In Their Blood (8 page)

“That’s right. Thank you.”

“Your father leaves quite a void.”

“Yes,” Jeremy said. “Yes, he does.”

Marina had backed into the corner, her arms crossed in front of her chest.

Winter seemed to be waiting for Jeremy to say something. He tapped his tasseled loafer against the floor.

“I see you’re clearing out my father’s office,” Jeremy said. “I was wondering why the family wasn’t asked to go through my father’s things first.”

“But of course you were.” Winter looked offended.

“No, I wasn’t.”

“Perhaps you should check with your uncle. He’s already been through your father’s belongings.”

“He had no right to do that.”

“I’m sorry? Isn’t he responsible for you and your sister?”

“No. He is not.”

“Then I apologize. A misunderstanding. But I don’t believe your uncle took much. A few pictures, a clock. I’m sure he’s planning on giving them to you. No reason to get all worked up. And after Ms. Champlain’s finished organizing, you’re welcome to come back and go through the papers again.” Jeremy felt the pressure of Winter’s hand on his shoulder as the dean coaxed him out of the office. “Again, Jeremy. So sorry for your loss. Your father will surely be missed by everyone here.”

Jeremy glanced back at Marina. She had picked up some papers, but she looked sad. Terribly sad.

Chapter 9

Elise was floating— weightless, disembodied, connected to the world only by a thin hose, an umbilical cord. Breathing, yet not really breathing. Immersed in darkness. An embryo— that’s what she was. And she was terrified of emerging from the protective womb.

She stood beneath a cluster of palm trees at the edge of her high school’s campus. Her friends were sitting on benches in the grassy quad between the buildings where they had their classes. They were on break. She could hear their laughter, even in the distance.

Elise had driven here this afternoon, like Jeremy had told her to do. He said it would make it easier for her tomorrow. Would it? Would anything ever be easy again?

She watched her classmates in their school uniforms— khaki pants and navy or green polo shirts. Megan spied her and waved. The others turned toward her, signaling for her to join them. They’d all come to the funeral, then to the Castillos’ house. They’d embraced her, cried on her shoulder. “Oh, Elise,” they’d said, “we’re so, so sorry.”

Elise took a step back so that she was blocked from their view by one of the trees. She breathed in the bark. She wasn’t ready. Not yet. Maybe never.

“Hey.” She was jarred by Carlos’s soft voice. Where had he come from? “I didn’t think you’d be in today.”

“I’m-I’m practicing.”

Carlos nodded as though he understood, though she doubted he did. There was a couple of days’ growth of shiny facial hair, so faint that he probably wouldn’t be sent to the office for not shaving. His blond hair was matted down from the band of a baseball cap. Her boyfriend. He was her boyfriend. She should be happy to see him, right?

“So, you’re back at the house,” he said. “Is it like weird being there?”

Of course it’s weird. It’s horrible without them. “It’s okay,” she said. “Jeremy’s home.”

He scratched his cheek. “Are you angry with me?”

“Why would I be angry, Carlos?”

“I don’t know. I was afraid maybe you felt like I deserted you.”

“I haven’t exactly wanted to see anyone.”

“So you’re not angry?”

“I said I’m not.”

“Yeah. Okay then.” He scraped off a sliver of bark with his fingernail. “So, like, do you want to hang out?”

She shook her head.

“That’s cool.”

The bell rang signaling the next class. Carlos looked relieved.

“Maybe you’d better go,” Elise said.

“Yeah. I’ve got chemistry.” He hesitated, as though he was going to kiss her, then stood back. “So I’ll see you around.”

“Yeah.”

Her friends had left their perches in the quad and were coming toward her.

“And thanks,” Carlos said.

“For what?”

“For not ratting me out.”

She wanted to ask him what he was talking about, but her
friends were swarming around her. “Poor baby.” Megan held out her arms. “Poor, poor baby.”

Elise returned home a little after three, and got out of her silver Volvo, not even sure how the car had driven itself from school. Autopilot— she was on autopilot. Flora’s car was gone. Elise remembered the housekeeper had said she was leaving early today for a doctor’s appointment.

