Lisa Black - Evidence of Murder

“Jillian’s grandparents left a huge amount of money to her baby, Cara. Like a million and a half huge.”

Frank shoveled another spoonful of potato salad into his mouth despite having made the comment earlier that potato salad was a summer dish and there was something weird about eating it in March. “So Jillian was rich? Then she didn’t marry for the money.”

Theresa’s niece reappeared and collected her son. He took a handful of Theresa’s hair with him, but at least the danger of a spit-up had passed. Theresa began to rethink the glories of a large family gathering. “According to Drew, she’s never drawn on the money. It’s sitting in an account, waiting for Cara. Jillian paid her bills with her salary from Beautiful Girlz. Her parents disowned her, more or less. They didn’t care for her choice of careers, and they certainly didn’t care for her having a baby and not only not marrying the father, but not even telling them who he was.”

Theresa’s daughter, Rachael, chose that moment to dart in for another piece of her grandmother’s cheesecake, and Theresa took the opportunity to add, “As any parent wouldn’t. Something all daughters should keep in mind.”

Rachael just laughed in response and carried her prize off to a corner of the living room, rejoining the daughters of Theresa’s cousins. The girls burst back into conversation. Theresa’s heart gave a contented sigh to see her daughter laughing; perhaps she had managed to keep up enough of a show at home that Rachael’s life, at least, had gotten back to normal. She did wish the kid would eat something other than dessert, like potato salad, though the cheesecake actually had more nutritional value. “But Jillian’s grandparents felt sorry for her and slipped her money now and then. They died, three days apart, two months ago. They left all their assets to Cara.”

“Hmm. Lucky kid.”

“She’s now an orphan.”

“Okay. Poor kid. Very rich poor kid.”

With some difficulty, Theresa turned her back on a plate of brownies. “And now it will be Evan’s. Or will it? He’s not Cara’s father.”

“A man married to the mother is considered the father unless a court rules otherwise,” Frank recited around the potatoes.

“Unless the biological father shows up and sues for custody.”

“Obviously that mystery man hasn’t heard about Cara’s nest egg. Though isn’t it all tied up in trusts or whatever?”

“No. Her grandparents thought Jillian would need the money now, so that Cara wouldn’t starve to death before she reached her majority. They didn’t have much faith in either Jillian’s job or her fiancé, according to Drew. No trusts or mutual funds for them, just a big ole pile of money with no strings attached.” She watched Frank chew thoughtfully, no doubt deciding what he could do with a million and a half.

One of their aunts nudged him out of his daydream before Theresa could, placing a birthday cake festooned with pink-frosting roses among the other dishes. Theresa moved bowls out of the way to make room while the aunt grilled Frank about his latest girlfriend and when they could expect to hear some news. She did not give Theresa the same treatment. The nice thing about being a divorcée in a large Catholic family was that no one encouraged you to remarry. Oh, they had supported her engagement to Paul and planned to attend the wedding. They would be happy for her again if the same situation occurred, but they didn’t actively encourage the idea, an attitude for which she felt only gratitude. She had enough thoughtless coworkers encouraging her to “start dating again.” The thought made her want to gasp for air.

As a bachelor, however, Frank remained fair game.

“What about the phone number in her pocket?” Theresa asked him.

“The main line for some place called Delta Dynamics. They do data processing for trade shows. Don’t ask me what that means, but neither the receptionist nor the manager had ever heard of Jillian Perry.”

“Trade shows. She could have worked one of theirs.”

Frank said, “Yeah, and one of their employees slipped her his number. Maybe Jillian did take on side jobs.”

“Why? She obviously didn’t need the money. It could have been for a number of reasons, for that matter-a future contact for Georgie, or even Evan. He’s sponsoring a tech show at the factory tomorrow. I got that off his Web site.” As her aunt lit tiny pastel candles, Theresa asked, “What if Drew tried to get custody of Cara?”

“Applied for guardianship? Why would he do that? Does he want the baby?”

“Probably not. He seemed more interested in Jillian than her child.”

“He’d have to prove that Evan is unfit, or at least that he’d be a better guardian than Evan would.” He sneaked a finger into the frosting before his aunt could slap it away.

“You haven’t heard him discourse on the many ways in which he truly loved Jillian and Evan truly didn’t.”

“He’ll need more than that. This guy sounds like a loony tune.”

“He’s harmless,” Theresa said, but without conviction.

“Jeesh, Tess, how do you figure that? What you’ve described sounds exactly like your classic call-twenty-times-a-day, leave-notes-on-your-car stalker.”

She knew this to be correct, but still felt oddly protective of the weepy man. “Because I dated guys like him. Nerdy, sweet, too shy for their own good. The biggest mistake I made was marrying the one who wasn’t nerdy and shy. I don’t think Drew’s dangerous.”

Frank considered this, since he had met every boy she had ever dated, but still shook his head. “You don’t know that. Obsession can be a very dangerous thing.”

They paused to sing “Happy Birthday,” a chorus of happy and only slightly off-key voices. Theresa stammered through the third line; she had forgotten whose birthday it was, but consoled herself with the thought that the lack of oxygen in the room had starved her brain cells.

The birthday girl ripped into the wrapping paper like a human chain saw. Theresa’s aunt returned to cut the cake. Theresa didn’t envy her the job of dividing the swirls of colored frosting among close to fifteen panting children with strong views on the particular decoration to which they were entitled. She turned again to Frank. “Yes, obsession can turn violent. But so can greed, and the idea of that much money makes me look at Jillian’s marriage in a new light. What happened when you told Evan?”

“I said we found her body, he started crying, that was about it. I offered victim-assistance services, he declined. He asked all the standard questions, where, when, how did she get there. The usual.”

“And he said she disappeared while he was at work on Monday?”

“Yeah. She was doing the breakfast dishes when he left at nine thirty, gone when he got home about three.”

“What had she been wearing?”

“He couldn’t remember. At least not when I spoke to him today-it might be mentioned in the initial missing-person report.”

“Strange.”

“Not really. Do you remember what Rachael wore to school today?”

Theresa handed a slice of cake to a redheaded boy. “The same shirt she has on now, but her black jeans, which are way too tight and I hate them.”

“Yeah, but you’re female. I wouldn’t be able to recall what my date wore the last time I went out even if you promised me Indians tickets to do it.”

“But you’re not married to her,” Theresa argued.

“Married?” the aunt asked.

“Indians tickets?” the redheaded boy asked. Theresa stuck a fork in his cake for him to use and ushered the next child forward.

She said again, “It just seems weird. This guy marries an escort who’s had someone else’s child, someone else’s very wealthy child, and three weeks after the wedding the wife is dead?”