happily. She reached for another one.

“You like?” said Web, grinning.

She stopped chomping for only a second. “Me like.”

She swallowed and said, “Go ahead, name drop a little. Tell me who some of your clients are aside from Amanda Cross.”

Web shot her a sheepish grin as if he was embarrassed he hung out in celebrity circles. “Do you know Priscilla Beck?” he said slowly. “And Randy Sarkisian? They’re both longtime clients. Randy’s one of my favorite musicians, I’m really proud of his newest album.”

Anna was impressed again. “I like it, too. I just downloaded the title track on my iPod. I listen to it when I go running. I find the beat helps when I start losing steam around mile four.”

Web shot her an unabashedly admiring glance. “I’m not surprised you’re a runner. You’ve got the body for it.”

Anna blushed. “I need to stay in shape to chase down the perps.” She coughed. “So, do you play any instruments?”

“A little guitar, the piano. How about you?”

“I played the violin for two weeks, until my dad offered me $20 to stop.”

Web laughed. He picked up a chicken liver crostini and swallowed it in two large bites. “So, how’s Max?” he said, moving on to the crespelles.

Anna smiled at the mention of her son. It was a reflex. “He’s sweet. But he’s been…” She broke off, unsure why she’d been about to spill what was going on at home. She suddenly felt self-conscious. She hadn’t come here tonight to be the single mother carrying about a lot of baggage and an emotionally disturbed son, to boot.

“He’s been…?” Web said.

“He’s been making new friends,” she answered quickly, hoping Web wouldn’t call her out for switching tack. “You know it’s been hard—we only moved here four months ago.”

Web smiled. “Well, good for Max! Friends you make at that age can be friends for life. I know that first-hand.”

Anna smiled back, picturing Danny Callahan and Tim Christiansen, whom she’d met at The Grape. No doubt they were the friends for life Web was referring to. He was lucky to have them. She wished she had some of her own. She’d barely remained friends with people from high school,
let alone grammar school.

“So, how is your family doing?” she asked Web.

“Everyone’s holding up,” Web said. “Thanks for asking.” He put his fork down and let out a sigh. “You know, grief is a funny thing. Some of it is what I expected. Other aspects are just plain weird.”

“What do you mean?” she asked.

She thought she saw the makings of a grin on his face. “Well, this afternoon when I was running errands in town,” he said, “I caught myself doing this strange thing with my reflection in a store window. I wasn’t looking at myself but at a spot behind me, where my shadow was.” His mouth broke into a full smile. “I suddenly realized what I was doing when I almost ran into a parking meter.” His expression grew more serious again. “I was searching for Serena. On one level, I know she’s gone, but I guess my subconscious isn’t there yet.”

Anna gasped, putting a hand over her mouth. Her fork clattered loudly to her plate.

“What is it?” Web asked. “Is something wrong with the food?”

“Oh, my God! That’s what Max has been doing!” she exclaimed. Relief flooded her. So, the psychologist had been right after all. Maybe her little boy wasn’t sick or crazy; maybe he really was expressing his grief in the way Web just described. She felt tears prick at the corner of her eyes, and she swallowed them down.

“Are you okay, Anna?” Web asked gently.

“I’m okay,” she responded, regaining her composure after a moment. “It’s just that Max has been doing exactly the same thing as you. He’s been looking in mirrors and then falling apart when I pull him away.” She put her fingers to her temples and shook her head. “It seems so obvious now. I can’t believe I never figured it out.”

“How could you?” Web said. “You’re not a twin.”

“But I’m his mother,” she said, guiltily. “I should have known.”

“C’mon, Anna, no problem was ever solved by beating yourself up.”

“You’re right,” she admitted. “It’s just that when you’re a mother guilt comes with the territory.” She watched Web’s eyes shift away to a spot on the wall behind her head and wondered if he was thinking about his own mother’s guilty conscience. When his eyes found hers again, she asked, “Do you think it’ll ever go away?”

“The guilt?” Web asked, looking perplexed.

“No, the looking in mirrors.”

Web’s expression was thoughtful. “I suspect it will for me, now that I’m aware it’s happening. But Max is a little boy, so it may take him longer…”

His voice trailed off, so Anna said, “The psychologist told me to give him time.”

