Liar

31

I had just started up Highway 18, so I pulled over and took the phone from Travis.

“Rachel? Is Mary all right?”

“Mary’s fine. Her house is fine, too, although there was a fire.”

“A fire! Her house caught on fire?”

“No, the Karmann Ghia.”

“The…” I couldn’t say it.

“Jack and I went over there to pick it up, there was already a fire truck on the scene.”

“Not my Karmann Ghia…”

“I’m so sorry, Irene. I know you loved that little car. I know you’ve had it for a long time-”

“Since college,” I said blankly. “Since college.”

“Can you forgive me?”

“Forgive you?”

“If I had gone straight over there, after I talked to you-”

“Oh, Rachel. Don’t do that to yourself. I’m the one who left it there. What happened?”

“Molotov cocktail.”

“We must be rushing him. The bomb on Travis’s camper was much more sophisticated.”

“Let Travis drive-you’re upset.”

“Steer a van up mountain roads with one hand? Not if you aren’t used to it. But now he’s wondering what has happened. Explain it to him, will you?”

I handed the phone to Travis and started up Waterman Canyon. He spoke briefly with Rachel, hung up, then said, “I’m sorry, Irene.”

“Just a car,” I said, which was such total bullshit, I’m surprised he didn’t call me on it. But he fell silent, which is what I needed.

I was grateful for the mountain roads; they required my absolute concentration. The sun was setting, and by the time we reached Mr. Brennan’s large, lake-view mountain home, it was dark. I parked along the road, took out a large flashlight that Jack had apparently included in the price of the van, and Travis and I stepped outside. I felt the chill mountain air, heard the crickets sing, smelled the pine fragrance and saw the stars overhead. I promptly bent over double and started throwing up.

“Irene!” Travis rushed over to me.

“Some water, please,” I said between dry heaves. “Bottle in the van fridge.”

He brought it to me. I rinsed my mouth out. “Is it because of your car?”

“No.”

“The curving road?”

“No.”

“The altitude?”

“No. The mountains,” I said.

“The mountains?”

“I’m-I’m afraid of the mountains.”

He stopped asking questions.

“I was taken to a place not far from here once,” I said. “Against my will. Locked me in a little dark room. Spent three days beating the shit out me. Haven’t been to the mountains since. And if you ever want to see me go nuts, lock me inside any confined space.”

He reached over, took my hand. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“You had enough on your mind. Besides, I have to try to get over this sooner or later.” I laughed. “Frank is going to be so pissed.”

“At me? I won’t blame him.”

“No, me. He owns property up here. I always make him go without me.”

I stood up, took a little bit of time to get myself back together, or what I hoped would pass for together. It was an act, of course, but sometimes you have to make do with an act.

There was a dignity about Ezekiel Brennan that made one approach him calmly and quietly. He was a tall, broad-shouldered man with a full head of perfectly combed white hair, watchful gray eyes-slightly enlarged by the lenses in his pewter-rimmed glasses-a strong nose and chin, a firm mouth. He wore casual clothes when he greeted us at the front door-a light sweater and jeans-but it wasn’t hard to picture him in a finely tailored suit, carrying a leather briefcase.

Brennan was gracious to both of us, a perfect host. Travis obviously meant more to him than the average client. It would be easy to assume it was the millions, but even before he started talking about Arthur Spanning, I knew that he looked upon Travis as he might a grandson.

When he first saw my cousin, his smile became much warmer. “Travis!” he said in his deep voice, embracing him with an arm around the shoulder.

“Thank you for allowing us to come to your home on such short notice, Mr. Brennan,” he said, returning the embrace.

“What has happened to your hand?!” he asked.

“Oh-that’s a long story,” Travis said, then added, “I’m so glad to see you!

The hand on Travis’s shoulder gave it another squeeze. “An extremely difficult time for you, I know. I am so very sorry.”

“My dad-your friendship was so important to him. He was grateful for all you did to help him over the years.”

“That was my pleasure. And his friendship was equally important to me,” Brennan said. “I find myself somewhat at loose ends these days-I do miss him.”

He showed us into a spacious living room, where a small fire burned in a brick fireplace. Large windows and sliding-glass doors looked out on the lake below. It was too dark to see much more than the outline of the shore, but in daylight, it would be a beautiful view. Travis was watching me nervously. “I’m okay,” I said softly.

