Deception (4 page)

Jill let out a groan. Church Hill Tower was a key, multi-million-dollar design of a sixty-four-story luxury apartment complex in the heart of Richmond’s historic Church Hill District. It was also Jill’s first skyscraper outside New York City and a chance to establish herself as a major designer. To have the project taken from her now would be a crushing blow to her career.

“When did you find out?” she asked.

“Yesterday afternoon. Ben Maitland is afraid that, without your father, the creativity of the project will be compromised.”

“But Church Hill Tower is my project. It’s been my project from the beginning.”

“I know, but Simon was there to supervise, and to advise, and that’s what Ben and his associates fear will be missing. They have nothing against you, Jill. They love your work. It’s just that Simon was the reason they gave us the commission in the first place and now that he’s gone…”

Jill slapped her palm against the armrest. “Dammit, Uncle Cy, I’m not going to give up without a fight. I spent six weeks of hard work on those preliminary designs, and Ben Mainland and his five cronies are going to look at them whether they want to or not. If they still want to fire us after that, fine, but they’re going to do it in person, not through some crummy phone call.”

looking more pleased than surprised by this sudden heated outburst, Cyrus smiled. “You won’t call them cronies to their faces, will you?”

Despite Jill’s bad mood, a smile found its way to the corner of her mouth. “No.”

“Good. How close are you to having the sketches finished?”

“I’ll have them done by Monday. It won’t be easy, but I can do it.”

Cyrus gave a short, satisfied nod. “Then get to it And let me know if I can help, okay?”

“Thanks, Uncle Cy.” Scooping up her purse, she stood. At the door, she turned around. “By the way, is Olivia in yet? I need to discuss something with her.”

“I saw her in the studio a few minutes ago. I believe she came in early to help Griffin and his team prepare for that Architecture Magazine competition next month. She might still be there.”

“Thanks.” Jill left her uncle’s office and went in search of her cousin.

Three

As usual at the noon hour, Body Perfect, one of Manhattan’s most exclusive health clubs, was packed with harried executives anxious to sweat out their stress, well-toned models determined to stay that way and wealthy matrons hoping to stop the ravages of time.

Though Olivia Bennett didn’t have a superfluous ounce of fat on her entire body, she came here every day for a punishing hour of aerobics, weight training and, time permitting, a dozen vigorous laps in the club’s pool. At thirty-seven, and still single, one couldn’t be too careful.

Her glossy black hair held back by a headband and her spectacular figure clad in purple spandex, she increased the speed on the treadmill and jogged more furiously. There was nothing like a good, sweaty workout to get the rage out of one’s system. And after what Jill had pulled earlier this morning, rage was oozing from every pore.

Olivia hadn’t always felt so vindictive toward her cousin. There had been a time when the two had been close friends, even best friends. But after Jill graduated from college, everything had changed. Olivia had been working in B&A’s public relations department fora couple of years when Jill, a master’s degree in architecture in her hand and stars in her eyes, had taken what she believed was her rightful place by her father’s side.

From that moment on, the friendship had quickly deteriorated. Not even Olivia’s promotion as director of PR years later helped bring down the wall that separated the two women. Jill’s recent promotion to vice president had been the final blow, taking Olivia’s hatred for her cousin to a new high.

“Slow down, Olivia, will you? I’m perspiring just watching you.” On the next treadmill, her mother walked at a more moderate pace. At fifty-eight, Stephanie Bennett was an attractive woman with ash-blond hair, a pale, flawless complexion and a figure younger women at Body Perfect often admired.

Olivia showed no sign of slowing down. “If I do, I’ll burst.”

“What’s wrong now?”

“Her Royal Highness, Queen Jill, is already flexing her muscles as the company’s new vice president,” Olivia said, breathing heavily. “She’s written a memo stipulating that from now on all expenses over two hundred dollars be approved by her. She delivered it to me personally, along with a lecture about my high spending habits.” She gave her moist forehead a quick swipe with the back of her hand. “How in hell am I supposed to run a decent PR department if I have to beg for every penny?”

“The company is going through a difficult period, Olivia.”

“And whose fault is that?” Olivia’s tone was plainly defiant. “If the board had listened to me, we’d be swimming in money right now.”

