David Handler - The sweet golden parachute

“Because he was afraid you’d think exactly what you’re thinking, Lieutenant,” Poochie said. “That he was nothing more than an aging gold digger. I told him to hell with what other people think. But Tolly was terribly sensitive. Surely you can understand that.”

“I guess. Only, why didn’t you tell us?”

Glynis answered, “We complied with you fully yesterday, Lieutenant. We granted you access to Peter Mosher’s last will and testament. We answered your questions regarding the estate of John J. Meier. My client’s own bequests were outside the scope of your inquiry.”

“Damn, lady,” Yolie fumed. “If you weren’t being such a nit-picky lawyer that man might still be alive. Don’t you get that?”

“I was doing my job.”

“Girl to girl, your job stinks!”

“You have no call to speak to me that way, Sergeant,” Glynis responded coldly. “It’s highly unprofessional, and I resent it. Lieutenant, I do not care for the adversarial tone this conversation is taking.”

“Duly noted. Can we please move on?”

Glynis continued to glare at Yolie.

“I’m no art expert, Mrs. Vickers,” Soave said. “Can you give us a ballpark figure on how much your collection is worth?”

“Why, I would have no idea. I’ve never placed a dollar value on it. That’s not what art is about, is it, Des?”

“Poochie, I’m afraid that’s very much what it’s about right now.”

“Well, that’s just fine then,” the grand old lady declared. “If you people insist upon being so vulgar I shall be in the conservatory with my plants and other living things.”

“Mummy, please don’t go,” Claudia protested.

But Poochie had already barged out of the kitchen, leaving them and her unfinished gingerbread behind.

“If she’s gone, I’m gone.” Eric flung open the back door. “Come on, hon.”

Danielle got up from the table and followed him, mustering an apologetic glance at Des.

“I’ve got to open up the shop,” Bement said as he, too, headed out.

Only Glynis and Claudia remained there at the table.

“In response to your question, Lieutenant,” Glynis said crisply, “the value of Poochie’s art collection has been placed at one hundred million dollars. And that is a very, very conservative estimate, considering the prices that modern pieces have been fetching at auction lately. It could easily be worth four or five times that much. A representative of Sotheby’s phones me regularly to convey how anxious they are to get their hands on it.”

“Correct me if I’m wrong,” Soave said to her. “You’re telling us that the ‘contents’ are worth more than the house, the land, the stock and everything else put together, am I right?”

“Unquestionably,” Glynis confirmed.

“So this explains it,” Des said to Claudia. “Why you’ve been so anxious to gain power of attorney over your mother’s business affairs.”

“I was concerned,” Claudia conceded coolly. “And why not? Some of those pieces belong in a museum. There’s no telling what Tolly might have done with them. If she wanted to leave the man a chunk of money, fine. But the family’s art collection? I couldn’t accept that. Because I love my mother and I’m worried about her.” Claudia trailed off, her eyes cast down at the table. “Is that so hard to believe?”

“Not at all. You’re not the only one who’s worried.”

“Meaning what, Des?” Glynis asked, frowning at her.

“Would you ladies please excuse us?” Des was already on her way out the back door. “We’ll be leaving you now.”

“Certainly,” said Glynis, saving one final glare for Yolie.

“That blonde ball of fluff better hope she never tangles with me again,” Yolie growled as Des led them across the courtyard toward their Crown Vics. “I will kick her skinny pink ass.”

“Don’t mess with Glynis, girl. She’s got major juice.”

“Not to mention some shifty moves,” said Soave. “Yesterday she fails to disclose Guy Tolliver’s huge windfall on a technicality. Today the man turns up dead. Was she just doing her job, like she said, or was she doing a job on us? How do we know she’s not a part of this thing herself?”

“We don’t know, Rico,” Des acknowledged as they arrived at their cars. She leaned against hers, gazing up at the magnificent brick hugeness of Four Chimneys. “What we do know is someone is after the grand prize-this place and all that comes with it. A calculated, systematic master plan is taking shape. And they aren’t done yet. There’s still one more step. Mighty big one, too.”

“The old lady,” Yolie said in a hushed voice.

“You think her life is in danger?” Soave asked.

“I know it, Rico,” Des said. “Poochie’s bound to be their next target. They won’t have everything they want until she’s dead, too. And these are not patient people.”

“We’re putting an armed guard on her right now,” Soave said with grim determination. “She needs protection around the clock.”

“I’m guessing she won’t like the idea much,” Yolie said.

“Count on it,” Des agreed. “But if she wants to stay alive, she’ll do what we tell her.”

“We can keep her safe, Des,” Soave promised. “But you’ve got to help us out here. Haven’t you got any idea who we’re after?”

“I wish I did, Rico. But I’m still a million miles from nowhere, and getting more damned frustrated by the-”

Her cell phone rang. She glanced down at the home screen. It was Mitch. She took his call.

“Your troubles are over, Master Sergeant,” he said to her excitedly. “I’ve just figured out how we can blow this whole thing wide open.”

“Kind of busy here,” Des said back to him over the cell phone.

“That’s what I figured,” Mitch responded as he sat behind the wheel of his truck, sipping hot coffee. “But I need face time with you. I’m parked out on Route 156 about a hundred yards from the driveway.” He and a crush of TV news vans. “I tried to get inside, but the trooper told me to am-scray. And it’s been a long time since I’ve heard anyone use pig latin, let me tell you.”

“Mitch, I can’t give you any time right-”

“Wait, have you guys figured out yet that Poochie’s the next victim?”

Silence from her end. Until she said, “We’re putting a twenty-four-hour guard on her.”

“No, you don’t want to do that. This is what I need to see you about. I have fresh doughnuts.”

“Mitch, I can’t just pick up and… did you get any jelly?”

“Do I know you or do I know you?”

He heard her sigh. “Okay, the trooper will let you through. I’ll met you at the fork.”

Eric’s fragrant sheep farm seemed uncommonly peaceful in the morning sunlight after the hubbub down at the road. It was so quiet Mitch could hear the bleating of the denizens as he waited there.

It took Des ten minutes to stride her way down the private drive to him, looking ultra-stressed. When the master sergeant was tightly coiled she developed a yen for jelly doughnuts. Absolutely her only junk food vice-unless you classified carrot sticks as junk food, and Mitch did.

She hopped in next to him and lunged for a football-sized jelly doughnut, attacking it ravenously. “Tell me how you figured out that Poochie is next in line. I’m a trained homicide investigator and I just got there. What makes you so damned smart?”

“I watched a great deal of Larry, Moe and Curly in my formative years. And I know how you can cut through all of the procedure and nail your killers. In movie parlance, it’s known as cutting to the chase.”

“That’s funny, we call it that in real life, too.”