Going to the Bad (6 page)

But that didn't mean I was ready to abandon my questions about Bud. “I appreciate your telling me, but my father's death is old business. Right now I'm more interested in why Bud was shouting your name into a phone yesterday.”

“I don't know, but it couldn't be related to his shooting.” Warner was now having serious trouble breathing. “Go to the hospital and be with Bud. I won't keep you any longer.”

He gestured to the nurses. One hurried over to the bed and adjusted his oxygen. The other opened the door and called to Frank.

“I'm not leaving,” I said.

Frank approached from behind and took my arm. “That's not your decision to make.” When I refused to yield to his gentle tug, he let go. “This is private property. If you don't voluntarily come with me, this can and will get physical.”

Frank didn't make idle threats, so I relented.

After he'd shut the bedroom door behind us, his demeanor changed. “Thanks for coming. I've got an army of guys working security here, but it still would have been a pain in the butt to force you out.”

“You could thank me by being honest. Has my uncle been in contact with any of the Warner family lately?”

Frank started down the hall. “Mr. Warner's not in the habit of taking the hired help into his confidence.”

“You must know where enough of the bodies are buried to be considered more than hired help.”

“I'm not complaining. Mr. Warner's been very nice to me over
the years.” He probably had—financially—but I doubted Warner's generosity had extended to actual kindness.

We exited that wing of the house and walked down the steps to the landing in front of the glass wall. Despite everything on my mind, I couldn't help stopping to look at the oil field. I wondered what the view would be like at night when all those beacons and flashing lights burned in the darkness. Would it actually be pretty?

I glanced straight down and saw the river Erabelle had mentioned crossing as a girl. A picturesque wooden bridge straddled it just below the house. Maybe Warner was sentimental if he'd left it standing all these years.

Frank chuckled. “I wouldn't have taken you for the stop-and-look-at-the-scenery type.”

“It's not scenery. It's a freak show.” I turned from the window and discovered that Frank had continued up the opposite stairs to the other wing.

“Come on,” he said.

I hurried to catch up with him. “Thanks for letting me see Erabelle. I figured you'd throw me out.”

He continued toward the end of the hallway. “I'm not taking you to Miss Erabelle. It's Mr. Warner who wants to see you.”

“I'm pretty sure he was the one saying good-bye back there.”

Frank stopped at the door at the end of the hall and knocked. “We have a special going today. Two Mr. Warners for the price of one.”

“Come in,” called a voice from inside the room.

Frank opened the door and held it for me. This room was the mirror of Warner's in the other wing, but the furniture here matched the house perfectly. It made it even odder that the windowpanes had all been covered in long curtains blocking the views. It was as though the two Mr. Warners had each chosen to subvert the architect's vision in competing ways.

“Here's Miss Hawkins, sir.” Frank's use of
sir
amplified an air of
subservience that had been lacking when he'd spoken with Erabelle.

The tall, dark, and handsome man I'd seen earlier looked up from a laptop. “Let's keep this between the two of us, Frank. Until Dad gets better, I'd rather not burden him with needless information.”

“Of course, sir.” Frank closed the door on his way out.

“Thanks for seeing me.” The man closed the laptop, making sure to shield the screen from my view. “I appreciate how busy a professional journalist must be.”

“You're the son? The one who lives in New York?”

“Leland Phillip Warner the second, at your service.” He stood.

Junior appeared to be in his early forties. An old-fashioned men's sapphire ring sat on his right ring finger. It achieved the almost impossible task of making him look like both a dandy and a thug.

“Please feel free to call me Phillip or even Phil.”

I refused to be flattered by his informality. “Home for Christmas or the funeral?”

My tone didn't disturb him. “After our earlier interaction in the hallway, Frank warned me you had no filter.” He crossed to a sideboard. “But don't bury Dad yet. He's a tough old goat and may pull through this.”

“It's obvious you're taking over. Maybe you're the one who shouldn't bury him yet.”

