Faye Kellerman - Blindman’s Bluff

“I don’t pay for anything, Peter. I cull. I talk about what I have, and the gallery owners talk about what they have. Sometimes I trade up and sometimes I trade down. It’s kind of fun.”

“My idea of fun would be to sell the collection and put the money in the bank.”

“That is an option.”

“But not yours. And that’s why I’m a philistine and you’re a connoisseur.”

“You’re not sentimentally attached to the paintings like I am. I see one painting and I think of Cecily Eden and how much fun the two of us had together talking about plants and gardens although I’m still mystified why she left her paintings to me and not her heirs.”

“She knew you’d appreciate them and you do.” He kissed the top of her head. “Let’s get going. If I have a spare minute, I’ll come with you to a couple of the galleries. It would give me great pleasure to see you dangle a Martin Heade in front of the wide-eyed art dealers.”

THE FIFTY-MILE RIDE went quickly, enhanced by good conversation and the clear cerulean skies reflected in diamond-studded water. With the sloping hills ablaze with wildflowers to the east and the sandy shores that marked the western end of the continent, Newport and its environs had to qualify as one of the most geographically scenic places on the planet. Exquisite in its beauty, the berg was also exquisite in its price tag, one of those cases where if you have to ask, you can’t afford it.

The area was teeming with traffic and tourists. The slowdown in the economy didn’t seem to have affected this marina. It was stuffed with sailboats, speedboats, catamarans, cabin cruisers, and yachts of all sizes and shapes. Galleries, boutiques, and cafés seemed to be the businesses of choice. Decker dropped Rina in front of a gallery, then checked his map and headed out to residential territory.

The Kaffeys had named their mansion the Wind Chimes, and it sat behind wrought-iron gates that included a guardhouse replete with sentries, and a twelve-foot hedge that seemed to stretch for blocks. After conversing with one of the uniforms, he and his clunker car were allowed to tool down the sinuous driveway surrounded by a forest of pines, firs, sycamores, elms, and eucalyptus. He would have stopped to gawk, but there were too many guards who kept waving him forward. When he reached the pebbled motor court, the mansion came into view.

Decker’s family had taken a family trip to the Biltmore in North Carolina when he was a kid and though he knew the place couldn’t possibly be that big, it still appeared otherworldly. It appeared that Guy Kaffey had been copying the Biltmore’s French Regency style. Like its model, it was fashioned from limestone and had multiple-peaked blue slate roofs with an abundance of gables and chimneys. He could have picked up more details but he was stopped by a private sentry. The man was squat and brutish looking and was packing a Saturday night special. After checking out Decker’s ID then radioing someone on his walkie-talkie, he decided that the LAPD cop passed muster. “Leave the car here. We’ll take you up to the entrance in a golf cart. And we’ll keep your gun.”

Decker smiled. “Leaving the car here is okay. Going up to the house in a golf cart is okay. Nobody touches my weapon.”

More radioing and walkie-talkie conversation. Finally, the sentry said, “What are you carrying?”

“Standard-issue 9 mm Beretta. Is that Mr. Brady on the wire?”

The guard ignored him, but he must have been cleared. A few minutes later, Decker was winding his way past the house down a paved pathway that led through flower gardens, ferneries, orchards, a grape arbor, and a vegetable garden spilling over with a variety of tomatoes, pole beans, basil, squashes, and baseball-bat-sized Italian zucchini. The golf cart stopped at a gazebo with a roof that matched the house, and everyone got out. The spot overlooked an infinity pool that bled into the Pacific blue.

Dressed in a blue blazer with brass buttons, white linen pants, and rubber-soled boat shoes, Neptune Brady was surveying the ocean through a mounted telescope. He was chewing gum, his jaw clenching and relaxing, as he moved the tube across the expanse of water. Decker took in the view before he spoke. The house was situated on a bluff-about fifty feet above the water. There were dozens of boats in the foreground and a couple of commercial liners on the horizon. Waves were softly breaking, white foam licking the sand. From the bluff’s height, it sounded like whispering winds.

Brady waved off his men with a flick of the wrist and within a few minutes it was just the two of them. He said, “I had this installed when the family first moved in.” He was still peering through the lens. “Kaffey refused the fence off the bluff because he claimed it ruined the view.”

“He had a point,” Decker said.

“Yeah, but it’s easier for someone to breech security.” Brady looked away from the lens and regarded Decker full face. “Not that it stopped them at Coyote Ranch.”

In the harsh sunlight, Brady had aged in just a few days: more wrinkles and more gray hair. His pupils were constricted, and his eyes appeared almost colorless. “I don’t know how much time I can give you. I may have to leave abruptly.”

“Where are Grant and Mace Kaffey?”

“At the hospital with Gil. He’s doing better.”

“Good to hear.”

“Thank God he made it through.” A heavy sigh. “I think it’s finally dawning on me…the scope.” He waited a beat. “It’s coming to an end for me.”

“What’s coming to an end?”

“Everything. My business was taking care of Guy and Gilliam, and I failed.”

“The family kept you on,” Decker said.

His jaw went up and down as he stared at Decker. “What choice did they have?”

“They could have fired you immediately.” And the fact that they didn’t is of interest to me. “They chose not to.”

“I think they’re too dazed to make changes. Once Gil recovers, I’m going to get axed.”

“What do you think went wrong?”

“It could be a thousand things. On the surface it looks like that once you found Denny, well…I guess everyone’s pointing a finger at Rondo Martin. But I can’t believe…I still think it had to be outsiders with inside information.”

Thinking about Joe Pine, Decker asked, “Anyone specific in mind?”

Brady sat down on a bench and stared at the ocean. “There were lots of maids and people working the grounds: here at Wind Chimes and also Coyote Ranch. At least ten people a day roaming around, weeding or watering or planting. Who knows what conspiracies go on behind my back?”

“Did the same people work at both locations?”

“Mostly yes, but there’s a lot of turnover. Guy would get angry and fire people, and then there’d be a whole new crop of workers.”

“Did you vet everyone who worked for the Kaffeys?”

“I did background checks on anyone Guy asked me about. But I wasn’t in charge of hiring and firing domestic help.”

“Who was?”

“I don’t know. It wasn’t me.”

“They never asked for your opinion?”

Brady’s jaw began working overtime. “This didn’t come from me, but I’m sure that some of their help didn’t have green cards. Like I told you before, Guy was cheap. If all he needed was a body to pull out weeds, he’d go for the lowest price tag. Maybe Paco Albanez would know more. He’s legal, by the way. I did the background check on him.”

“Who hired Paco?”

“Guy.”

“Who hired Riley Karns?”

“Gilliam. She put him in charge of all the animals-dogs and horses.”

“Where’d she find Riley Karns?”

“She hired him away from one of the horse clubs where she used to show her Morgans. I did a background check on him and nothing turned up. He had a good reputation with the animals. Once he was a skilled jockey. He rode quarter horses.”