Last to Know: A Novel(62)

With a little stab of worry, she took a gulp of the wine; she didn’t even taste it, her mind was so occupied with the new worry about Bea, about what she might do next. In fact, Rose suddenly knew that what she felt was fear.

She grabbed her cell phone and punched in Jordan’s number, at the same time wondering if he was still at the funeral. But this was on the six o’clock news, of course it would have been over hours ago. She heard the phone ring and ring, then the request to leave a message. Actually, that’s all Harry said. No name, no chat, simply “Leave a message.” So Rose did the same: simply her name and number, then she sat back, listening to the drumming of the rain on the porch.

Down the hall, she could hear Diz talking on his phone with a friend. The two girls had gone off for a visit with their aunt, in New York, escaping from the new chaos of their lives. Roman had gone to the movies in Boston and would stay the night with friends. Rose thought it was as if suddenly her entire family wanted to escape. Only Wally was left and he was downstairs, in the room she optimistically called the “library” because of the two tall bookcases holding the many foreign editions of Wally’s works, as well as the English-language ones, and where he sat at his computer, writing, Rose hoped, the next.

She wasn’t sure about that, though. There was a silence between Wally and herself; admittedly it had been there before the fire, before Bea came to share their lives, before Wally was arrested on suspicion of murder. Mike Leverage had told Rose not to worry; he said “a scandal” was all it was; Wally was no murderer, this would only sell more books. Right now, Rose did not care about that. She wanted her life back. Real life, the way it had been before Bea, the newly rich young woman in the expensive black coat riding in a limo to the funeral of a young woman she did not know. Again Rose asked herself why. You might have thought someone arrested on suspicion of her killing would not have shown up at her funeral.

She punched in Harry’s number again. This time he answered.

“I saw Bea,” Rose said. “At Jemima Forester’s funeral, and I asked myself why she was there.”

“The drama queen always wants to be where it’s happening,” Harry said. “I guess she misses the media attention she got when she was arrested for Jemima’s murder, probably thought they’d be interested in her again. Bea enjoys the limelight, knows how to milk it, in case you haven’t noticed that.”

“I’ve noticed now,” Rose said. “What I didn’t know was that she knew Jemima.”

“And we don’t know that she did,” Harry said. “Other than being at the scene of the murder.”

“There’s something about her that scares me,” Rose admitted. “I mean, seeing her there, all dressed up in expensive black like she was the sister or something, then stepping grandly into the waiting limo, just the way she did when she first came here, to stay with us.”

“I remember, you said ‘only for a week.’”

“It’s turned out to be a life sentence.”

Harry said, “I asked you to trust me before, Rose. Now I’m asking you again. I can’t talk about it but I want you to know we are investigating Bea and her mother. You will be the first to know if we find she’s into something she should not be.”

Rose’s first thought was drugs, and she said so.

“We’ll see,” was all Harry said, before he rang off.





47


As yet, Lacey Havnel had had no funeral; what was left of her was still wrapped in plastic in a drawer in the morgue. Now, though, it was decided she could be released.

“I guess we should call the daughter,” Rossetti said to Harry.

“She hasn’t called us, to inquire.”

“True.” Rossetti thought about that. “What kinda daughter is that, anyway, that doesn’t call to ask when she might be able to bury her mom.”

“I’d call that a bad daughter. Or maybe no daughter at all.”

“You still think maybe Bea is not Havnel’s kid?”

Harry sighed, thinking about it. “None of it makes sense,” he said, after a while. “She’s clearly daughter enough on paper to claim the bank accounts and the insurance. So Lacey Havnel’s proper daughter I guess she is.”

“Then who is the father? And where is the father?”

Harry shrugged. “Perhaps he’ll pop out of the woodwork now money is involved. That’s usually the way things happen.”

“Odd, though,” Rossetti continued on his theme. “Bea goes to the funeral of a young woman she does not know, yet never even asks about her own mom.” He looked for Harry’s reaction. Harry had always been soft on Bea and he thought he would make another excuse for her, but this time Harry did not.

“Since she hasn’t called us, I’ll call her,” Harry said. “Tell her she can send whatever funeral home personnel she chooses to pick up the body, and that she can bury her mother anytime she wishes.”

He took his cell phone and punched in Bea’s number. She answered on the first ring.

“Harry,” she said.

He was surprised; the last time they had met it had been “Detective Jordan.” “I’m calling to tell you that your mother’s body can now be released. I suggest you have the funeral home of your choice deal with it. I’ll make sure the necessary papers are available immediately.” There was a long silence. Harry raised his brows at Rossetti. “Are you there, Bea?” he asked, and was answered by a sob. This time he rolled his eyes.