Junior removed a bottle of Scotch from inside the cabinet. “The last thing in the world I want is to take over. Do you know what will happen if my father dies?”

“You'll become one of the richest men in California.”

“That's the problem right there.” He poured liquor into a highball glass without ice. “I don't want to be one of the richest men in California. I want to be a moderately well-off man in New York, which, thanks to my robust allowance, I already am.”

He raised an empty glass. “Have a drink with me?”

“No thanks.”

“I know it's early, but I'm on East Coast time.”

I waited as he took a sip of the liquor before saying, “You
expect me to believe you'd rather not inherit? That you actually prefer to be a grown man on your father's financial leash?”

“I don't appreciate being compared to a dog.” He took another drink and tried to change the tone. “Frank said you're a shooter. That must be a fascinating career.” I didn't answer so he said, “Do you mind if I call you Lilly?”

“You'll do better with me if you come right out and say what you want.”

He nodded. “Why did you come here today and is it related to my sister in any way?”

“It has nothing to do with Mary or what happened to her last year.” Now that I'd spoken with Warner, there was no reason to keep Junior or Erabelle in the dark about my motives. “My uncle was shot this morning, and I think your father is somehow connected to what happened.”

He looked surprised, but he could easily have been faking it. “Who's your uncle?”

“Bud Hawkins, although your aunt calls him Allan.”

Junior clearly recognized the name, but didn't say so. I forced myself to remain quiet while he considered the matter. I'm not good at controlling myself, and it wasn't easy.

Finally my patience was rewarded. “Someone with that name called yesterday on Dad's direct line, so you're right they must know each other. That number's private.”

“What did they talk about?”

“They didn't talk at all. Dad was having an angina attack and the nurses wouldn't put him on. I guess your uncle got very cross with one of them.”

That at least explained what the nurses knew and whom Bud had been yelling at over the phone.

The door suddenly opened. Erabelle stormed in despite Frank's attempts to stop her.

“You want to try knocking?” Junior smirked. “I'm entertaining a lady. We could have been doing anything in here.”

“No,” I said louder than was necessary. “We really couldn't have.”

Erabelle didn't even acknowledge me. “You miserable little . . .” Erabelle struggled, but finally decided against completing the insult. “I've just been on the phone with my people. I know what you've done.”

Junior reverted to his previous superficial charm. “I'm sure I don't know what you're talking about.”

“Don't pretend. You've cut off the funding to my foundation. Do you know how many women are counting on those loans? You're ruining lives.”

Her anger didn't rattle him. “With Dad incapacitated, I've had to take a hand in the family finances. You wouldn't believe the people and causes he was sending checks to.” Junior shrugged. “Last month I put a hold on all of his discretionary expenses until I can make sure each is legitimate.”

“Oh, please. That money's going straight into your pocket. You're trying to sponge off as much as you can to pay off your own debts.”

“You should watch how you speak to me. Dad may not get better.” Junior didn't raise his voice, but somehow that made him sound even more menacing. “And after the will is read, you're going to need me more than I need you.”

They stared at each other. Erabelle didn't even seem to know I was there. Frank, still hovering in the doorway, was similarly invisible to her. I wondered how many scenes like this had unfolded in front of him and if their casual disregard made him angry.

“As lovely as this is,” I said, “I need to get back to the subject of my uncle.”

Junior jumped on the change of topic. “That's right. How exactly does Dad know this guy?”

Erabelle was still too angry to answer.

“They were best friends,” I said, then turned to Erabelle. “But I'm afraid Bud was shot this morning. He's in surgery at Bakersfield Medical Center.”

I immediately regretted telling Erabelle so bluntly. Her passion, so provoked by her nephew, wavered, then vanished as though I'd blown out a flame.

Junior either didn't notice her distress or didn't care. “I didn't think Dad had friends—just employees and family.”

Erabelle's head stayed down, but her eyes rose to look at me. “How is he?”

