Free Insidious by Catherine Coulter Page A
Authors: Catherine Coulter
the Hoover Building,” Savich said. “Keep your schedule open tomorrow morning.”
“As if I have nothing better to do than wait for a cop to call.”
Sherlock gave him her patented sunny smile. “I sure hope it’s important enough for you, Alex, since someone is trying to kill yourgrandmother. Trust me, you’ll find the interview room quite comfortable.”
“What I want to know,” Glynis said as she walked to the sideboard to pour herself a glass of water, “is who in this family could possibly want to kill Grandmother?”
11
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Guthrie poured himself a glass of gin, drank it down without pause, felt it steady him. “Savich suspects either my son Alexander or me, Glynis. And for good reason. Alexander and I were with Mother all three times before she became ill, no one else.” He turned to Savich. “You’re not really going to look anywhere else, are you? The obvious road for you is to try to nail one of us. Or both.”
Alexander’s voice snapped out sharp and impatient. “And that would be ridiculous, Father. Neither of us have any reason to harm Grandmother. There are, naturally, other answers, including the truth. There are hundreds of people, major companies, that might think they could benefit from attacking Grandmother, our family, like this. Multimillion-dollar contracts, mergers, share prices might be at stake.” He shot a look at Savich. “But looking at all of them would be difficult. And these two would need to have the intelligence and resources to look in the right place, and of course that is a big problem with law enforcement today.”
Hildi was wringing her hands. “It’s got to be an outsider, someone who hates Mother because she took over their company, fired them, or something. I know this family, and none of us would ever do anythinglike this, never. Dillon, both Guthrie and I have always loved our mother, and of course Alexander and Glynis love their grandmother. This—evil plot isn’t us; it can’t be us.”
A moment of hot silence, then Glynis laughed. “Wouldn’t that be something? One of us sneaking around, putting a pinch of arsenic in Grandmother’s coffee without anyone seeing us? Without anyone even knowing we were hiding behind the curtains?”
“The first two times, the arsenic was probably in my champagne,” Venus said coolly, eyeing her granddaughter. “At a restaurant.”
“Better yet,” Glynis said. “The murderer disguised as a waiter.”
The phone rang.
Veronica, sitting nearest to the phone, rose, lifted the receiver, listened, snapped out, “No comment,” and hung up. “Another reporter. At least there are no more of their vans camped outside the house. The neighbors wouldn’t allow that. They called the police and three squad cars came and shooed them away.”
Veronica said, “I was sorry to see them go. With everyone leaving, I don’t think there’s enough protection for Venus.”
Alexander said, “I understand from the officer outside that a squad car will remain here overnight, then our own private security will arrive in the morning. Grandmother will be amply protected. The guards will stick with her around the clock.”
Venus nodded her thanks to Alexander, who stood shoulders squared against the fireplace. She looked at Hildi, her artist-hippie daughter wearing her habitual tie-dyed long skirt and peasant blouse, those ridiculous pearls, so many strands, and Birkenstocks on her long narrow feet, Venus’s own feet, she realized. Hildi’s dark hair hung long and straight down her back, mixed now with strands of white that looked like an amateur attempt at highlights. Hildi had only her art and her daughter to tether her to this earth ever since her worthless husband, Elliott DeFoe, had stepped willingly out of her life yearsbefore. An abandonment that Venus, admittedly, had orchestrated, but she’d never expected her daughter to remain unattached for the decades following. It made her sad sometimes to think of Hildi alone.
“As if I have nothing better to do than wait for a cop to call.”
Sherlock gave him her patented sunny smile. “I sure hope it’s important enough for you, Alex, since someone is trying to kill yourgrandmother. Trust me, you’ll find the interview room quite comfortable.”
“What I want to know,” Glynis said as she walked to the sideboard to pour herself a glass of water, “is who in this family could possibly want to kill Grandmother?”
11
----
Guthrie poured himself a glass of gin, drank it down without pause, felt it steady him. “Savich suspects either my son Alexander or me, Glynis. And for good reason. Alexander and I were with Mother all three times before she became ill, no one else.” He turned to Savich. “You’re not really going to look anywhere else, are you? The obvious road for you is to try to nail one of us. Or both.”
Alexander’s voice snapped out sharp and impatient. “And that would be ridiculous, Father. Neither of us have any reason to harm Grandmother. There are, naturally, other answers, including the truth. There are hundreds of people, major companies, that might think they could benefit from attacking Grandmother, our family, like this. Multimillion-dollar contracts, mergers, share prices might be at stake.” He shot a look at Savich. “But looking at all of them would be difficult. And these two would need to have the intelligence and resources to look in the right place, and of course that is a big problem with law enforcement today.”
Hildi was wringing her hands. “It’s got to be an outsider, someone who hates Mother because she took over their company, fired them, or something. I know this family, and none of us would ever do anythinglike this, never. Dillon, both Guthrie and I have always loved our mother, and of course Alexander and Glynis love their grandmother. This—evil plot isn’t us; it can’t be us.”
A moment of hot silence, then Glynis laughed. “Wouldn’t that be something? One of us sneaking around, putting a pinch of arsenic in Grandmother’s coffee without anyone seeing us? Without anyone even knowing we were hiding behind the curtains?”
“The first two times, the arsenic was probably in my champagne,” Venus said coolly, eyeing her granddaughter. “At a restaurant.”
“Better yet,” Glynis said. “The murderer disguised as a waiter.”
The phone rang.
Veronica, sitting nearest to the phone, rose, lifted the receiver, listened, snapped out, “No comment,” and hung up. “Another reporter. At least there are no more of their vans camped outside the house. The neighbors wouldn’t allow that. They called the police and three squad cars came and shooed them away.”
Veronica said, “I was sorry to see them go. With everyone leaving, I don’t think there’s enough protection for Venus.”
Alexander said, “I understand from the officer outside that a squad car will remain here overnight, then our own private security will arrive in the morning. Grandmother will be amply protected. The guards will stick with her around the clock.”
Venus nodded her thanks to Alexander, who stood shoulders squared against the fireplace. She looked at Hildi, her artist-hippie daughter wearing her habitual tie-dyed long skirt and peasant blouse, those ridiculous pearls, so many strands, and Birkenstocks on her long narrow feet, Venus’s own feet, she realized. Hildi’s dark hair hung long and straight down her back, mixed now with strands of white that looked like an amateur attempt at highlights. Hildi had only her art and her daughter to tether her to this earth ever since her worthless husband, Elliott DeFoe, had stepped willingly out of her life yearsbefore. An abandonment that Venus, admittedly, had orchestrated, but she’d never expected her daughter to remain unattached for the decades following. It made her sad sometimes to think of Hildi alone.