The Heiress's 2-Week Affair. Marie Ferrarella
“What? I read People magazine. Sue me.”
“That’s the one,” Natalie replied with a sigh, standing up again. Her grandfather, Joseph, had owned the diamond mine from which the multifaceted, near priceless gem had emerged, or so she had heard from her stepmother. Her father’s fortune was partially built on it.
Did he kill you for it, Candace? Did whoever did this to you try to take the ring only to have you fight him off? You should have let him have it. It was a stupid rock…it wasn’t worth your life.
A thought suddenly hit her, and she looked up at the two detectives. “Anyone notify my father yet?”
Parker and Davidson exchanged looks. She had her answer. Notification of a loved one’s death was never high on anyone’s to-do list.
“Not yet,” Parker answered grimly.
Natalie nodded, already resigned to her part in this. “I’ll do it. Let me know what the ME comes up with as soon as there’s a report.”
Parker frowned, but his tone was kind as he tried to make her understand his position. “Natalie, we can’t have you—”
She stopped him before he could finish voicing his protest. “Unofficially,” she emphasized. “Notify me unofficially.” There was no room for argument in her voice. She looked around. “Where are the kids?”
“Kids?” Davis echoed.
“Kids,” she repeated. “Candace’s kids. Mick and David. My sister has—had—two children. Dispatch said the nanny found her and called this in. Where are they?”
“Take it easy. She took them back to her sister’s house. Don’t worry, Sanchez went with her,” Parker said, mentioning another detective. “Um, correct me if I’m wrong, but from what I heard, your sister really didn’t keep close tabs on her kids.”
“No, she didn’t.” She needed to get in touch with the nanny, Natalie thought as she left.
She had the woman’s name and number programmed into her cell phone. She’d already checked out Amelia Pintero’s background to satisfy herself that her young nephews were in good hands—and not because Candace had asked her to. Candace, as she recalled, was just glad to have someone else take care of them for her. She would have used Gypsies if they’d crossed her path before Amelia had.
Natalie knew that it was a given that she wouldn’t be allowed to investigate her sister’s murder, but there was no law that said she couldn’t look into it on her own when she was off duty. And even if there was, there was no way she was about to abide by the restriction. She and Candace hadn’t gotten along in a long time, but blood was blood and after all was said and done, Candace was still her sister. More, she’d been her twin. A part of her was dead.
She deserved some answers—and the killer deserved to be put away for the rest of his life. It was as simple as that. And she planned to kick off her investigation by going to The Janus, the casino where Candace was last seen. She was going to have to find a way to get a look at the security tapes, to see if someone had followed her sister when she left the casino—or if, and this scenario was far more likely, Candace had elected to leave the casino with someone new.
In her heart, Natalie had always known that men would be her sister’s downfall.
And that makes you different how? a mocking tone in her head queried. For her, it hadn’t taken a squadron of men; all it had taken was one. One man who had sworn his love for her, given her an engagement ring and then pulled a disappearing act.
It had made her back away from the entire species.
Damn, she hadn’t thought about Matt in, what? A couple of months or so.
Now was not the time for a stroll down memory lane, Natalie chided herself as she pulled up in her father’s winding driveway.
Natalie took a deep breath, bracing herself for the ordeal ahead. It didn’t really help.
With effort, she got out of her car.
The walk from the driveway to the front door felt exceptionally drawn out and almost painful, a little like a prisoner walking the last mile before his execution, she mused.
Clive answered the door. He smiled at her, looking both formal and kind at the same time. It was a feat she never quite understood how he accomplished. A pleased light entered his hazel eyes. “Miss Natalie, what a pleasant surprise.”
She knew he meant it. For a second, she allowed herself to absorb his words, and then she set her mouth solemnly. “Not so pleasant I’m afraid, Clive. Is my father home?”
To his credit, Clive displayed no curiosity, asked no questions. “Yes he is, Miss, but I fear that he doesn’t seem to be himself today.”
Natalie looked at the butler in surprise. Had her father heard about Candace? But how? The police were keeping everything under wraps for now. Their main logic behind this was to stave off the media vultures for as long as possible. They could feed on this kind of fodder for six, nine months at a time. And they would. But right now, they weren’t supposed to know.
Had there been a leak?
“Why?” she pressed. “What’s wrong, Clive?”
She knew that the man was very closemouthed, but she also knew that while she’d lived in this cold mausoleum of a house, she had been his favorite. So she looked up at the tall man and waited for a response.
It came. “It’s the Tears of the Quetzal, Miss. I’m afraid that someone seems to have made off with it.”
An image of Candace, flaunting the ring in front of the cameraman, flashed through her mind. It was immediately followed by the sight of her lifeless body lying on the rug, her hand denuded of the legendary ring.
“You can say that again,” she murmured under her breath. “Where is he?”
“He’s on the terrace, Miss. He’s been there for most of the night. I tried to get him to come in, but…” His voice trailed off.
“You’re a good man, Clive. But some people won’t allow themselves to be helped.” She was talking about Candace—not her father—but for now, it was applicable to him as well.
Turning, Natalie made her way to the back of the house, no small feat. As far as houses went, she’d always felt that this one could have provided shelter to a small third world country. Neither she nor her stepmother, Anna, had cared for its enormity, but Candace had loved it and her father’s current wife, Rebecca Lynn, the world’s only living brain donor, had actually been lobbying for something even bigger and more ostentatious.
Maybe the Taj Mahal was up for sale, Natalie thought sarcastically. She could remember thinking when they first moved to this house that she needed to drop bread crumbs to mark her way or be forever doomed to wandering the halls, looking for the way out.
She’d found the way out years ago.
Finally reaching the back of the building, she walked out onto the terrace. She was immediately struck by her father’s profile as he sat at the table. He was still a handsome man, Natalie caught herself thinking. But right now, he looked gaunt and incredibly weary, as if he had the weight of the world on his shoulders.
That was Rebecca Lynn’s fault, no doubt. He was trying to keep up with a woman half his age who was determined to “do it all.” Either that, or become a young widow. God knew she wouldn’t put it past Rebecca Lynn.
She didn’t say anything until she was almost at his elbow. “Hi, Dad.”
She’d startled him. He sucked in his breath, his body tense and rigid. “Natalie, what are you doing here?”
There was no point in beating around the bush. It only prolonged the inevitable, and that wasn’t her style. “I have some terrible news, Dad.” Natalie sat down at the table and placed her hand over his. Her father wasn’t the touchy-feely