Free The Rich and the Dead by Liv Spector Page A

was a heavyset man with fine, thinning hair. Lila could smell the booze on his breath.
    â€œActually, I’m thinking of moving here.”
    Addressing Lila, Effie said, “Now, Camilla, these two are the Miami power couple when it comes to real estate. They’ll get you all set up with a gorgeous place in an instant. Am I right?”
    â€œIt’s a buyer’s market,” Scott said. He fumbled in the interior pocket of his seersucker jacket and pulled out a business card, handing it to Lila.
    â€œHere,” he said. “Call our office to set up an appointment. We can take you to see some properties right away.”
    â€œActually,” Meredith interjected, “the house next to Effie on Star Island just went on the market. I listed the property a few days ago.”
    Lila knew that the more time she could spend on Star Island, the better for her investigation. She nodded.
    â€œEffie will tell you, Star Island is marvelous,” Meredith said, already in sell mode.
    â€œLadies,” Scott said with an over-the-top bow, “it would seem my wife’s drink is empty. Chivalry requires that I fetch her another.” He grabbed Meredith’s hand. As he was bending to put his wet, drunken lips on her skin, she snatched her hand away.
    â€œI’ve had quite enough to drink. And so have you, darling,” she said with a false sweetness that struck Lila as more terrifying than a display of blatant hostility.
    â€œAh, my ever faithful wife,” Scott said. He stumbled out onto the veranda overlooking the ocean and headed for the poolside bar.
    â€œForgive my husband,” Meredith said, turning her attention to Lila. “He’s been . . . overserved today. But he’s right. Do call us. We can take you around to look at places as soon as tomorrow. Now, if you’ll excuse me.”
    As Meredith left, Effie rolled her eyes. “Does that make you nostalgic for your own blissful marriage?” she asked.
    â€œAnd how,” Lila said, following the unhappy couple with her eyes, her mind busily sifting through this new information. She hadn’t known how fractured the Sloans’ marriage was. “Always check out the husband first,” they used to say on the force. And in about a third of the murders she’d seen during her time as a detective, the perp had ended up being the person who shared the victim’s bed.
    Scott Sloan was officially a person of interest.
    Lila had questioned Scott several times in the weeks following the Star Island massacre. She remembered that he’d seemed extremely distraught at Meredith’s death, yet she was surprised that, given how upset he’d appeared to be, he never once shed a tear. She had a gut feeling that it was all an act.
    Her suspicions were as good as confirmed when, about six months after he came off the suspects list, he got remarried to a nineteen-year-old Ukrainian model named Oksana Peterenko. Not the typical behavior of a man lamenting the loss of his one true love.
    When she questioned him, he had vowed that he had no idea his wife was a member of the Janus Society, nor did he have any idea why someone would’ve wanted to kill her. So much of what he said had struck Lila as bald-faced lies, yet she’d never been able to back up her hunch with any sort of proof.
    As she stood watching him weave his way through the club with Meredith in tow, Lila began to think of all the ways Scott might benefit from his wife’s death. But what about the eleven other lives? Were they just collateral damage?
    As Scott and Meredith cut across the lawn and down to the beach, Lila made a snap decision.
    â€œI’m famished,” she said. “Should I go get us some food?”
    Effie looked at her quizzically. To Effie, who existed exclusively on vodka, Red Bull, and an occasional can of Ensure, the thought of eating was preposterous.
    â€œDo people still eat in New York?” she