So About the Money (16 page)

“O-kay,” Laurie said to his departing back. “That was definitely more information than I wanted to know.”

Holly stifled a laugh at Laurie’s appalled expression. “I don’t think any of us handles death very well.”
 

“Amen to that. Let’s get this done and go home.”

“Do you see where the reception line starts?” The crowd parted for a moment and Holly saw someone else she knew. Alex—with his mother.
 

Naturally.

Alex’s full name was Alejandro Qunito Arroyo Montoya, but Holly could never remember if his mother went by Montoya or Arroyo. Given that she was normally good with names, Holly figured it was a mental block based on the old battle-axe not liking her. The
bruja
had never wanted her precious Alejandro to date a
gringa—
especially a non-Catholic blond
gringa
.
 

Mrs. Montoya noticed Holly at the same moment Alex did. He took a step in her direction, but his mother deftly intervened. With just a touch of her finger to his forearm, Alex turned into Alejandro. He curved a solicitous arm around his mother’s shoulders and leaned closer to hear whatever she was whispering. Only Holly saw the tilt of the woman’s head, the triumphant movement of her mouth, and the sideways look she tossed at her rival when Alex moved, not toward Holly, but to a table set against the far wall.
 

So that was how it was going to be.
Mama’s boy
.
 

Not for the first time, Holly wondered if the putdowns were aimed at any woman who had the audacity to date Alex, or if it was her, specifically, who drew his mother’s wrath.
 

She leaned to the right, ready to share her observation with Laurie, only to discover her friend had vanished into the crowd. She swiveled her attention back to the drama across the room in time to see Alex return. He threaded past people, balancing a glass of punch. He made no move to leave his mother’s side and Holly was damned if she was going to crawl over there.
 

Fine
.
 

She stepped into the inner room. Begin phase one of Who Killed Marcy.

“You look so much like Marcy,” she told the first person she met.
 

The woman offered a closed-mouth smile. “I’m her aunt.”

“You’re young enough to be a cousin. Were you…close?”

The woman tilted her head. Something that might’ve been quizzical, but could’ve been suspicious, narrowed her eyes. “How did you know Maricella?”

Holly froze, panic draining the blood from her head. Argh. Bad move.
 

The woman’s lips tightened.
 

Answer, answer, say something
. “We both lived in Seattle…”

Holly knew immediately she’d made a mistake. The look in the woman’s eyes was pure suspicion now.
 

“Were you friends when you lived there?” she asked.

The aunt wouldn’t tell her anything if she thought Holly had been friends with Marcy and Lee while they were together. “I met Marcy here. She told me about Lee. He was a real…” She caught herself before she said
dick
.
 

The woman shifted uncomfortably. She glanced away, her eyes focused on something over Holly’s shoulder. “Don’t bring him up. Nobody wants to talk about him.”

“Do you know where he is?”

An arm snaked around her waist and pulled her against a male body.
 

Frank
. Adrenaline spiked her system. She twisted, trying to break free. “Let go.”
 

But the odor wasn’t Frank’s.

That detail registered as warm lips pressed her cheek.
 

“Thank God. A familiar face,” Tim said.

Damn. All this talk about murder and stalking had her overreacting to everything.

Marcy’s aunt eased away.
 

Tim’s eyes tracked the woman as she faded into the crowd. “What are you doing, talking to her about Marcy like that? Trying to play amateur detective? Jesus, Holly, give it up. Let the police handle it before you make things worse.”

What was it with him? A flush colored his face, but she didn’t smell liquor on his breath. “Worse than what?”

“I never know what to say at these things.” He spoke as if he hadn’t just totally dissed her. “But I sure wouldn’t pester the dead woman’s relatives.”

Okay. She’d pester him instead. The throng shifted and pressed them closer together. At this rate, she’d be intimately acquainted with him before the night was over. She pulled as far away as the crowd permitted, and said, “I wanted to ask you yesterday—”

Tim shoved his hands into his pockets. “Yeah, about that.”
 

She waved off his discomfort. “You were upset and had too much to drink.” She shrugged. “Actually, you were probably one of Marcy’s closer friends. Did she tell you who she was seeing?”

He stepped back, pushing the couple behind him aside. “We weren’t that close. Why would you think we were?”

“Whoa, I’m not implying anything.” Talk about protesting too much. “I just hoped you might know where Marcy was before she disappeared.”

He leaned forward, his voice a whispered hiss. “The police are already making assumptions. Don’t add to them.”

“I’m not.” The small hairs on the back of her neck suddenly lifted. She peered over her shoulder, half-expecting Alex’s scowl. Instead, she met Nicole’s narrow-eyed gaze. The woman’s expression moved to
considering
, as if working out the angles on something. Something she was rather unhappy about.
 

Surely Nicole wasn’t still mad about the stupid sofa incident.
 

Holly turned her head, hoping the glare was directed at someone else. She swung back again, but Nicole’s gaze had drifted. The stocky man standing next to Nicole chattered away, seemingly unaware she no longer listened. Maybe the stocky guy said something that upset her. Maybe Tim’s drinking had upset her and her glare had been aimed at him.