We declined the offer of a drink. With nothing more than a raised eyebrow, Mr. Brennan indicated to me that he expected to have a private conversation with Travis.

“I want her here,” Travis said, reading the look. “She may hear anything you have to say to me.”

“Whatever you wish, of course,” Brennan said, “but wouldn’t it be better-”

“When my father warned me about being bothered by the family,” Travis interrupted, “was he referring to the Kellys?”

“No,” Brennan admitted. “Your father was referring to your uncle Gerald and his other in-laws, the DeMonts.”

Travis studied the lawyer for a moment, then said, “I am willing to explain why I want Irene to be here, but I don’t want to upset you-”

“My boy, I am old, but I am healthy, and working in law has strengthened my nerves remarkably. Say what you have to say.”

“Irene is helping me to discover who murdered my mother. She needs to hear everything. And she’ll have some questions of her own.”

But Brennan was still caught on one word. “Murdered?”

“Yes.” Travis seemed unable for a moment to go on, and said, “Irene- will you please tell him?”

Brennan listened in silence as I told him what we had learned about the hit-and-run accident. He offered condolences to Travis, and seemed genuinely shaken.

“I was there when she married him again,” he said. “I was their witness. They were both very happy, despite the circumstances-Arthur was in the hospital, of course. But I must say, Travis, that your mother’s presence gave him strength.” He paused, then said, “Once, when she had left the room for a few moments, your father spoke of you and your mother coming back into his life, and of-of forgiveness. He said, ”Zeke, never doubt that I will die a happy man.“”

His voice caught on this last and he stopped speaking for a moment while he pulled out a handkerchief, ostensibly to wipe his glasses. He took a few minutes to do this, then said, “She never wanted his money, of course, but he made sure that she would be provided for. When she learned of it, I think her first thought was of you, because she asked me to make a new will for her.”

“Tell me that she signed it,” I said.

He looked surprised, then said, “Why, yes, she did.”

“Oh, thank God!” I said. They both looked at me as if I had lost my mind. “Please call Detective McCain of the LAPD for me,” I said. “Although he’ll probably tell you that I couldn’t have known about the new will.”

Travis understood then, and explained to Mr. Brennan, adding, “Most people wouldn’t be so happy over losing half a million dollars.”

“Peanuts, if it gets McCain off my back.”

“I’ll have a talk with him, if you like,” Brennan said.

“Thank you. Would you please help Travis make out a new will tonight?”

“A new will.”

“Yes-and for godsakes, leave me out of it. Travis’s will is made in favor of his mother, and I’m afraid there is at least one person who would like to see him die intestate.”

“Good Lord.”

“In fact, perhaps you could clear something up for us. Do Robert or Horace DeMont have any claim on any portion of Arthur’s estate?”

“Absolutely not. But a mere matter of law won’t stop those two. Robert and Horace are imbeciles. Their only genius is in their tenacity.”

“Perhaps not their only genius,” Travis said, and told him of my experiences at Robert’s home.

“I should have liked to see that window go!” he said. “But I still say Robert and his father are fools. And I was wrong-they have an additional ability to make the worst investment choices on earth. They have not, either one of them, realized that if it hadn’t been for Arthur, there would have been absolutely nothing left of the DeMont fortune by the time Gwendolyn died. There was damned little as it was.”

“Leda said something like that,” I said.

“Leda,” said Brennan, “is so sensible, I believe she must be a changeling. But Robert and Horace! Gwendolyn’s naive trust of them caused a great deal of harm.”

“But she was still wealthy when my father married her, wasn’t she?” Travis asked.

“When he married her? Oh, yes. Even the DeMonts could not destroy that much money in so short a time. Her fortune was rapidly being decimated, but there was wealth. It was still some time before he took a hand in matters; after all, he was only sixteen when he married her. And there were extenuating circumstances…” He looked over at me, then said, “Travis, your father instructed me to tell you the whole story, should you wish to hear it, but I cannot believe he intended-”

“I think he would have trusted me to make this decision, don’t you?”

Brennan smiled. “Yes, of course.”

“She knows my father couldn’t read or write,” Travis said, and seeing Brennan’s dismay, quickly added, “and I don’t believe she thinks less of him for that. If anything”-he glanced at me-“we’ve cleared up an old family misunderstanding.”

