The House of Wolves (House of Wolves #1)(75)

“But you said you have made progress?” she said.

“It has to do with your father.”

He took one more healthy swallow of red wine, as if he were fortifying himself. Then he put his glass down, took in some air, slowly let it out.

“How come you didn’t tell me your father came to see you at your house the night before he died?” Cantor said.





Eighty-Nine



I HAD MY GLASS halfway to my lips, but then placed it carefully next to my plate, trying to keep myself calm.

“Excuse me?”

“Pretty simple question,” Cantor said. “Your father came to see you. You didn’t tell me. I’m just trying to understand why.”

“Why what?”

“Why he came to see you,” Cantor said. “And why you kept it to yourself.”

“So you’re still treating me like a suspect,” I said. I forced a smile. “Even when I dress up.”

“That’s not true. And also not an answer.”

“Who told you he came to my house?”

“Now you get to ask the questions?” he said.

“Just the one.”

“Okay,” Cantor said, putting out his hands as if pumping the brakes on the conversation. “Let me explain.”

“I can’t wait.”

Cantor ran a distracted hand through his dark curly hair. Took another deep breath. Leaned slightly forward, lowering his voice.

Cantor said, “I was so fixed on his whereabouts the day and night he died that I didn’t think about where he’d been the night before. So I circled back and talked to his driver. That guy Leo. And Leo said that he’d taken Mr. Wolf to your house. Said he was pretty drunk by the time he got there, too. Your dad. Not Leo.”

“He was,” I said. “From everything I know about the last few months of his life, he was drinking more and more.”

“So he was there.”

“You know he was.”

“But you told me you hadn’t talked to him during the last few months of his life,” Cantor said.

“I barely said anything to him that night,” she said. “He just wanted to tell me that he was sorry for being a bad father to me. He asked me to forgive him and told me he wanted me back in his life. I told him okay, I was back, just to get rid of him.” I paused. “I never liked my father very much. But I hated him when he was drunk.”

“So why didn’t you just tell me all this?”

“Because he died the next day, and a few days later I inherited everything because he died,” I said. “And I didn’t want you to think he’d told me about the will. Because I know how you think by now. And I knew that would turn me into some kind of suspect. Or another person of interest in the family.”

I reached across the table now, wrists pressed together, and said, “You should probably just go ahead and cuff me right now, Detective.”

He managed a smile.

“I didn’t know you were into that.”

“Not funny.”

“I had to ask about this,” he said.

“You make it sound as if I’ve been hiding it.”

“Only because you have been hiding it.”

“You need to trust me that it had nothing to do with anything,” I said.

“The way you trusted me?” Cantor said.

“I told him not to come. But he insisted. I told him one of the things I didn’t miss was talking to him when he was drunk, and if I was going to let him back into my life, I didn’t want him showing up in that condition. He said he wouldn’t ever again. He left. End of story.”

“I believe you,” Cantor said.

“Wow. There’s a relief.”

I turned and waved at our waiter and made a signing gesture to let him know I wanted a check.

“You’re leaving?” Cantor said.

“What was your first clue?”

“I haven’t done anything wrong,” Cantor said.

“Neither have I.”

The waiter brought the check. Cantor took out his wallet, but I had already handed the waiter my credit card. When he got back to the table, I signed and stood up.

“Do you honestly still think that I might have had something to do with my father’s death?”

Cantor said, “We could have cleared this up a long time ago if you’d been honest then and told me everything you just told me now.”

“Now you’re the one not answering the question.”

“No,” he said, “I don’t think you had anything to do with your father’s death.”

Cantor stood. I noticed people in the room staring at us, and I didn’t care.

“Is there anything else I need to know about the weekend your father died?” Cantor asked.

“No.”

Lying to him again.

I was on a roll.





Ninety



DANNY HEARD HIS DOORBELL ring a few minutes before eight. His brother Jack was shouldering his way inside almost before Danny had the door all the way open.

“You chump,” Jack said in the form of greeting.

Danny had been expecting a visit like this since he’d gone back to the Wolves.