A Relative Murder by Jude Deveraux

Author:Jude Deveraux
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: MIRA Books
Published: 2021-12-23T15:16:37+00:00

* * *

They were quiet as Randal drove from the richest part of Fort Lauderdale, away from the mansions that faced the water and had docks for their private yachts, to a normal suburban area. It was nice, but a long way from what they’d just seen.

Randal pulled onto the concrete drive of a house and turned off the engine.

“You told him we were coming, right?” Kate asked.

“Of course. I wanted to give him ample time to run away.”

“We’re showing up without warning?” she asked. “You should have—”

“Like you and Jack and my secretive sister always tell people when you’re arriving?” Randal got out of the car and shut the door.

“Sometimes we do,” Kate murmured and got out. Her father was already at the door and had pressed the bell. The door opened just as Kate got there.

A man was standing there, half-bald, wearing an old T-shirt and jeans. His belly swelled out. He wasn’t what Kate had envisioned as “the Bentley man.”

“We’re not buyin’ any,” the man said, then his face drained of color. “It’s you.”

“I’d like to talk to you,” Randal said.

“I don’t want any trouble.”

Randal stepped back so he could see Kate. “This is my daughter. I believe you met her when she was four.”

If possible, the man’s face grew even more pale. “I guess I do owe you.” He opened the glass storm door and let them enter.

They followed him into a living room filled with furniture that looked to have been purchased from a discount catalog. It wasn’t the highest quality. They sat down.

“My wife will be back soon and...and...”

“We won’t stay long,” Randal said. “I just want to hear the truth of what happened.”

“I didn’t lie on the stand. You did take my car and I didn’t give you permission.”

“The drugs were yours,” Kate said.

When the man turned to look at her, she saw a flash of anger in his eyes.

He looked back at Randal. “No one asked me about the drugs. And I didn’t volunteer to tell.”

“But—” Kate began.

Randal gave her a look to be quiet. “I want to hear the whole story.”

The man glanced at his watch. “That old guy, Edison, arranged everything. He told me what to do and what not to say.”

Randal spoke in the tone of a therapist: caring, concerned, persuasive. “Would you tell us what you left out? Please?”

“I guess you deserve that.” Again the man glanced at his watch. “I was in debt. My wife then—the one who left me—didn’t know we were on the verge of bankruptcy. I went to the bank, to a VP, and begged him to give me more time. He asked how desperate I was. I made a joke and said I was ready to become a hit man if it got me out of debt. He didn’t laugh, just told me to go home and wait.”

“What was his name?” Randal asked.

“It doesn’t matter. He died years ago. Anyway, I got a call. I was to go to a truck stop, leave the keys to my Bentley on the left rear tire, then go in and eat.

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