“How old was Arthur when he told you, Mr. Brennan?” I asked.

“Near his eighteenth birthday. I shall never, as long as I live, forget that day. I had already become fond of your father, but when he admitted his problem, I thought he showed remarkable courage.”

“He told me about that,” Travis said. “That was when you found Ulkins for him-oh, my God! You don’t know about him either!”

This news greatly upset him; they spoke for a long time about Ulkins.

“My father said W changed everything for him,” Travis said.

“Ulkins was well-paid,” Brennan said, “and liked your father immensely. As Ulkins himself often said, he only made information accessible to your father. It remained for your father-without the aid of notes, relying strictly on his memory-to process that information and make decisions. He built a fortune. Never doubt that your father was a very intelligent man.”

“Did Gerald do all of your father’s reading before that?” I asked.

“Gerald or Gwendolyn. Mostly Gwendolyn, by then.”

“Mr. Brennan,” I asked, “was there any sort of prenuptial agreement signed when Arthur married Gwendolyn?”

“Only as concerned Gerald. He was not to inherit or receive from Arthur any of the DeMont money. Gerald claimed to be happy about it; he said it would prove that his-insistence, shall we say?-on the marriage was not motivated by greed.”

“Did you believe him?”

Brennan considered this for a time, then frowned. “Gerald’s insistence didn’t matter-Gwendolyn wanted the marriage. As for Gerald, I believe that while he has always wanted money, money itself is not what motivates him. He enjoys controlling others. He enjoyed it on that occasion.” The frown deepened. “Gerald is, I’m afraid, someone your father worried over.”

“In what way?” Travis asked.

“I don’t know, exactly, but I do know your father had given your mother something that was supposed to ensure that Gerald never bothered the two of you. When I asked him why on earth Gerald would bother you, he merely said that Gerald was always very fond of Gwendolyn. I took that to mean that Gerald might resent you and your mother, on Gwendolyn’s behalf.”

“Do you know what it was Arthur gave Briana?” I asked.

“No, he was very evasive on that subject.”

“I’m sorry to say that whatever kept Gerald away must no longer exist,” Travis said. “Did Gerald come after Dad for money after Gwendolyn’s death?”

“No, your father and his brother were estranged. Gerald was not the only person who could not accept your father’s bigamy, and Gerald’s own regard for Gwendolyn perhaps made him more prejudiced than most. But Arthur loved Gerald-make no mistake about that. Gerald had raised him and was the last remaining member of his family; he spoke many times of the sacrifices Gerald had made for him. Not that having someone make sacrifices for you is all that it’s cracked up to be. Gerald was overbearing in those days.”

For a moment he was lost in thought, then said, “By the time I first met Arthur, when he was sixteen, he wanted nothing more than independence. It was clear to me that he was genuinely attached to Gwendolyn. No matter how hard I questioned him, he wouldn’t deny to me that he wanted to marry her, but over time I grew certain that the marriage was almost entirely Gerald’s idea. I even suspected Arthur had received a beating from Gerald over the matter, but could prove nothing. Arthur would never utter a word against his brother.

“Gwendolyn-well, perhaps Gwendolyn felt she had no other chance. And I think she, in her own way, saw an opportunity to help Arthur.”

“How so?” I asked.

She helped him to free himself from Gerald. She explicitly instructed me to do all I could to enable Arthur to get away from the DeMont farm every now and then. And although she never spoke of it specifically, she certainly turned a blind eye to his absences from home.“

“You think she knew about us?” Travis asked.

“I’m not certain, of course, but I think not. Your father wasn’t careless of her feelings. But even before she married him, she told me that Arthur was never, under any circumstances, to be spied upon. She said he had spent too many years under Gerald’s watchful eye, and now deserved an opportunity to get into any sort of mischief he pleased.”

“Leda seemed to think Gwendolyn would stand up for Arthur sooner than she would defend herself.”

“Definitely,” Brennan said. “But Arthur also protected her. Unlike him, she longed for that sort of protection. She disliked business matters; he thrived on them. She wanted to remain a recluse; he was sociable. She hated to leave that farm, he was glad to travel. She liked his company, but I believe she would have been unhappy with a man who was constantly under what she certainly thought of as her roof. Arthur preserved rather than destroyed that private world of hers. She knew he attended to the matters that her various fears would have caused to have been neglected. And so on the whole, I believe she was perfectly content with the marriage.”