She unlocked the front door. Her uncle had had the locks changed, but as she pushed the door open, her heart made a strange hiccup. Something told her to expect darkness, silence, an unfamiliar smell, a standing shadow. Like in her dream. And for an instant, she wanted to turn and run. But the foyer was brightly lit, classical music playing in the background. Geezer, lying by the entranceway table, wagged his tail but didn’t get up.

Elise stepped back out on the front stoop, closing the door, but not locking it. She tried to steady her trembling. Why was she doing this? Why was she making herself relive the worst moment of her life? But that night was a black hole to her. That’s all she could see. Blackness. But there was something else. She knew there was something else.

She remembered putting her key in the lock. But it hadn’t turned. It was already open. And she’d pushed on the door.

She did it now. Pushing the door, trying to imagine the darkness, the silence, the smell, the shadow. But it didn’t work. She saw only the brightly lit foyer, the photos on the wall, the empty vase on the entranceway table, Geezer watching her.

They’d left their luggage on the floor of the foyer that night. In a pile with their laptops and winter coats. The burglar had taken the laptops, her uncle had said.

The burglar. But it hadn’t been a burglar. She knew at a gut level it couldn’t have been a burglar.

The unlocked door. The laptops. Nothing else taken.

Someone had planned to kill them. A voice in her head kept telling her so. It spoke to her in her sleep.

It was the same voice that accused her. A soft voice, like an echo. Why did you disobey your parents? How could you have left them alone? Alone to be killed?

But what if she’d stayed home instead of sneaking out? She’d be dead herself, wouldn’t she? Would that have been better? Sometimes, she wished it were so. At least she wouldn’t feel this pain. A pain that wouldn’t go away. But she hadn’t been home that night. And now she was here, alive, in this world. Could her living have some purpose?

Like to find whoever had done this terrible, terrible thing?

She ran up the stairs to her mother’s office. In here. There must be something in here. But what? What was she looking for?

The blinds were partially closed and the outside light cast thin white lines over the desk, the walls, the small area rug. Her mother’s scent pulled Elise into the room. The same scent was on her mother’s tee shirt. The one Elise had found in the downstairs closet with three teardrops of blood. Her mother had worn it the day they came home from Madrid and Elise slept in it every night.

She sniffed the room hungrily. If she closed her eyes— but no. She wasn’t going to do that now. She’d hold the memories for later. She focused instead on the details.

On top of the desk were a Tiffany lamp, desk blotter calendar, paperweight, family photos, crystal clock, printer, and a docking station. No computer. Her mother had used only her laptop and brought it back and forth between home and work. Her dad had done the same. So with their laptops stolen, there was no way of knowing if either of them had anything on their computers that might lead Elise to the murderer.

Unless they’d backed up their laptops.

Elise pulled open drawers. The files, papers, and reports were disarranged, as though someone had already gone through them. At the back of one drawer, she found stacks of floppies and computer CDs. She examined the labels on the CDs, looking for something that might be current.

Nothing. She sank to the floor. A clipboard with a yellow pad was leaning against the side of the desk. The pad was covered with line after line of tight, scribbly writing. Just like Elise’s make-believe writing when she was a little girl. She pulled the clipboard against her chest and began to sob. She sobbed until the room became woozy and she was floating again.

Floating. Just floating.

A soft touch on her shoulder. “Elise,” the voice said. “Elise.”

She opened her eyes.

“Hey, Ellie,” Jeremy said. “What are you doing?”

Elise was hugging the clipboard like a pillow. “It, it wasn’t a burglar,” she said.

“I know.”

“You know?”

“A burglar doesn’t make sense.” Jeremy was in a tee shirt and jeans. Hadn’t he been wearing a suit this morning?

“Why didn’t you say something?”

“I was planning to,” he said. “Tonight, after I got everything arranged.”

“Arranged?”

“I got a job at PCM and I’m taking night classes at MIU. I start tomorrow.”

“I don’t understand.”

“I need to get on the inside and try to figure out who might have had a motive.”

“A motive?”

“Yeah.” He sorted through the CDs. “I see you’ve been busy.”

“I was looking for clues,” she said. “The, the murderer took their laptops. So I was thinking that there was something important on them. And maybe Mom had backups.”

“These are pretty old,” Jeremy said, “but I’ll check them out.”

“The police left a mess. Mom never made a mess.”

