Authors: Allison Brennan
“The Robeauxs—Brian and Sara—come from modest means and, honestly, you come from money. You weren’t raised in the same town, didn’t go to the same schools, and they’re older than you. How did you become a partner in Evergreen?”
“You’ve done your research.”
“That’s a comment that usually means you don’t want to answer my question.”
He sipped his wine. “Hardly. I hired Evergreen ten years ago on one of my first buildings—it was a renovation project, and Brian underbid. I was skeptical that he could get it done at cost, but I liked his no-nonsense attitude. He did an amazing job, and after the fact I learned he hardly made any money on the project. He’s not a money guy. I made a proposition that I’d be a silent partner and help with his financing and bids—I know how businesspeople think, I know the market. The problem was that Brian, though gruff on the outside, has a soft streak. The economy really hit him harder than most. So I approached Jackson about putting together the funding for the new sports complex, and he hooked me up with his grandfather, Archer, and the rest is history.”
“And the no-bid project?”
“Evergreen was cut a break. It happens all the time. Brian didn’t know until after the fact—Jason and I kept it from him. If he thought it was competitive, he would have completely underc#le fd put the project and Evergreen would have completed it, and Brian would never earn a dime. I have an interest in the company, but it’s small compared to my other businesses. ACP is getting a fabulous project and a very good deal. You know how it is—business is about who you know.”
“How did Brian feel when he realized you and Jason had gone behind his back in bidding on the ACP project?”
Jasper stared at her. “How do you know about that?”
“Confidential sources,” she replied.
He assessed her before answering. “Brian was upset at first, but I convinced him it was best for the company. Jason had graduated from college with a degree in architectural design and a minor in environmental impact, he had experience with Gordon Cho, one of the most respected design firms in the country, and, to be blunt, me. I couldn’t continue to funnel money into Evergreen if Brian was going to turn down clients because he didn’t like their politics or because he didn’t like how they talked to him. Jason had a personality that made everyone like and trust him. I really liked the kid—I hope to someday have a son just like him.”
He had an odd look in his expression as he looked at the candle flickering on the table. Forty, single, lamenting the lack of a prodigy. Max’s urge to fall into bed with him for a brief fling went from hot to cold in a snap.
She asked, “Could Brian have killed him?”
“Why?”
“You didn’t say he wasn’t capable.”
“Anyone is capable of murder under the right circumstances,” Jasper said. He poured the rest of the wine into both of their glasses. Max stopped him before he finished with hers. Jasper sipped, then said, “Brian didn’t kill Jason. I would stake my reputation on it. He loved Jason like a son. Jess and Jason were like his own children. He’s truly only a nice guy around them, and Sara. He’s angry and bitter about the economy and his struggling business, but he works harder than anyone I know. Physically hard labor that he’s not up to anymore, but he does it anyway. He can be judgmental and rigid, but when it came to Sara and her kids, he was kind and even flexible. Honestly, if I didn’t admire his work ethic and job quality, I would never have put up with Brian all these years. But I understand him now, after working with him for so long. He had the patience of a saint teaching Jason the tools of the trade. If Brian had killed him, it would have been an accident, heat of the moment, and he would have confessed immediately. He’d never forgive himself. I just don’t think he could do it. Not that he couldn’t kill, but he couldn’t kill Jason.”
Jasper’s assessment had a ring of truth. More, he had an insight into people that Max appreciated.
“So, are you done?” His eyebrow arched, making him appear even more charming and handsome.
“I’m certain Detective Santini asked you all the standard questions—did Jason have any enemies, was he worried about anything specific or vague, how was his relationship with the employees, et cetera.”
“Yes, he did.”
“Anything come to you now, five months later, that you didn’t think about then? Particularly in reference to the trees that Jason was obsessed about.”
“I wouldn’t say obsessed.”
“Dru Parker thought she was dying—and she’s shook his head. “Mou> still not out of the woods—and the last thing she said to me before she lost consciousness was about how Jason thought there was something odd about holes in the trees. Maybe that’s why he was there late Saturday night.”
“Maybe we should go look at them.”
“Can you show me what he was looking at specifically?”