“Very bad. They don't know who shot him or why, but I think it has something to do with your brother. Apparently Bud got upset about something and tried to call him yesterday.”

She turned for the door.

“Hold on,” I called. “We have more to talk about.”

She exited without looking back.

“Excuse me,” I said to Junior while starting for the door. “Thanks for being honest with me.”

He took a seat on the sofa and spread out his arm along the backrest. “You'll keep me informed if you find out anything relating to Dad? I only ask so I can head off trouble if it's brewing.”

I stopped at the door. “If you'll do the same for me.”

He nodded. “For what it's worth, I only ever heard one reference to Dad having a best friend. I'm hazy on the details, but I believe the fellow walked off with our family heirlooms. I always wondered if that experience was what soured Dad on friendship.”

I'd been in a hurry to catch up with Erabelle, but that gave me pause. Was this the real reason Bud and Warner hadn't seen each other in over fifty years? “What kind of heirlooms?”

“Military medals from back in mother Russia. Czar-type stuff. Mom made it sound very romantic, or melodramatic, depending on your point of view. I guess there was a big police investigation when they were stolen.”

I shook my head. “Bud might be a little shady, but he'd never rob his best friend.”

Junior raised the glass in a toast. “Like I said, for what it's worth.”

Christmas Eve, 11:11 a.m.

I
left Junior and hurried to follow Erabelle. I'd hoped that
she was on her way to confront Warner and drag the truth out of him, but I was wrong. Frank gestured to a closed door down the hall.

There was no answer to my knock. “Erabelle, you can't just walk out and think I'm going to let it go. What do you know about Bud's shooting?”

I heard the click of the lock, then the door opened just enough to reveal her face. “Whatever Allan and Leland are up to, I'm not a part of it.” She started to close the door. “And I don't want to be.”

I jammed my size-ten boot in the door. Having large feet sometimes has its advantages. “You said you brought me up to the house specifically because you wanted to know what was going on.”

“It was a mistake. I don't want to backslide like this.”

She tried to close the door again, but I held my foot firmly in place. “You're going to have to elaborate on that.”

“There's a reason I live in Indonesia now. I've spent years trying to make a life for myself outside of this family. I came home for Christmas this year because Leland is sick, but I can't let myself get drawn back into his scheming. It's not healthy.”

“Bud is dying. Maybe that doesn't mean anything to you, but I love him.” I felt my eyes sting. “You may be done with Bud, but I'm not. I care that someone deliberately tried to end his life.”

A slight hitch in her voice betrayed the emotion under the words. “I didn't say I don't care. But there's a reason your uncle and Leland used to be friends. They were both very good at hurting people.”

This last statement took me so much by surprise that when Erabelle moved to close the door, I forgot to stop her.

I knocked again, but this time there was no answer at all.

Frank had one of the guards drive me back to my news van at the front gate. Before saying good-bye he passed on Junior's cell phone number and took mine in return. Apparently Junior was serious about the two of us keeping each other informed.

I drove back to the station to regroup and see if there was any news about the police investigation. After parking in the fenced KJAY lot, I decided to call Rod again. I wanted to talk over what had happened at Warner's and get his opinion. The call went immediately to voice mail, which meant his phone was off. I left another message asking that he call me as soon as he was done with the police.

I then called Leanore at the hospital. There was still no news about Bud. I told her to go home, but she offered to stay and call me if Bud got out of surgery. It was a lot to ask of her, and I hadn't asked, but Leanore was the kind of person who instinctively knew what was most needed and didn't hesitate to help.

My profuse thanks were interrupted by a yipping sound outside the van. I hung up and opened the door. At first I thought the thing looking up at me was a possum or giant rat. I instinctively jerked back, but then it barked again and I decided it was just a really ugly dog. I swear, one of the thing's eyes was bigger than the other. Its black hair looked as brittle and unappealing as a porcupine's coat.