Free Liar by Jan Burke Page B

died here?”
    “Kind of strange to think of him living here in town all this time, isn’t it?” Rachel said.
    “Yes. And Briana must have been in contact with him, or kept track of him, anyway. Otherwise, how would she know about his funeral? I wonder why she went to it?”
    “Maybe to make sure he was really dead,” Rachel said. “You know, if he faked the wedding…”
    Aunt Mary was pacing, ignoring these remarks. “This is going to be very hard on Travis,” she said.
    “Was he close to Arthur?” I asked.
    “I have no idea. I used to see them once in a great while when Travis was little. After Briana moved from Las Piernas, she and I never exchanged more news than would fit on a few lines at the bottom of a greeting card. She never mentioned Arthur, and only wrote ‘Travis is doing well in school,” or ’Travis is growing so tall,“ things like that. She did tell me that he wasn’t going to be living with her at the new apartment, but I suppose I just thought it was high time he was on his own. I asked for his new address, but she never sent it.”
    “Maybe he already knows about his father’s death,” I said. “He may be the one who told Briana about it.”
    “But to lose his remaining parent so quickly!” Mary said, pacing again.
    “You have her old address? The place where she lived before she moved to this apartment?” I asked.
    “Yes, I think I have it somewhere around here.”
    “That might help us find Travis,” I said. “Maybe one of her former neighbors will know where he’s living these days.”
    She searched for it and found it. I made a note of it and asked, “So she was at this place from the time of the murder until recently?”
    “No, she didn’t leave Las Piernas immediately after the murder. But she was at this place for a number of years.”
    “Do you remember anything about the murder of Arthur’s first wife?” Rachel asked.
    “Certainly. Arthur’s wife was Gwendolyn DeMont, the sugar beet heiress.”
    Rachel raised a brow. “Sugar beet heiress?”
    “Yes, this area used to have lots of sugar beet fields. That’s how her grandfather started out, but that was just the seed money for their wealth. He made money in real estate and by investing in aerospace and oil companies-with a sense of timing that made the rest of us wish we had his crystal ball.”
    “You said this was her grandfather?” I asked.
    “Right. He raised her. Her parents died when she was just a baby, not long after World War I, I believe.”
    I looked at the holy card again. “World War I? She must have been at least thirty years older than Arthur!”
    “Yes, she was much older than he. I know you think of him as being much younger than Briana, but after Gwendolyn, Briana must have looked like a regular spring chicken to Arthur.”
    “Did you know Gwendolyn?” Rachel asked.
    “Oh, no. But the family was wealthy and Los Alamitos isn’t so far away, after all. Irene’s grandfather used to like to go to the Los Alamitos Race Course, which is in Cypress, not Los Alamitos-but that’s another story.”
    “What else do you know about Gwendolyn?” I asked, knowing where racetrack discussions could lead, and not especially inclined to have Rachel learn all about my grandfather’s various pastimes and diversions.
    “Not too much. She was a very shy woman. A recluse, really.”
    “Arthur was apparently attracted to shy women,” I said.
    “Perhaps he was-what of it?” she snapped. I didn’t answer, and she scowled at me. “Maybe there are two pairs of Prissy Pants in the family.”
    Rachel didn’t even try to hide her amusement.
    I was saved further humiliation only because the doorbell rang. Mary answered it, and soon we heard our husbands’ voices and the sound of their laughter. Rachel’s face reflected nothing but pleasure when she heard it, and I hurried after her into the living room, where Frank and Pete were chatting with Mary.
    “Caw,”
Rachel said, running a hand over