The crowd shuffled and hid the pair from sight, but Holly was far more interested in creating some distance away from Tim. “Awkward” didn’t begin to describe feeling caught between Tim and his wife. “Look, another client’s here. I need to speak to him. I’ll see you later.”
 

“Sure.” Tim looked rather lost and forlorn as she moved away.
 

She spoke to several people she knew while she worked up her nerve to approach the Ramirez family. She’d almost made it to the reception line when a hand grabbed her arm. She jumped and turned. “Jeez, Tim, will you quit doing that?”

“Sorry.” He jammed his hands into his pockets. “I wanted to clear the air. It’s been a couple of rough days. I shouldn’t take it out on you.”

She couldn’t help but wonder which Tim was the real one—the one who’d unloaded on her or the likeable guy she usually saw. “It’s been tough on all of us.”

She still intended to find out what he knew—exactly how well he knew Marcy—but she’d ask in a less public venue.
 

Tim’s vaguely anxious expression altered to one of pleasure. “Hello, sweetheart. I wondered where you disappeared to.”

Nicole emerged from the crowd. Holly could see her dress now—a bright blue sheath.
 

How inappropriate. Holly frowned. The dress choice surprised her, given how socially savvy Nicole usually appeared.

 
“I’m making the rounds. There are so many lovely people here.” Nicole’s tone was sweetness and light.
 

For half a second, Holly wondered if she’d imagined the woman’s earlier unhappiness.
 

A tiny frown creased Nicole’s forehead. “Some people are blaming Marcy.”

Holly caught the flinch that spasmed across Tim’s face. Even if he wasn’t having an affair with Marcy, it must be hard for him to express his grief around Nicole.
 

“That’s really not fair,” Nicole continued.
 

For once Holly agreed with the woman. The stocky man she’d seen with Nicole earlier that evening must have said something rude, been one of those blame-the-victim idiots.

“I spoke with Alex.” Nicole turned her baby blues on Holly. “I’m surprised you’re not with him. Things are so difficult for him right now.”

And the détente went out the window.
 

What did
with him
mean? Still dating him? Supporting him?
What difficulties?
Before Holly could sort out the multiple messages in Nicole’s statement, Tim smoothed a hand over his wife’s shining hair. “How are you feeling, sweetheart?”

Nicole snuggled against him, melting into the circle of his arm. “I’m tired, honey. So much has happened.”
 

Tim’s fingers touched his wife’s cheek in a tender gesture. She gazed up at him, adoration shining from her eyes.

Wow, Nicole had Tim’s number wired—
Be the big man and protect me
. Holly felt uncomfortably like a chaperone at a teenaged party—unwelcome and ignored.
 

“Let’s get you home,” Tim said. “Should we call the doctor?”

The couple turned. Sheltering his wife under a protective arm, Tim pushed through the crowd.
 

Relief at escaping the couple slammed into the realization that Holly couldn’t keep avoiding the reason she was there—Marcy’s family.
 

Alrighty.
 

She squeezed past groups of people and found what had to be the extended Ramirez family. Assorted people who looked like Marcy stood in ranks between the visiting crowd and what Holly could only call a shrine. Photos and mementoes competed for attention with dozens of flickering candles. All of it was smothered in flowers.
 

At least there wasn’t a casket.

She approached, more nervous than she was before presenting an analysis of a multimillion-dollar acquisition. She wished she hadn’t lost Laurie in the crowd. Most likely, her friend bailed or found somebody she knew to talk to.
 

Long before she was ready, she reached the first members of Marcy’s family. “I’m sorry for your loss,” she repeated to each adult she passed. Some nodded. Others murmured,
Gracias
or Thanks for coming.
 

Showing up, trying to find words, was the right thing to do, but it felt woefully inadequate. As Holly made her way along the receiving line, it hit her how far the impact of Marcy’s death reached. She’d been daughter, sister, cousin, and aunt as well as friend. All these people loved her and had been part of her life. Holly glanced around the crowded visitation room. She hoped they’d told Marcy often enough that she was loved while she was still alive.
 

Holly shook more hands and murmured words.
 

She dreaded the thought of a relative’s death and receiving these words from strangers. The finality of Marcy’s death smacked her. She knew she wasn’t immortal—no longer had that childish perception. But the knowledge usually dwelt deep in her subconscious.

She was close enough now to see Mrs. Ramirez. Holly’s maternal drive was still dormant, but she had friends with children and realized how lucky she was to be close to her own mother. She couldn’t begin to image the horror of identifying your child’s body. Of having to deal with that level of loss.
 

Finally, she reached Mrs. Ramirez. The older woman sat before the vestiges of her daughter’s life. Her eyes were dark, shadowed pools. Suffering draped her figure with the dignity of a Madonna. The quiet grief reminded Holly of Michelangelo’s
Pieta
, the grief-stricken mother cradling the broken body, not of a prophet or a saint, but of a beloved child.
 

Holly spoke from the heart. “I’m so sorry. Marcy was my friend and I’ll miss her.”

For a long moment, Holly worried she’d offended her. Then Mrs. Ramirez gravely tilted her head.
 

“I’m sorry for your loss,” she said, feeling like a not very bright parrot.
 

Mrs. Ramirez looked up, her gaze drifting past Holly’s shoulder.