Hot Money (7 page)

“You’ve told me precisely nothing,” he said glumly. Then his expression brightened. “How about we trade information?”

Michael shook his head. “As innocent bystanders we don’t need your information.”

“Not even the fact that the Laffertys were headed for an ugly divorce?”

“That’s gossip,” Michael said, his expression blank. If the announcement had stirred his interest, he’d determined to keep it hidden.

Molly was less inclined to dismiss the news so readily. “Who’s your source?” she asked.

“Can’t reveal it,” Ted said smugly.

“How nice,” Michael commented dryly. “A reporter with ethics.” He opened the car door for Molly and Liza. When they didn’t climb in, he shrugged and walked around to the driver’s side and got in himself. Just to emphasize his impatience, he started the engine.

Molly scowled at him and tried to figure out how she could wheedle more information out of Ted Ryan, while giving nothing away herself. If Tessa and Roger had been about to split up, that could have a definite bearing on the case. Since Roger was reportedly wildly in love with Tessa, it must have been her decision to walk away from the marriage.

“Who was filing for the divorce?” she asked.

“The old man.”

“Roger?” Liza said, her astonished tone matching Molly’s reaction. “Why? I’d always heard he was nuts about her.”

“He was until he found her in bed with one of his best friends.”

“Hernando Viera,” Molly guessed.

“Who?” the reporter said blankly. “That’s not the name I was given.”

“Who then?”

“Dupree. You know him?”

“Clark Dupree, one of the city’s most prominent development attorneys,” Molly said, barely hiding her astonishment. Aside from being Roger Lafferty’s best friend, he was also Patrice MacDonald’s regular escort. That could certainly explain why she’d cut Tessa dead in that Bal Harbour boutique. It might also explain why she might want to murder her.

Clark Dupree and Tessa Lafferty. Now there truly was a picture, Molly thought, exchanging a startled glance with Liza. The dapper, slick, courtroom savior of more than one major South Florida development and the woman who professed to be dedicated to saving the environment from the encroachment of just such developers.

Admittedly Tessa was no Marjorie Stoneman Douglas, the well-known, feisty environmentalist, who had been an outspoken proponent of preserving the Everglades well past her hundredth birthday. But Tessa had been widely regarded as antidevelopment. Obviously her ethics, such as they were, had never carried over into her bedroom, something that probably should have been clear from the first indication that she had affairs the way some women changed hairstyles.

“No comment?” Ted prodded, obviously pleased that his revelation had rendered them speechless.

“What’s to say?” Molly said discreetly. “Do you think that has some bearing on the case?”

“Roger Lafferty was here tonight, right?” the reporter said. “With his wife?”

“Yes. What’s your point?” she responded, being deliberately blank in the hope that Ted Ryan would spill more valuable information.

“So was Clark Dupree.”

“With Patrice MacDonald,” Liza reminded them.

“If you ask me, that raises all sorts of possibilities,” the reporter said. Then, as if he were expounding on a Ph.D. dissertation thesis, he added, “Jealousy always tops the list of motives in cases like this. We’ve got triangles all over the place.”

“Then I suggest you share your insights about the geometric arrangement of the suspects with the investigating officers,” Michael said stiffly. He glared at Molly and Liza. “Are you two coming or not?”

“We’re coming,” Molly said, defeated. Michael wasn’t about to let them trek back inside for more sleuthing. They might as well go on home and compare notes. Maybe one of them had noticed something that would yield a clue when added to what the others had seen.

Ted Ryan sidled closer to Molly and edged her away from the car. “I’ll call you later, okay?” he said in an undertone not meant to be overheard.

Something in his voice set off warning bells inside her. “What for?”

“So we can talk without the cop listening to every little word.” He gave her a conspiratorial little smile that she belatedly realized was meant to make her heart flip over. Instead her stomach turned. Surely he wasn’t flirting with her.

“Mr. Ryan …”

“Ted.”

“Mr.
Ryan
, I really don’t have anything more to say,” Molly said dutifully.

