Brady glanced at the driver of the golf cart, who was making a big show of not paying attention. “I don’t know anything about that. And if I were you I’d be careful with my innuendos. Since you don’t know what you’re dealing with, someone might take it the wrong way.”
“Sounds like a threat, although I’m sure you didn’t mean that.”
“I meant it as cautionary words. Guy and Gilliam were protected by a league of people and look what happened. Let’s go.”
Brady sat next to the driver, Decker sat in back. With a slight little backlash, they were on their way. Neptune was right about one thing. Investigating crimes was dangerous work. That was Decker’s job: to open doors without knowing what’s on the other side. Most of the time, it was harmless. But all it took was one little misstep and the next thing you knew you were looking down the barrel of a shotgun.
The golf cart stopped at the service entrance of Wind Chimes. Decker followed Brady through a series of hallways until the security man opened a set of double doors. Mace and Grant were waiting in an all-glass conservatory, its French doors wide open to allow in the fresh, briny air and the hypnotic song of the ocean waves. The space held several couches, chairs, and end tables, most of them holding vases of white and purple Phalaenopsis orchids, yellow cymbidiums, pink bromeliads, and assorted African violets. Shades had been lowered to cut the glare of the afternoon sun.
The men were drinking something over ice. Grant wore a white polo shirt, jeans, and sandals. His sandy hair had lightened and his skin had darkened in a couple of days courtesy of the California sun. Mace’s dark complexion had turned a deep bronze. Stubble smudged his face except above his lip where sufficient hair had grown to be called a mustache. He wore a blue shirt with his sleeves rolled up, exposing the thick muscle of his arms. Gabardine pants covered his tree-trunk legs.
Grant extended his glass toward Decker. “Lemonade. Would you like a glass? Or are you the beer type?”
Beer = unrefined. “Lemonade sounds great, thank you.”
“What about you, Neptune?”
“I’m fine, Mr. Kaffey, but thank you.”
To Decker, Grant said, “Want a shot of vodka to go with?”
“Not when I’m working.”
“Working on Sunday? That’s dedication.” Grant called a housekeeper and asked for an additional glass of lemonade. “Let’s hope it’s the real thing and not meant for show. I know you’re under pressure.”
Decker ignored the bait. “I heard your brother’s doing better.”
“Doctor says he’ll be out in a week—very good news. I suppose you’ll be pestering him with questions.”
“Can’t be dedicated unless you pester.”
“Be delicate. He’s still in shock. Maybe not the physical shock but … you know what I mean.”
“I do. Where is he going to be staying?”
“He’s going to his house. His ex-boyfriend will be with him as well as a full-time nurse.”
“Your brother’s ex is Antoine Resseur?”
“Yes. He’s a good guy.” Grant’s eyes turned toward the ocean. “Dr. Rain said he anticipates a full recovery. He just has to be careful until his liver heals. Absolutely no alcohol. That’s a bit of a pain.”
Decker took out his notepad. “Does Gil drink a lot?”
“Social drinker like me. In fact …” Grant went over to a cabinet and added a shot of Bombay Sapphire to the lemonade. “You only live once.”
A uniformed maid came in and gave Decker a glass of lemonade. He thanked her and said to Grant, “I have in my records that Gil lives in the Hollywood Hills.”
“Oriole Way. I don’t know the address, but it’s a split-level, mid-century modern, which tells you nothing because most of the houses were built around that time.”
“I’ll get the address.”
Grant’s eyes moistened. “I got a call from the coroner. He said it’ll be a few more days before …”
“These things take time,” Decker said. “I’m sorry.”
“Life goes on,” Grant said. “We’re having a small service tomorrow, and then Mace is heading back east tomorrow evening.”
Mace said, “If you need to get hold of me, you can reach me through my secretary. I’ll be traveling down the Hudson Valley but in phone contact. Got a lot of work to do.” He raised his black eyebrows. “I dread what my desk will look like.”
“Troubles?” Decker asked.
“Never troubles,” Mace insisted with a smile. “Just issues to be worked out. As much as my heart grieves, someone has to keep an eye on our East Coast operations.”
Grant said, “We decided that Mace can handle Greenridge while my brother and I work out the final burial and the details of running the company. I’ll stay out here at the helm to calm everyone down.”
“Kaffey Industries will go on,” Mace said. “The company isn’t a one-man operation.”
Grant said, “My father was smart enough to delegate a lot of the management to his sons.” He looked at Mace. “The three of us.”
Decker nodded. “Any estimate on how long you’re staying on in California?”
“I need Gil to be at full capacity, and that may take a while.” Grant swirled the ice cubes in his highball glass. “I’ve decided that the best thing to do is to move my family out here. We’ll be staying at Wind Chimes until everything’s back on track. This is why I wanted to talk to you, Lieutenant.” His eyes met Decker’s. “I’d like to know when your people are leaving Coyote Ranch.”
“I wish I could tell you. We’ve got a lot of material to sort through, plus now that Denny Orlando was found buried on the property, things will have to be gone over again.” When Grant winced, Decker said, “Is it a problem for you? That my people will be there for a while?”
“It might be soon. For now the estate is being assessed by Dad’s lawyers. I don’t know the exact contents of the will, but I assume most of my parents’ assets will go to Gil and me.”
“Do you know that for a fact?” Decker asked.
“I’m reasonably certain that’s the case. We’ll not only inherit their fortune but a big, fat estate tax bill. Neither Gil nor I want the ranch. We would like to sell it. The money realized from the sale would help defray the estate tax.”
“I’ll do the best I can, but we don’t want to overlook anything that might be crucial in the investigation. I’m sure you understand that.”
“How do you know whether something is crucial or not?”
“That’s the point, Mr. Kaffey. You never know. That’s why we’re meticulous.”
Silence. Then Grant asked, “How about a guesstimate? A week? A month? A year?”
“Not a year,” Decker repeated. “Probably not much more than a month.”
Grant said, “As soon as the assets are allocated, the ranch is going up for sale. I’ve already contacted a real estate agent.”
“Actually you can’t do anything with the property until we’ve cleared it, but I’ll try to be timely. I’m sure we can work something