Chapter Eleven

"I'd like to invite you to lunch," Randal said to Barbara. As he could have predicted, she hesitated. A person with her fame had to be cautious. "White wine, salad and pasta, with fruit drenched in Grand Marnier? None of my sister's low-carb, no-booze diet."

She was softening.

"Bring a swimsuit. It's at my sister's house, and I'll cook."

"You sold me. When do we leave?"

"Now."

"I do love a decisive man. Five minutes."

She was as good as her word, and about eight minutes later, she was at the foot of the stairs. The only thing she carried was a handbag. "I assume she has towels."

He raised an eyebrow that her suit was small enough to fit into the little package. "Shall we go?"

They went in Sara's car, small and intimate.

At Sara's big house, he opened the door for her. Inside, she looked around approvingly. "California in Florida." She meant it as a compliment.

"Bite your tongue! Certainly let no Floridian hear you say that."

She laughed and he directed her to Sara's bathroom to change. As for Randal, he had trunks on under his clothes.

In minutes, she returned in her white swimsuit. It was a one-piece retro design that showed off her flat stomach and her beautiful legs.

Randal gave her an appreciative look.

She smiled demurely. "I have a personal trainer."

"He's done a very good job."

"Thank you," she said, looking at him. "I think your clients must do well."

He gave a nod of thanks. With their mutual compliments exchanged, they went to Sara's big pool. For thirty minutes, they swam and showed off and enjoyed themselves.

When they left the pool, they went inside. Barbara put on one of Sara's robes and sat down on a stool at the kitchen counter. Randal, in shorts and T-shirt—designer, of course—began making their lunch. He was the one to start the conversation. "I have the oddest feeling that you want to ask me a question." He braced himself for the question: What happened to you after the house party?

"I'd like to know about Jack," she said.

Randal's eyes widened.

"Not like that!" she said quickly. "He's Roy's son. I want to know how he turned out. I know what I've seen, but what's the truth?"

Randal was relieved. "Jack isn't like Roy. I was told that he was headed that way, but he had to start behaving himself when he was given massive responsibility at a young age. And thanks to Sara, and now Kate, he's a very good young man."

"I loved Roy, but he was dangerous. Being with him was like playing with a stick of dynamite. Exciting but not what you want all the time."

Randal put the pasta in the pot of boiling water. "And your job was exciting enough."

"Yes!" She paused. "I went to Roy's funeral. In secret, of course. I was quite dramatic, all in black, with a veil covering my face. Pure Victorian. I didn't fool his wife. She spit on me. Through my veil."

"Did she know who you were? I mean your name."

"No."

Randal took a breath. He needed to get to the point. "Kate remembered hearing you say that Harry killed a man."

Her shock couldn't be concealed. It took a moment for her to compose herself. "So my big secret is revealed."

"I assume that's what Derek Oliver was using for blackmail."

"Yes, but I didn't know anything about that. Harry didn't have the courage to tell me the truth before I got here."

"You told us that you arrived here thinking you were to do battle for justice."

"Exactly. I didn't lie when I told that."

"You just left out the bloody part," he said. "Like to tell me now?"

She took a breath. "When Harry was eighteen years old, he got drunk, had an argument, and a young man died."

"A would-be, nobody actor."

She laughed. "Little Kate did hear me. What an amazing memory."

"Who was he?"

"I have no idea." She put up her hand. "There's no use asking me a lot of questions because I don't know. All Harry told me about the trip was that I was to negotiate a deal and settle on a price. It was to keep it out of the press about his sexual orientation. When I got here, Derek Oliver told me about the murder. I was livid and I called my husband. But Harry wouldn't tell me the details, and I assure you that I asked him. At the top of my lungs."

"Oliver would keep quiet for money?"

"That's what he said. Do you think he would have?"

"No."

"Me neither," Barbara said softly.

They didn't say any more, as she had just verified her motive for murder. If Derek Oliver hadn't died, their lives might have been ruined.