“Time heals all wounds,” Web said with a sad smile. “Everyone keeps throwing that axiom at me, too.”

“Yeah, it doesn’t help, does it?” Anna agreed quietly, recalling all the platitudes people had offered after Nicholas’s death. At the same time, though, she had to admit that while she still missed Nicholas desperately her grief wasn’t as crushing as it once was. It had changed her, to be sure, but it hadn’t destroyed her.

In fact, she realized with shock that she had broken through the fog. She wasn’t sure when it had happened exactly, but it had definitely been in the last week.

“I don’t know,” Web said. “At first I thought it was one of those things people blurt out because they don’t know what else to say.” He reached across the table and took her hand, caressing her fingers lightly with his thumb. “But now, sitting here across from you and realizing that I feel a little better today than I did yesterday, and even the day before, I think I’m starting to believe it.”

Web held her gaze, and Anna felt herself smile.

Grace came over to collect the plates, and Web let go of her hand.

“Finished?” the waitress asked them.

Anna surveyed the damage in front of her. She’d been so hungry when they sat down, but they’d barely made a dent in the food between them. And yet their entrees were still coming. Too bad her appetite had flown right out the window. All she wanted to do now was run home and hug Max.

“We did our best,” she heard Web say to Grace. “We wanted to save room for the main event.”

Grace reached for the plates, and Anna blurted, “May I take the leftovers home?” She couldn’t bear the idea that all that beautiful food was about to get dumped in the garbage. She shot Web a glance. “Uh, payback to my mom for babysitting,” she explained.

She flushed again, but she saw that Web was smiling at her happily. He wasn’t judging her at all.

Anna leaned back in her seat while Grace took everything away. For the first time that night, she began to relax. Truly relax. Her grief was no longer a shroud. Max was going to be fine. She knew it in her heart. To top it off, here she was sitting across from a man with whom she could open up. He was the antithesis of everything she’d been running from when she’d sworn off men. He was handsome, responsible, and rich to boot.

Earlier, when she was getting dressed, she’d worried that, with her working class background, she wouldn’t be able to hold her own with a man like Web, especially without the weight of her uniform to back her up. But she realized she didn’t need to worry. Web wasn’t a snob. He was thoughtful and sensitive and kind. And she found his confidence wildly attractive. It was nothing like the pretty-boy arrogance Jack had when they met, but a more mature belief that he deserved all the good things life had to offer.

She liked Web. She liked him a lot. She could get used to life with a man like him.

CHAPTER 35

K
REEGER WAS ENJOYING AN AL-FRESCO LUNCH WITH HIS DAUGHTERS AT THE
Dolphin Hotel in South Beach when his cell phone rang. He shot them a sheepish look and reached inside his jacket pocket.

“Dad, you promised,” Becky, his youngest, scolded lightly as she buttered her toast. Her long blond hair was piled on top of her head in a messy bun, and she was wearing a navy blue tee-shirt with white piping that made his twenty-one-year-old daughter look all of about sixteen. Dark-haired Julia, garbed in a flowered sun dress with spaghetti straps, was sipping her coffee and eyeing him over the rim in that knowing way of hers.

He felt a flash of guilt. He’d promised not to carry his phone today after they’d gently chastised him for spending more time fielding calls from work than hanging out with them. He knew he shouldn’t obsess about the job, but he couldn’t help himself. Work was his life. He’d planned to set his phone to vibrate so he could stay connected discreetly, but of course he’d forgotten.

He glanced at the I.D. screen, which glinted in the bright southern sunlight and blinded him momentarily. It was Manny Diaz from the crime lab. “I really have to take this call,” he said, knowing his daughters would forgive him as they always did. “It’s probably about the case.” He’d filled them in briefly but spared the details as usual.

“We love you anyway, Dad,” Becky teased as he moved away to take the call.

He slipped on his sunglasses as he moved out from under the umbrella into the direct sunlight. “
Hola, Manny,
” he said, heading for the pool. “
Como estas?
”

“
Bien, muy bien amigo, y tu?
”

“
Bien, gracias.
”

He felt bad that the lab technician was working on a Sunday, but Manny owed him one. Six months earlier Kreeger had checked out his daughter’s new boyfriend and learned the young man had done some time, in spite of his claim to the contrary. When Manny told the kid he knew all about his past exploits and mentioned he had friends in the police department, the kid took off for good. Kreeger had saved the anxious father a lot of grief, and Manny had never forgotten it. “You got something on my stabbing victim?” Kreeger asked.

