Chapter 21
“I left my job because of the impossible hours and asshole bosses,” I said to Ackerson, the lie so generic it told her nothing.
“Being a junior in those firms is brutal. A constant churn of burned-out twentysomethings. I wanted more out of life—I was deciding what to do next when I met Diya. Seemed like a sign from the heavens to take a big leap and head out here.”
No one from DeJong, Greyson, 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 were mine.”
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 there when 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 get changed…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.”
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, Ackerson had been 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 inherited nothing in 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 was his money 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.