“I know.”

“And they probably took the newer CDs.”

“I’ll call the detective and ask her. I see you’ve found your clipboard.”

“My clipboard?”

“I told you at breakfast. You were in here last night. You were scribbling away.”

She studied the wavy, regular lines. She must have been holding the pen very tightly because she had practically pushed through the paper. “I wonder what I was trying to write.”

Chapter 10

The new-employee packet and company-issue laptop rested on the coffee table in the alcove outside the partners’ offices. Jeremy sat back on the hard leather sofa. The inner sanctum waiting area was complete with an areca palm in a brushed steel pot, several newsletters with the PCM logo at the top, a dish of hard candies, and an irritating painting made up of geometric shapes that changed with the angle of view. Was the painting supposed to symbolize the clever ways accountants were known to manipulate the rules?

Bud’s secretary, Gladys, had told Jeremy he’d been assigned to Irving Luria and to knock on Irv’s door when he was done with his paperwork. Jeremy had done that, but there was no answer. Rather than barge into the office as he’d done yesterday at his father’s office, Jeremy had decided to wait here.

He was wearing one of his new suits and a white shirt with thin blue stripes that he’d taken out of its packaging this morning. Wrinkle-free, the salesman had said. But the shirt was covered with packing creases and Jeremy hadn’t had time to iron it. Not that he knew how, or even where the iron was. So he had planned to keep his jacket on, though now he was regretting his decision as he felt himself perspiring under the heat of the overhead halogen lights.

He tapped his fingers against the armrest. The alcove was directly across from his mother’s office. Its door was shut. He wondered if his mother’s things had been packed away in cartons. Had his
uncle already been here, posing as the family representative, and taken what interested him?

The hallway was deserted. It really wouldn’t be all that difficult to sneak into his mother’s office. In fact, could someone have done that before she died? Taken her key, made a copy, returned it without her knowing? Then used the copy to get into the house the night of the murder? It seemed possible.

The door to his mother’s office beckoned him. Just a quick look. Just in and out. He leaned forward on the sofa and listened. A phone rang in the distance.

He went quickly to the door. Before he could turn the handle, it opened. A young woman with short, black hair and blue eyes stared at him.

“I’m sorry,” he said. “I didn’t think anyone was in here.” He recognized her from the gathering at the Castillos’ house. Hadn’t she wanted to talk to him that afternoon?

Low laughter echoed down the hallway. Deep voices were coming toward them.

The woman pushed past him and hurried away through an exit door. What the hell was that all about, and what had she been doing in his mother’s office?

The voices were closer. Jeremy stepped back toward the alcove and picked up a magazine just as Bud McNally and Enrique Castillo rounded the corner. He was surprised to see Mr. Castillo until he remembered that Castillo Enterprises was a major client of the firm’s.

“Jeremy,” Bud said, “good morning.”

Jeremy shook their hands. His palm was sweaty.

Bud turned to Enrique, who had a surprised but curious expression on his face. “Jeremy’s come to work with us,” Bud said.

“In fact?” Enrique raised his eyebrows. “You’re not returning to Europe, Jeremy?”

Jeremy shook his head. Although he was in his new clothes,
Jeremy felt awkward next to these two old pros who were so at ease in their surroundings.

“He wants to stay in Miami, to be here for his sister,” Bud said.

“Good, very good,” Enrique said.

“And he’s finishing up his degree over at MIU,” Bud said. “Isn’t that right, Jeremy?”

“I’ve already enrolled in a couple of night classes.”

“Excellent.” Bud squeezed Jeremy’s shoulder. “I’m expecting Jeremy to make us all proud when the time comes for him to sit for the CPA exam.”

“I’m sure he will. Certainly, if he takes after his mother.” Enrique took a deep breath, causing his nostrils to flare. A gold stickpin propped up his silk tie. “Your mother was a brilliant auditor. She’d worked on the Casillo Enterprises audit many years ago. I was delighted when she returned this year to take over for Irv.” Enrique turned toward Bud. “Perhaps Jeremy would be interested in learning about the real estate and sugar industries.”

Bud retained his congenial expression, but something seemed to be going on behind it. “How about it, Jeremy?” he said. “Would you like to work on the Castillo Enterprises engagement?”