It was when they sat down to eat that Randal asked, "What's the connection between your husband and James Lachlan?"

"Is there one? I know we met at his house, but I thought it was for convenience."

He didn't know if she was telling the truth or not. "There must be a connection. We're pretty sure that Derek found out what Harry did from information that's in the Palm Room."

Barbara didn't reply.

"They're all dead now," Randal said. "Harry, the murder victim, and Oliver the blackmailer. There's no more danger, so why did you come here now? It makes no sense—unless you're the murderer. Did you kill him?"

Barbara gave a bit of a smile. "No, I didn't. I really believed what Billy told us, that Derek had urgent business and left suddenly."

"His wife must have known that wasn't true."

She gave him a look he'd seen her do on the screen. The recipients always backed down. "You would know more about that than I would."

Randal just smiled—and waited. He knew she was trying to redirect the conversation to keep from answering his question.

She gave a sigh that sounded like defeat. "It's going to come out so I might as well tell." She put her shoulders back as though for courage. "Roy and I had a child, a boy. He knows about Roy's family and he wants to meet his brother. I came here because I wanted to find out what Jack was like. When I first saw him and he looked so much like Roy..." She shrugged. They'd all seen her faint.

Randal tried to conceal his shock. "You said he wants to meet Jack?"

"Troy idolizes him, even though he's never met him."

Randal couldn't stop the widening of his eyes. "Troy?"

"Roy with a T."

"Did you tell Roy about his son?"

"No, never," she said quickly. "It's hard to believe, but at the end of that week, I was pretty sure I was pregnant. I had tingling, nausea, et cetera. I was out of my mind with fear. I'd met Roy's wife. She was so awful! I asked him why he'd married her. He said, ‘I'm an honorable man. I marry every woman I knock up.' He meant it as a joke, but I knew he was telling the truth. I knew that if I told him I thought I was pregnant he'd move heaven and earth for us to be together. But I also knew what a life with him would be like."

"And you didn't want that."

"Of course not. My life with Harry was so very comfortable."

"Ah yes, Harry. Everything depended on him. You must have worried that he would throw you out when you told him."

"I was deathly afraid. Shaking with it." Barbara smiled. "But my darling husband was pleased. In fact, he'd talked to someone—probably Billy—and he knew all about my affair with Roy. He'd even asked for a description of him. Harry said, ‘Our child will be beautiful.'"

"And is he?"

"Quite beautiful. Not dark like Jack, but then, I'm blonde. Troy is lighter than his father."

"Do you have any photos of him?"

"One or two." She was being sarcastic. She went to her handbag and pulled out a small leather case that held several photos and handed it to him. "I'm going to..." She waved her hand to mean the bathroom.

He looked at the photos, all of them of a young man who looked like a softer, less angry Roy.

Randal picked up his phone. I don't mean to distress you, he texted to Heather, Jack's mother, but do you have any photos of Evan?

In minutes, a picture came through. Jack had his arm around a young man with light hair and eyes and they were laughing. Evan and Troy looked very much alike.

When Randal heard Barbara approaching, he quickly put away his phone. It wasn't his place to tell her that her son was there and that he'd probably saved Jack's life. Randal wanted to get back to the main subject. "What proof did Derek have that your husband had killed someone? What did he have to back up his threats?"

"I don't know. It was a long time ago, and I was angry at Harry for not telling me the whole story, and there was Roy and...it was all too much for me to remember the details."

Randal gave her a hard look. He didn't believe her. After all, she'd been on Broadway in Shakespeare's plays, with all those lines to memorize. He raised an eyebrow. "Afraid you'll incriminate him?"

She squinted her eyes at him. "All right. Derek Oliver said, ‘Tell your husband that I have the script and the film.'"

Randal's shock showed. "You think Harry wrote about the murder?"

"You mean the accidental death?" she said haughtily.