It was one thing to snoop around herself. It was quite another to share her observations with the media. Michael had been right about that much at least. That really would be asking for trouble with her boss and her ex-husband. The fewer times her name was mentioned by the media, the better they both liked it. It had appeared all too often in recent months and usually in connection with messy murder cases just like this one. It was past time for her to start maintaining a very low profile. Vince had already been pressed to fire her, twice in fact. He’d held out so far, but she couldn’t count on that happening again.

Engaging in some fast talking, she did her best to discourage Ted Ryan from calling. Unfortunately, judging from his expression and his persistent nature, it was unlikely to do any good.

“What time is he calling?” Michael inquired when they were finally on their way home.

“Who?”

“The young stud.”

Molly regarded him in astonishment. “Ted Ryan? A stud?”

“The man has the hots for you.”

She laughed aloud at the mere idea of that, then wondered if that hadn’t explained the way he’d made her feel, that hint of flirtatiousness she’d caught in his voice. “Please,” she protested, though not as vehemently as she might have moments earlier. “He’s barely into his twenties.”

“And you aren’t out of your twenties. I’m telling you he’s got a thing for you. I could see that last time we bumped into him during the Miami Beach investigation.”

“The only thing Ted Ryan has the hots for is a good story. He’s very ambitious and he figures I might know something that will enhance his position at the paper.”

“Oh, I don’t doubt he’s after your mind, but believe me, he hasn’t missed an opportunity to survey your body as well. Thoroughly, I might add.” His scowl grew more ferocious. “Top to bottom. And back again.”

“I get the picture,” Molly mumbled.

“You sound miffed, Detective,” Liza observed from the backseat. She sounded downright delighted by it, too.

Molly regarded the pair of them as if they’d both gone around the bend. The possibility that Michael O’Hara might be jealous was almost as ludicrous as the thought of Ted Ryan being genuinely infatuated with her.

She was so caught up in that particular scenario, she completely missed the opportunity to spend a couple of hours comparing notes with Liza and Michael. He parked her car, walked them to the doors of their neighboring apartments, then departed with barely a good night, still clearly disgruntled by the whole episode with Ted Ryan. Molly stood staring after him in astonishment.

Liza slipped inside her own condo, muttered something about exhaustion, and shut the door. Molly was left standing in the hall, wide awake, with not a single soul to talk to.

“It would serve you both right if I did call Ted Ryan,” she grumbled as she slammed her door behind her.

•   •   •

“Brian, why don’t we go to Vizcaya today,” Molly suggested the next morning the minute her son walked in the door after his overnight visit with his friend Kevin. She winced at his choice of attire, a clashing combination of red and hot pink with some turquoise thrown in. She probably should have been grateful that his socks at least matched. Hell, she thought, she ought to be thankful he’d even remembered socks. She wondered if she dared to hope that he’d taken his toothbrush.

“How come you want to go there?” he asked.

“I’m a mother. Do I have to have a reason?” she responded, because to be perfectly honest, she didn’t have one.

Though she’d thought about it all night, she couldn’t explain rationally exactly why she felt this compulsion to follow through on Tessa’s murder. Part of it had to do with friendship and protecting Liza, though her intrepid friend was certainly more than capable of standing up for herself.

Maybe some of it had to do with the sense of satisfaction she’d felt when she’d played a small role in solving those previous cases.

Maybe it even had to do with her approaching birthday and her vague need to feel that she was finally making something of her life, rather than just surviving.

Hell, maybe she was still trying to prove to Hal DeWitt that the approval he’d always withheld didn’t matter anymore because she finally approved of her own worth. The first time she’d felt that way about herself had been when Michael O’Hara had really listened to her insights during his investigation of the murder of her condo president. She never wanted to lose that feeling of accomplishment and self-respect again.

Of course, there was also the undeniable curiosity factor, she admitted ruefully as she awaited Brian’s response. She liked digging for clues the way some people liked sifting through rubble for artifacts from another era.

“What do I want to look at an old house for?” Brian grumbled finally. “I wanted to go swimming.”

Since telling him a visit to Vizcaya would be educational was likely to be regarded as only one step above eating broccoli, Molly hit on the one thing she knew would fascinate him. It was a low tactic, but guaranteed to work.