Jasper nodded. “He took me out there but I didn’t see anything that caused me to be suspicious. Someone had been digging around, but it didn’t look like a big deal. A few holes in the dirt under the redwood trees. He asked me to talk to the school and find out if they had a science class or someone working on a school project. I asked; they said no. They’d banned students from that side of the campus because of the pending construction. We’d already put the fences up.”
Max wanted to do it first thing in the morning, but she needed to talk to Dru first. “I don’t know what my plans are tomorrow, but the morning is shot,” she said.
“Tuesday I’ll be at the site meeting with alumni who are planning to invest in the interior of the sports complex. I’ll be done with them around noon.”
“I’ll be there. I appreciate it.” Maybe she could get Santini to meet her there—it was worth a few minutes of his time.
“And then perhaps we could have another meal together.”
His eyes were sparkling and Max smiled. Jasper was attractive, very smart, and educated, the type of man Max enjoyed spending time with. But most of the men she dated thought they could handle her independence and drive, but within weeks they were clingy and urging her to spend more time with them and less time with work. Which meant they’d never listened to her, let alone understood her. They paid lip service to her dreams and her career drive, all the while thinking that great sex would keep her chained to them. It’s why she maintained the long-distance relationship with Marco—no strings, great sex, and she would never in a million years move to Florida, and Marco would never leave. It was perfect. Until it wasn’t.
Jasper was looking for a wife, it was clear as day. His wistful expression thinking about Jason as a sonlike figure, lamenting his own lack of a family. This was a man with an agenda, and Max needed to steer clear. He might say he was worldly and cherished her independence, but he wouldn’t remain that way for long. She pictured them in bed together, and all she could see were little sperms defeating all her birth control measures and invading her eggs.
But she had to admit that she liked Jasper and found him to be both sincere and honest; rare qualities.
“Maybe, but I’m trying to wrap things up so I can get back to New York.”
“Wrap things up? Like what?”
“Like finding out who killed Jason.”
* * *
It was well after ten by the time Max arrived back at her hotel and the desk clerk approached. “Ms. Revere? You have a guest waiting for you in the bar.”
If it was Andy, she was going to ignore it.
“Who?”
“He didn’t give his name, but he was at your table yesterday.”
“Blond or brunet?”
“Brunet.”
Nick. “Thank you,” she said a#le fd pnd walked into the bar.
He was sitting in the far corner with both a folder and a beer in front of him. She had no opportunity to sneak up on him—his eyes were on her as soon as she stepped into the bar.
She asked the bartender for her favorite wine, and slid into the booth next to Nick. He closed the file he was reading. The tab referred to Jason Hoffman.
“If I’d known you wanted to see me,” she said, “I would have rushed through dinner. Good news, I hope.”
“Neither good nor bad,” he said. “But since you gave me the tip on Parker’s boyfriend, I thought I’d fill you in, at least as much as I’m able to.”
“Is she awake?”
“Not yet, but they expect her to be conscious tomorrow.”
Max was relieved. “Good.”
“I spoke with Potrero. He has an alibi for the time of the attack.”
“Did you check it out?”
He stared at her, his green eyes narrowed like a cat about to pounce.
She smiled. “Of course you did.”
“But he was definitely squirming when I spoke to him. I’m checking out his employer and I hope Parker is forthcoming tomorrow.”
Max knew better than to ask if Nick could get a warrant for Dru’s house or Rebecca Cross’s car—Max’s statement wasn’t going to get him anything. He needed probable cause, which he might get if Dru told him whatever she had planned to tell Max before the attack.
Chapter Fifteen
Max’s cell phone rang at five thirty in the morning. It was Shelley from D.C.
“You know I’m in California,” Max grumbled as she pulled herself from a deep sleep.
“Good morning, sunshine,” Shelley chirped.
Max groaned.
“Nice way to thank me for working all night for you.”
“Thank you.” Max was still confused, but put it off to being jolted from a hot dream that involved strawberries, chocolate, and Nick Santini.
“You don’t sound excited.”
“You’re excited for the both of us.”
She swung her legs over the edge of the bed, stretched, then walked over to her desk and turned on her computer.
“Not excited—just pissed off. I’ve spent all my life working to protect the environment, you know? It’s my calling. So I really hate it when people scam the system. It makes us all look bad, right?”