“Oh, Olivia, selling Bennett & Associates to a big conglomerate is hardly a solution.”

Olivia’s arms pumped harder, as if the self-induced punishment helped release her rage. “On the contrary. It would be the perfect solution. The firm of Kasper & Willard has access to huge international projects we could never acquire on our own. Just think of the doors such a partnership would open—Europe, Asia, Australia-markets we might never be able to tap.”

“Have you told that to Cyrus?”

Olivia made a derisive sound. “Of course I have. But he keeps siding with Jill. He always does.”

“That’s not true.”

Olivia’s dark eyes flashed as she glanced at her mother. “How can you say that? You know there’s always been something special between those two. The way he talks about her, you’d think she was the only female in the company with brains. And when she makes a mistake, he’s always there to bail her out. But let me do something wrong, and he reads me the riot act.”

“That’s because he loves you. He wants you to do well.”

“Bull.” Rivulets of perspiration ran down Olivia’s face but she kept up the grueling pace. “He doesn’t love me. He never did. He tolerates me because I’m his stepdaughter.”

“Oh, Olivia, that’s not true. You know how good Cyrus was to you after your father died. And he was never happier than the day he was finally able to adopt you and give you his name.”

“That’s because he and my real father were friends and he had promised him to look after us..”

“No. It was much more than a promise made to a dying man. Cyrus truly loved you. He still does.”

“But he loves Jill more.” She spat out the words.

“Olivia, don’t talk like that. Cyrus loves Jill because she’s his niece and they have a long history together. Now that Simon is dead, he feels he has to protect her and help her through her grief. But he doesn’t love her more than you. You have to get those silly thoughts out of your head. They’re destroying you.”

“Then why did he make her vice president instead of me?”

“Because those were Simon’s wishes.”

Across the room, an Arnold Schwarzenegger look-alike with muscles bulging struck a pose in front of the weight machine and darted a quick glance in Olivia’s direction. She ignored him. Even though it had been weeks since her last romantic fling, she had never been less in the mood for a pickup.

“I deserved that position more than Jill did,” Olivia continued, her breathing sounding more labored. “I’m the one with the seniority, and the experience. I’m the one who started from the ground up, delivered the mall, ran errands and sharpened pencils while I learned the business. Did Jill do the same? Oh, no.” She let out a snicker. “Not the boss’s daughter. In her first year at B&A she went right to the top, as her father’s assistant. Was that fair, Mother? Was it?”

With the look of one accustomed to conceding defeat, Stephanie shook her head. “No, honey, it wasn’t fair,” she admitted. “But that’s the way Simon wanted it.”

Olivia’s hand reached for the handlebar and clenched it. “Nepotism,” she said. “That’s what it is.”

“Maybe at first, but Simon wouldn’t have kept her as his assistant if she hadn’t lived up to his expectations. Jill is a damn good architect, Olivia. And a shrewd businesswoman, to boot. Even you have to admit that.”

Breathing hard, though not totally from exertion, Olivia jabbed a button on the treadmill and cut the speed from five miles an hour to two. “I’m damn good at what I do, too,” she muttered more to herself than to her mother. “But I never hear anyone singing my praises.”

It was ten o’clock when Jill arrived at her mother’s town house, a luxurious turn-of-the-century building on East Ninety-second Street. She had intended to have dinner with Amanda, but a last-minute conference call with an important West Coast client had kept her and Cyrus at the office well past the dinner hour.

Now, as Jill stood in the foyer, her gaze swept over the airy, sunken living room that had been the center of her family life for so many years. With its plush white sofas, pastel Aubusson carpets and collection of Chinese porcelain, the room was more a reflection of Amanda’s expensive traditional tastes than Simon’s, yet there was nothing pretentious about the decor. Like the rest of the house, the room conveyed a sense of space, light and total comfort.

“Ms. Bennett, I didn’t hear you come in.”

Jill turned to see Henry, her mother’s butler, standing under the archway that opened onto the dining room. A small, slender man in his sixties, he had worked for the Bennett family for twenty-eight years and was more like a relative than a servant.

As always, he was impeccably dressed in black pants, a starched white shirt and a striped black and gray vest.