“I do. Your blond hair belongs to a woman.”

“A woman?” Kreeger asked, pushing his sunglasses higher on his nose because the sweat was making them slip. Away from the partial covering of the umbrella, it was
hot.

The hair they’d found was short, so Kreeger had assumed it came from a man. He conjured the image of the female figure the surveillance team had captured on film. So
she
was their perp, not the man. It took him a moment to think through the ramifications. “What about the prints from the knife?” he asked Manny.

“I ran them through the databases and came up with nothing. It seems your perp doesn’t have a record.”

“So she’s an amateur,” Kreeger observed, more to himself than Manny.

“Or someone who hasn’t gotten caught.”

An image of Gordon McGrower’s wife Melanie Fox flashed in Kreeger’s mind. Could
she
have killed Malik? It certainly made sense: McGrower had killed Serena to protect his daughter, and now his wife had killed to protect him.

“I’m probably pushing my luck here, Manny, but did you get anything off the bills?” he asked, referring to the cash deposit Malik had made.

“Did I!” Manny said excitedly. “Did you see those babies? They were practically hot off the printing press, so I was able to pull five beautiful sets. That’s probably the sum total of all the people who ever handled them. I haven’t run the prints yet, but I’ll start working on that this afternoon. I may have the results by the end of the day.”

“Thanks for turning this around so quickly, Manny. I appreciate that you came in on a Sunday, and New Year’s Eve no less.”

“No worries, friend. My oldest is going to college next year. I need the overtime.”

Kreeger stole a glance at his daughters. Their education was
expensive.
“Don’t I know it!”

Kreeger thanked Manny again and hung up. He retrieved Melinda Madison’s number from his photographic memory bank and placed a call to her next. She answered right away.

“Melinda, it’s Detective Kreeger again. Do you have access to McGrower’s wife’s schedule, by any chance?”

“I don’t. I work for him, not her. Why are you asking?”

“I need to find out what she was doing on Thursday night between the hours of 7:00 and 10:00.”

“I can tell you that, Detective,” Melinda said. “She was in L.A.”

“How do you know?”

“Mr. McGrower told me she was going to make the trip. Apparently she was meeting a producer about a movie script. You know these ex-models, they all want to get into acting.”

“Is there any way you can find out if she actually went?” Kreeger interrupted.

Melinda hesitated. “Why do you want to know?” He heard her sharp intake of breath. “You think… you think
she
killed Serena Vance…?”

Kreeger cut her off again. “Melinda, I’m not sure about anything at this point. Right now I just need your help.” His tone was harsher than he intended.

Melinda was silent for a moment. “I have an idea. Gimme a few minutes, and I’ll call you back.”

Kreeger sat down on a green-and-white striped lounge chair and watched two little girls take turns on the waterslide, screaming all the way down. They were having a ball. He remembered when his daughters were that age and played with utter abandon. Now they were serious, studious young women. He hoped they hadn’t picked up his workaholic habits, that they still had plenty of fun. He picked up a menu on the table next to him and realized that guests could actually order lunch from their lounge chairs. He sighed. He needed to get out more.

His phone rang again. It was Melinda.

“Melanie Fox was definitely in L.A. three days ago,” the young woman said. “I just spoke with Inez, one of Mr. McGrower’s secretaries, and she confirmed it.”

“How can she be sure she was actually in L.A. when she called?” he challenged. “A person can say they’re anywhere when they were calling from their cell phone.”

Melinda was excited. “I asked Inez the same thing. She said Melanie called a few times from the Beverly Hills Hotel, and she knows that because the name came up on the caller I.D.”

“I see,” he said calmly, although he was feeling anything but. “Thank you again for your help, Melinda.”

“You’re welcome, Detective. Anytime.”

He hung up the phone.

So if Melanie Fox didn’t kill Malik, who did?

He needed to call Anna. He was starting to get a very bad feeling about all of this.