“Right,” Max agreed, though she was still catching up with Shelley.
“So I called a friend of mine high up in Cal-EPA—someone who knows everything about every environmental group in California. He never heard of DL Environmental. He has access to a database of nonprofits, and DLE is registered, but no sign of that kind of donation history. Have no idea what’s going on with them, but they file a simple tax filing stating that they receive less than $50,000 in donations. Tommy thinks that they’re running a scam—you know, donate to this cause and feel good, but they don’t use any of the money for the cause.”
“Hmm.”
“You don’t think so?”
“I think it’s bigger than fraud.”
“How so?” shook his head. “ g3, includ
“They own a half-million-dollar condo in San Mateo and a new car that one of their people is driving. They have a mail drop for a business address.”
“Well, just so you know, they’re not a player at all, never raised a finger or given a dollar to any of the legit causes.”
“Good to know. Can your friend Tommy get their filings? The nonprofit paperwork, and public tax information.”
“Because they’re nonprofit, most of the stuff is available to the public if you know where to look. I can get it for you. Give me an hour and I’ll e-mail what I find.”
“Thanks, Shell.”
“So it helps?”
“Yes.” It confirmed that Max had been thinking, but she still didn’t know where DLE was getting their money. If it was an Internet financial scam, that was under the FBI. “Can you please cross-reference any paperwork with the names John Carlos or J. C. Potrero and Rebecca Cross?”
“Wow, you said please. I don’t think I’ve ever heard that word cross your lips.” Shelley laughed heartily.
“You’re not funny.”
“I’ll be in New York for a conference this summer. I expect dinner and a show and lots of drinks.”
“You’re on. E-mail me the dates and I’ll clear my calendar.”
Max hung up and ran through all possible scenarios, but it seemed pretty clear based on the evidence she saw at Dru’s place that she and Jason were friends. Maybe she told Jason what she was doing with DLE, and Jason being a smart guy knew it was illegal. Perhaps he tried to help her, and got a bullet in the head for his effort.
Except, that meant she lied to Max when she said that there were weird things going on at Evergreen the week Jason was killed. That could have been a cover for Dru, feeling guilty and wanting to point a finger at J. C. and his buddy Rebecca Cross? Dru didn’t seem like a killer, but she might have kept quiet about the murder. Yet when both Max and Nick started asking around about Jason’s murder again, she panicked. And would she have really kept quiet, considering her and Jason’s long-term friendship?
Murder over a financial scam? People have been killed for less, but it didn’t feel right to Max. And would Dru have told J. C. that she planned to talk to Max about whatever was going on? Doubtful. Not if she thought J. C. was a killer. Maybe he followed her. Or …
Or someone Dru trusted knew about the arrangement. Like her roommates, Whitney and Amy. If one of them were home when Nick came over, and then Dru bolted, they might have alerted J. C. or Rebecca.
Too many what-ifs and not enough answers. She ordered up coffee from room service because she had a lot of work to do.
A text message from David popped up on her phone: Parker is conscious. Being moved to Room 242.
It was 3:00 A.M. in Hawaii. Did David never sleep? She responded with a smiley face.
Max needed to talk to Dru. She could put all this together if Dru would admit to what was going on with the money and DLE and tell her if Jason had found out about it.
She frowned. That still didn’t explain Jason’s obsession with the trees at Atherton Prep. Maybe Dru had said the wrong thing. She had been bleeding and in pain. shook his head. “ȁ. f
Max waited for her coffee, drank a cup, dispensed with e-mail, then quickly showered and dressed. Today called for professional, because she might have to talk herself into Dru’s room. As she was about to leave, her e-mail popped, a message from Shelley. She’d attached a list of property owned by Rebecca Cross, DL Environmental, or R4E. There were only four, two owned by Rebecca Cross, and two owned by DL Environmental. DL owned the house Dru and her friends rented and J. C. Potrero’s condo. Cross owned the house Max had followed J. C. to yesterday, plus a remote property off Phleger Road. It was in the county, in the mountains west of Woodside. The area was mostly open space and protected land, but any original property ownership was grandfathered in decades ago, with right of survivorship.