Win (Windsor Horne Lockwood III #1)(59)

“Didn’t you just tell me this is only about an art heist to you?”

“I did, yes.”

Leo Staunch turns both palms to the sky and shrugs. “Then you don’t give a shit who killed Strauss, do you?”

Staunch has me there.

We sit in silence for a moment. In the distance, I can hear a beeping noise. I wonder how they got in, but I imagine hospital security is nothing for a man like Leo Staunch.

When he speaks again, I can hear the anguish in his voice. “She was my only sister. You get that?”

I wait.

“Sophia, she had her whole life in front of her. And then, poof, gone. Our poor mother, happiest woman you ever met before that day, she cried every day for the rest of her life. Every. Single. Day. For thirty years. When Mom finally died, all everybody kept saying at the funeral was, ‘At least, she’s with her Sophia again.’” Staunch looks down at me. “You believe in that stuff? That my mom and my sister are reunited somewhere?”

“No,” I say.

“Me neither. It’s just the here and now.” He straightens his back and puts his hand on my forearm. “So I’m going to ask you one more time. Do you know where Arlo Sugarman is?”

“No.”

The door opens, and the big guy leans his head in. Leo Staunch nods at him and rises. “When you find him, you’ll let me know first.”

It wasn’t a question.

“Why Sugarman?” I ask. “What about the others?”

Leo Staunch moves to the door. “Like I said before, I know your rep. If we go to war, you’ll probably take a few of my men down. But I don’t care about the casualties. You don’t want to cross me, Win. The price will be too high.”





CHAPTER 21



Three days later, I am transported by helicopter to Lockwood Manor.

I am better, of course, but I recognize that I am nowhere near one hundred percent. I would estimate that I am working somewhere between sixty-five and seventy percent capacity, and modesty prevents me from saying that I, at sixty-five percent, am still a potent force.

Nigel Duncan greets me by saying, “You look better than I thought.”

“Charmed,” I reply, and because I have no more time to waste: “Tell me about the Armitage LLC.”

We stroll toward the house in silence.

“Nigel?”

“I heard you.”

“And?”

“And I won’t respond. I won’t even bother responding whether I know what you’re talking about or not.”

“Loyal to the end.”

“It isn’t loyalty. It’s legality.”

“Attorney-client privilege?”

“Precisely.”

“No, sorry, that doesn’t play here. You are already listed as the attorney on the holding.”

“Am I?”

“Duncan and Associates.”

“There are probably other firms with that name.”

“Do you know who benefits from Armitage LLC?” I ask.

The main house grows ominous as we draw closer. It has always been thus for me, since I was a young child. Every home is its own independent country. I stare at Nigel. I see his mouth is set. His jowls bounce with every step.

“Ry Strauss,” I say. “It paid his bills.”

Nigel’s expression does not change.

“You need to tell me what’s going on,” I say.

“No, Win, I don’t. Even if I knew—and again I won’t confirm whether I have a clue what you’re talking about—I don’t need to tell you anything.”

“It could be connected to Uncle Aldrich’s murder. And Cousin Patricia’s abduction. It could give us the answer to the Hut of Horrors. It could save lives.”

He almost smiles. “Save lives,” he repeats.

“Yes.”

“You’re usually not one for hyperbole.”

“I’m still not.”

“Ah, Win, I love you. I’ve loved you all your life.” He stops and turns to me for the briefest of moments. “But if you want my advice, I would stay out of this.”

“I don’t.”

“Don’t what?”

“Want your advice.”

Nigel lowers his head, smiles. “You want to right wrongs, Win. But you always seem to leave collateral damage in your wake.”

“There is collateral damage in everything.”

“That may be true. It’s why in the end I stick to the rule of law.”

“Even if that leads to greater collateral damage?”

“Even if.”

“I could press my father on this.”

“You could, yes.”

“I assume Windsor Two was the one who set up the shell company.”

“You can assume what you want, Win.”

“Where is he?”

“He’s on the practice facility.”

“So he’s feeling well.”

Nigel doesn’t bite. “I’ve set up the east wing suite for you. We have medical personnel and a physical therapist on call should you need it.” His eyes are moist. “I’m glad you’re okay after your ordeal, but if you insist on keeping this up, one of these days…”