Nick’s laugh was short and incredulous. “That’s all? So what happened, Stacy? Did you know she was blackmailing Frasier Lewis from the beginning?”
Stacy scoffed. “Like Claire would share something like that. She was going to keep everything she got from the Vartanians for herself. She was a bitch.”
Vito shook his head, disbelieving. “So when did you know Claire was dead?”
She narrowed her eyes. “I want full immunity.”
Vito laughed hard, then sobered abruptly. “No.”
Stacy sat back. “Then you get nothing more from me.”
Anticipating just such a reaction, Nick slid a photo of the mangled Van Zandt across the table and they watched Stacy pale.
“Who… who is that?”
“The last idiot who wanted immunity,” Vito said caustically.
“And the last idiot who tried to cross Frasier Lewis,” Nick said softly. “We could let you go, you know. And tell Frasier where to find you.”
Her eyes darkened in fear. “You wouldn’t tell him. That would be murder.”
Vito sighed. “She’s got us there. But, if the story were to leak… It might not be until this comes to trial, but he will find out. It’s too sensational to keep quiet.”
“And you’ll be lookin’ over your shoulder until he drops a grenade in your pocket.”
Stacy sucked in a cheek, stewing. Then she looked up. “I was supposed to have dinner with Claire back in October, fifteen months ago. She never showed, so I went to her apartment. I had a key. I found her laptop and pictures she’d taken of ‘Frasier Lewis’ while they sat in the waiting room.” One side of her mouth lifted. “One thing about Claire, she took good notes. She’d planned to write a book about it somewhere down the line. She recognized Lewis as Simon Vartanian, which she thought was odd.”
“Because he was supposed to be dead,” Vito said.
“Yeah. She researched Frasier Lewis, found out he was some guy in Iowa.”
Nick blinked at her. “So you knew about the insurance fraud, too.”
Stacy’s lips firmed stubbornly, and with a long-suffering sigh Vito put a photo of Derek Harrington with a hole in his forehead next to Van Zandt. “You don’t want to mess with Simon Vartanian, Stacy. Any more than you want to mess with us. Answer Detective Lawrence’s question.”
“Yes,” she bit out. “I knew about the insurance fraud. I found the e-mails on Claire’s computer-the ones she’d sent to Simon and his father. The father’s said ‘I know what your son did.’”
“What did you think she meant?” Nick asked and she shrugged.
“That he was cheating the insurance company and that he’d faked his death. Her e-mail to Simon said ‘I know who you are, Simon.’ The father paid. Simon insisted she meet him, and like a stupid idiot, Claire did.”
“Where?” Vito asked tightly. “Where did she meet him?”
“Simon mentioned meeting her outside the library where she worked. But she didn’t show up for a few days, anywhere. So I made the logical assumption she was dead.”
“You sent the letters,” Nick said. “To the library and to yourself.”
“Yes. I sent the letters.”
Vito kept thinking he’d seen his fill of sociopaths on this case, but they just kept coming. “And you took up where she left off.”
“Only with the father, not with Simon.”
“Why not?” Nick asked and Stacy shot him an incredulous look.
“Because he was a killer. Duh. Claire was stupid. I’m not.”
“Here you are, so your intelligence isn’t necessarily a fact in evidence,” Nick said mildly. But a muscle in his cheek twitched and Vito knew the calm was a thin facade.
“Because he was a killer.” Vito shook his head. “You looked at him every time he came into your office for a checkup. You knew he wasn’t Frasier Lewis. You knew he’d killed Claire Reynolds and you never said a word?”
Again she shrugged. “What was the point? Claire was dead. Nothing I could do would bring her back, and obviously Arthur Vartanian could spare the money.”
Nick huffed out a chuckle. “God, this case just keeps getting better and better. So, Stacy, tell us. What made Arthur Vartanian come to find you?”
Stacy blinked. “He never came to find me. He just kept paying.”
“Oh, he came to find you all right. Now he’s dead. We found him and his wife buried near Claire.” Nick raised a brow. “You wanna see the pictures?”
Stacy shook her head. “He wanted proof that I knew his son, but he kept paying.”
Vito flicked a glance at Nick. “How did you prove it to him, Stacy?” Vito asked.
“I sent him a picture of Simon. The one I took for Pfeiffer.”
“It was a candid photo,” Vito remembered. “He didn’t pose for it.”
“Of course not. He wouldn’t let me take his picture, so I snapped one when he wasn’t looking. I thought I might need it someday.”
“Okay,” Nick said quietly, “now we’re going to want your help.”
Saturday, January 20, 5:00
P.M.
“You see the skinny bald guy?” Ted the Third whispered as he and Sophie stood waving good-bye to the final tour group of the day. “He’s runs a philanthropy group.”
Sophie smiled and waved. “I know. He told me. Three times.”
“He is a bit of a blowhard,” Ted admitted. “But he represents lots of rich people who want to use their money to further ‘education and the arts.’ He liked you. A lot.”
“I know. It was the only time I was glad to be in this armor. He tried to pinch my ass, Ted.” She scowled, but Ted just grinned.
“You had a sword, Sophie. Look at the bright side. Next time you might have the battle-ax.” He loosened his tie. “I think I’m going to splurge and take Darla out tonight.”
“Moshulu’s or the Charthouse?” she asked, and Ted choked on a shocked laugh.
“Our idea of a splurge is Chinese takeout.” He walked away, shaking his head.
“They never go out. They don’t have the money.”
Once again Sophie spun, the armor making her movement awkward. She glared up, more angry than startled this time. “Theo.”
“I can’t remember the last time we had an evening out.” Theo tilted his head. “Oh, wait. Yes, I can. It was just before Dad hired you.”
“Theo, if you have something to say, then for God’s sake, just say it.”
“Fine. Your salary is more than what my parents bring home together.”
Stunned, Sophie stared for a moment. “What?”
“They were so excited to hire you,” Theo said coldly. “My mom gave up her salary. They figured a ‘real historian’ would help them increase revenue. ‘Short-term sacrifice.’”
He turned on his heel to walk away, but Sophie grabbed his arm. “Theo. Wait.”
He stopped, but didn’t look at her.
“I had no idea my salary was a hardship for them.” And in turn, for him. She wondered what the financial hardship meant for Theo, for his future.
“Well, now you do.”
“You graduated from high school last year. What about college?”
He stiffened. “No money.”
Guilt swelled up within her and she pushed it back. Ted the Third had made sacrifices to keep this place going. But ultimately sacrifices were choices. “Theo, believe it or not, what your parents pay me is less than I’d make managing a McDonald’s. I could tell you I’d give the money back, but every penny I make pays for my gran’s nursing home.”
He turned and she saw she’d scored a small point. “McDonald’s? Really?”
“Really. You know, rather than being angry, why don’t we try to find some ways to bring more business in? More tours, new exhibits.”
His jaw tightened. “I hate the tours. They’re so… embarrassing. I mean, Patty Ann’s into all that theater stuff, but…”