“Hello, Henry.” Jill jiggled her keys. “I let myself in.

He seemed pleased. “Would you like some dinner? It will only take a moment to reheat.” He took her coat. “Chicken potpie. Homemade,” he added as if Jill would find the thought too irresistible to turn down.

Jill smiled. Henry’s mission in life, besides making her parents happy, had always been to keep her well fed. “I had something at the office, Henry, but thank you.” She dropped the keys in her purse. “Did my mother go to bed?”

“A little while ago.” He turned toward the wide curving staircase. “She might still be up.”

“That’s okay. I don’t want to disturb her. Actually, I stopped by to do some reading in my father’s study. I shouldn’t be more than an hour or so.”

“Can I at least bring you something to drink? Tea? Coffee?”

“Tea will be fine.”

He vanished as quietly as he had appeared, leaving her alone. Her mind already on the task ahead, Jill strode across the living room toward her father’s study at the end of the hall. She wished she had a better idea of what she was looking for, but this was as good a place as any to start.

The room was just as her father had left it—orderly and smelling of old books and expensive cigars. Simon’s private sanctum, as Amanda called it, was everything he’d wanted it to be. Slickly lacquered walls in vivid red reflected deep black leather chairs and a floor-to-ceiling teak bookcase filled with dozens of books on modern architecture. Above the sofa stretched works of art by contemporary artists her father had admired-Dali, Warhol, Chamberlin. How well the room had suited her father, Jill thought.

She went through his desk quickly and found the usual office supplies-pens and pencils, a magnifying glass, several sheets of Bennett & Associates letterhead and an address book with the names of people she had known for years. At first glance, none had a motive to kill Simon, but it wouldn’t hurt to make sure, though it wasn’t clear how she would do that, either.

Equally disappointing were the two sets of drawers at the bottom of the bookcase, which were filled with art books and several works of literature. No one could have accused her father of not being well read.

In frustration, Jill slammed the last drawer shut, stood up from her crouched position and looked helplessly around the room. Her gaze stopped on a grouping of framed photographs on the opposite wall. Some of them were work-related—Simon standing in front of the now-famous Seigler Building in Houston, Simon smiling proudly at a ribbon-cutting ceremony, Simon shaking hands with then-President Reagan.

Other photographs were more personal and revealed bits and pieces of Simon’s home life. Jill’s favorite was the picture her mother had taken of Jill and her father dancing together at her sweet-sixteen party.

Around her neck was the gold chain and diamond teardrop he had given her earlier that day.

Fighting the tears, Jill studied the photograph. Not as powerfully built as Cyrus, Simon Bennett had nonetheless been an arresting man with bright red hair and lean, handsome features. His slight paunch was a testimony to his fondness for sweets, particularly Henry’s incomparable Black Forest torte.

She was suddenly filled with an overwhelming sense of having let him down. “Oh, Daddy,” she murmured, her eyes misting in spite of her efforts not to cry. “What happened up there? And how am I ever going to find out?”

A light knock at the door made her turn around. Henry walked in, carrying a tray with a steaming cup of her favorite Earl Grey tea and a small plate of almond cookies. “I thought these might tempt you.” He nodded toward the delicate wafers. “I remember how they always made you smile when you were little.”

“They still do, Henry.” Jill watched as he lowered the laden tray onto a teak coffee table. “And how nice of you to remember.”

“How could I forget? In those days you ate them faster than I could bake them.” His face growing serious, he reached inside his breast pocket and pulled out a thick business-size envelope. “After the memorial service last week, your mother asked me to give Mr. Bennett’s clothes to Goodwill, so prior to doing that, I sent everything to the cleaners and they sent this back.” He looked at the envelope before handing it to Jill. “I was afraid it would upset your mother so I held on to it until I could give it to you.”

“What is it?”

“A few personal items Mr. Wang found in one of your father’s suits.” His expression turned apologetic. “I’m sorry, Ms. Bennett. I must have forgotten to check the pockets…” Looking stricken, he let the words trail off.

“That’s all right, Henry,” Jill said gently. “None of us were functioning very well those first few days after my father’s death.” She opened the envelope and went through the items quickly. There was a monogrammed handkerchief, a tortoiseshell comb and a half roll of Certs.