“Someone died there last night,” she said casually. “During the party.”

His eyes immediately widened with excitement. “At the party? Wow! Did you see him? What happened? Did he fall into the buffet table or something?”

“Actually, she fell into the bay.”

“Did a shark get her?” he asked with ghoulish enthusiasm.

“No, a shark did not get her.”

He looked disappointed. “Will we get to see her if we go?”

“No. They took her away last night.”

His interest began to flag. “Then why—”

“We might be able to find clues that will help the police figure out what happened.”

He regarded her worriedly. “I thought Michael didn’t want you doing stuff like that anymore.”

Ever since he’d joined Michael’s soccer team, the little traitor thought Michael had hung the moon. When it came to choosing sides, she didn’t stand a chance. “I’m sure he’d think this was okay. It’s not like I’ll be questioning suspects or anything. Do you want to come or not?” she asked, losing patience. “You can stay here and do your homework, if you’d rather.”

“I’ll go,” he said hurriedly. “Let me put my stuff away.”

Molly paced impatiently as she waited for Brian to drop his pajamas and video games off in his room. Since that normally consisted of heaving the overnight bag into the middle of the floor, where it would rest until she picked it up, she couldn’t imagine what was taking him so long.

Halfway to his room to check on him, she heard his voice. It was hushed and filled with anxiety. As she turned the knob on his door, he said a quick good bye and hung up in an obvious rush. By the time she had the door open, there was no mistaking his guilty expression.

“Who was that on the phone?” she asked suspiciously.

“Just a friend.”

“Does this friend have a name?”

He rolled his eyes. “Of course he has a name, Mom.”

“Care to share it with me?”

He considered the request, then shook his head. “Nah.”

“Brian!”

“Don’t I get any privacy around here?” he muttered in disgust.

Since privacy was a big theme with the two of them these days, Molly found herself neatly caught between a rock and a hard place. “Okay,” she said finally, “but if I find out that the person on the other end of that line was Michael O’Hara, somebody around here is going to pay big time for tattling.”

Brian met her gaze evenly in a look he’d obviously perfected since knowing the detective. It was even more disconcerting delivered by her son. Maybe she should have told him this tour of Vizcaya was educational and hoped for the best. The truth was, though, that she hadn’t wanted to risk his saying no. She wanted company as she wandered those grounds again, even in broad daylight. She didn’t expect to encounter any danger with police camped out there, but Brian’s cheerful presence might counteract the gloom.

Based on that suspicious phone call, Molly was not all that surprised to find Michael waiting for them at the ticket booth at the entrance gate to the estate. He’d managed to time his arrival perfectly. If she’d noticed him there when she’d driven past on her way to the parking lot, she’d have kept right on going. She directed a sour look at her son.

“I had to tell him, Mom. He and I have a deal. He thinks you’re too impet … impet … something.”

“Impetuous,” Michael said for himself, ruffling Brian’s hair affectionately. His gaze was pinned on Molly, though. “Mind telling me what brought you by here this morning?”

“I don’t suppose you’d buy a story about Brian needing to tour the place for a school project.”

“Oh, I’d buy it,” he said agreeably. “But it does differ somewhat from his version.”

“You really didn’t need to come running all the way over here. How dangerous could it be to take a guided tour?”

“No tours,” he said, pointing to a sign on the ticket booth that she hadn’t noticed earlier. “It’s a crime scene, remember? The police don’t want a lot of people trampling on potential evidence.” “Oh.”

He slid his hands into the back pockets of his jeans and rocked back on his heels. “Okay, Molly, out with it. Why did you come back? It’s usually the murderer who returns to the scene of the crime. Since you weren’t out of my sight until after Tessa’s body was found, I think we can rule that out.”

Molly considered skirting the truth yet again with some song and dance about simply wanting to walk the grounds, but it was pointless. Besides, with the gates closed to the public she couldn’t even get on those grounds alone. With Michael as an ally, she had a shot at checking out the theory that had come to her in the middle of the night.