“How did he start his own business?” I asked.

“With a loan, which he very quickly repaid.”

“A loan from the DeMont fortune?”

“No. There were virtually no liquid assets in the DeMont holdings by the time Arthur turned eighteen.”

“Nothing that could have been borrowed against?”

“Oh, certainly. There was the farm itself, a few other properties. But Arthur never would have borrowed against the DeMont farm.”

“So who loaned it to him?” Travis asked.

Mr. Brennan colored slightly, then said, “I did.”

Travis grinned. “Why, Mr. Brennan, it seems I’m much more indebted to you than I imagined.”

“Oh, no, Travis. Not at all. The reverse is true. Given access to information, your father was the shrewdest investor I ever met. He was very generous to me over the years. I have no hesitation in telling you he was my favorite client.”

“He made his money in the stock market?” I asked.

“Eventually, yes-that and other investments. At first, though, he concentrated a tremendous amount of effort in his own business. He did very well with it, took the profits in hand and promptly doubled them. I was very impressed, until I saw that he was just getting warmed up.”

“Mr. Brennan,” I said, “during the time of the initial investigation of Gwendolyn’s murder, Robert said he had contacted her to obtain money. He said she had agreed to give him a check. I know she loaned him money on previous occasions, but was that still going on by the time she died?”

“No, I don’t think so,” he said. “As little as she liked business, Gwendolyn was aware by that time that the DeMont fortune had in truth become the Spanning fortune, with, as I say, only the lands themselves untouched. The fields on the farm were planted because Arthur paid to have them planted. He never refused her anything she wished to purchase for herself, but he was so angry with the DeMonts for taking advantage of her, he did forbid any further expenditure on them.”

They talked a little longer, Mr. Brennan apologizing for not having any of the papers he wanted to go over with Travis. “They are in my office. Can you come by there tomorrow?”

We agreed to stop by. I excused myself to go outside while they worked on the will. “It’s chilly out there,” Brennan said. “Wouldn’t you rather wait in my library, or some other room?”

“Irene loves fresh mountain air,” Travis said.

“This may take awhile,” Brennan said. “Would you like directions to the town?”

“No, Travis is right. The outdoors will be entertaining enough.”

“Then let me lend you a sweater,” he said.

I was grateful for the sweater, but more grateful for the fresh air, the time to think. I found Mary’s temporary address and phone number in my jeans pocket, and thought of calling her. I couldn’t get a strong-enough signal, though, and gave up. Tired, I went to lie down in the van, thinking of Brennan’s offer of directions before I dozed off.

I awoke to see three strangers entering the house.

I made a mad dash for the front door, coming in on their heels, but not tackling anyone when I saw that I was the most threatening individual present.

“Don’t worry,” Travis said, knowing exactly what had caused me to rush inside. “These are Mr. Brennan’s neighbors. One is a notary. The other two will witness the will.”

They stared at my bruised face, then turned to Travis, and asked him how he hurt his hand.

Mr. Brennan had already made photocopies of the unsigned will. He gave one of these to Travis, saying, “Perhaps I should keep the only signed copy in my safe for tonight. I can give it to you in Las Piernas if you want to keep it in your own safe-deposit box.”

That was agreeable to Travis.

He offered to have us stay overnight, but Travis declined the offer. “We need to get back to Las Piernas,” he said.

I thanked him and returned the sweater. He seemed reluctant to see Travis leave. “I hope you know you should call on me any time-and you need not have the excuse of business. I always enjoy seeing you.”

I was searching the pockets of the jeans I had worn the day before when Travis came back to the van. I had just found what I was looking for when he said, “I didn’t think you’d want to stay up here tonight.”

“You’re right. Thanks. I do want to go back downhill, but not because of my phobias.”

“You’re over your mountain phobia already?”

“Sorry, no-progress made, but no cure.” I started the van, and pulled away. “That wasn’t what I meant. I had a chance to do some thinking while I was outside, and now I’d like to get back to talk something over with Rachel.”

“What?”

“First, take a look at this.”

He turned the passenger reading lamp on and said, “This was what you got out of your jeans pocket?”

“Yes,” I said. “Thank God I haven’t had a chance to wash them.”