He wasn't intimidated by her look. "I mean a story about who Harry killed, and how he got away with it." Randal put up his hand. "You don't need to answer that. My sister says the writer's creed is, ‘Never let an emotion or an experience escape your pen.' Maybe Harry believed that too. What were—?"

She cut him off. "Don't ask me which and what or when. I've made it my business to not know any of that. I told you! When I left this house, I was pretty sure I was pregnant and I had to face my husband with evidence of my infidelity. Everyone was going to know it wasn't his child. Discretion was important to Harry. When he welcomed me home, I wasn't about to ask him what happened when he was a kid. We never spoke of it. Not ever!"

Randal wanted to change the subject—something Sara said he was good at. "So who do you think killed Derek?"

Barbara looked startled, but pleased at being asked. "Of course I've thought about that, and Lea and I've had a good chin-wag about it."

It was Randal's turn to be startled. Lea hadn't mentioned that!

"There's Reid," Barbara said. "I hardly saw him. He worked outside. Carried in the coal buckets, in a way of speaking. I can't imagine he had much of a reason to murder Derek. Besides, he just doesn't seem like the type."

The man who owned the place, Randal thought. "Rachel? What was she like?"

"She was eighteen and a spoiled brat. The worst of her kind. She was sulking and angry. She let everyone know that she didn't want to be there. I could see her killing if someone annoyed her enough."

Randal raised his eyebrows at that condemnation. "And Lea?" He was a bit afraid of what he'd hear.

"Downtrodden. It was like she'd lost hope for life. But then you and Kate made her light up. As for murder, anyone who had such low self-esteem that she'd marry a jerk like Derek Oliver isn't one to plot a murder. On the other hand, she must have been repressing a lot of rage. It could have come out."

Randal was quiet for a moment. "I guess we better get back."

Barbara didn't move. "You missed someone."

"Billy? Mrs. Meyers?" He wasn't serious.

"The girl, Greer. She was so awkward and odd. She was sixteen but she seemed much younger. Billy told us she'd been homeschooled, and that she'd been nearly kept a prisoner by her grandmother. Working for us was her first real job. Reid looked after her. She adored her big brother. Hmmm. Maybe Reid got sick of the way his sister was being treated. He was good with a hammer."

"Kate said the girl thought she wasn't pretty."

"She was not." Barbara shook her head. "He was a real bastard to that poor girl. Her teeth, her face, her weight. He never let up on her."

"Did no one defend her?"

"We all did. Well, maybe not Rachel, but Lea and I did. The truth was that none of us wanted to anger him." She paused. "I did a terrible thing. I was to play a character who was strange and made everyone feel uncomfortable. I mimicked poor Greer. I even used that fight—" She looked at him in surprise.

"What did you remember?"

"Greer and Rachel had a blistering fight."

"About what?"

"Rachel was shouting that Greer stole something. ‘I know you did it.'"

"Do you know what she stole?"

"No, I don't."

"Could it have been a toy? A stuffed animal?"

She gasped. "Yes! I think it was. Lea and I thought it was ridiculous."

Unless the toy was filled with jewels, Randal thought. His phone buzzed.

"Please take it," Barbara said. "Maybe your sister has solved the case. I'll meet you outside." She left the house.

Randal looked at the text from Billy.

In 1995, Barbara Adair played a neurosurgeon on a TV medical series for eight episodes. In an interview, she said she'd had to learn how to saw the top of a skull off. She added that she found the whole process fascinating and that she got quite good at it.

When Randal caught his breath from that bit of information, he texted Billy:

Harry Adair wrote a script and may have made a movie about the actor who was killed. No date on it. Don't think it was a blockbuster.

He sent a text to his sister:

It looks like Greer had motive and was capable. Barbara had motive and the know-how for all of it.

He included copies of the two texts he and Billy had exchanged.

Randal shut his phone off. He hadn't told about Troy. He'd save that information for when he was with them. He wanted to see Jack's face when he was told that he had a brother.

Smiling at the thought, he went outside to meet Barbara.