CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

 

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CALDER APPROACHED THE entrance to the solarium with determination. But little enthusiasm.

Since the incident with her father, Calder had wrestled with the proper course of action. Edwin felt he could ask her anything, she didn't feel as free.

She was his daughter. His only child. Had been for close to thirty years. Yet, the entire time he'd relegated her to the fringes of his life. Every time Calder believed she didn't care, he proved her wrong.

Try as she might, Calder couldn't turn off her feelings. If her father was in trouble, she wanted to know. Her mother could be a surprising font of information where her ex-husbands were concerned.

The sound of Billie's slightly off-key singing hit her ears. She only sang when she thought no one was around to hear.

What Billie didn't realize was how far her high-pitched vocalizing carried. For a woman who insisted she was a closet singer, she belted every song as if she were at Carnegie Hall. And the sound system was on the fritz.

Disco was her songbook of choice. Today, Billie did her best Donna Summer tribute, shaking her backside as she arranged a large bouquet of stark white roses. Hot Stuff, indeed.

"Nice flowers."

Billie gasped.

"Why do you girls insist on sneaking up? Scared the life out of me. If I die a decade early, you and your sisters will be the reason."

A familiar complaint, Calder simply smiled. Billie, quick to forgive, smiled back. She held up the vase of roses and preened.

"Ingo sends me two dozen three times a week. He's so thoughtful."

Though Calder hated the smell, she could appreciate a rose's beauty. Ingo Hunter was another matter. She had a meeting scheduled with Dee Wakefield later today to go over what she'd uncovered. For now, she had another man on her mind.

The solarium was located on the far west side of the mansion. Billie spent more time in the room than anyone else. She claimed the moist heat, necessary to keep the abundant tropical plants healthy, was good for her complexion.

Calder suspected the true reason had more to do with the connection to Lilianna Benedict. Billie's mother died shortly after the addition she'd designed was completed. Just before her daughter's tenth birthday.

Pictures of Calder's maternal grandmother showed a woman of striking beauty. The shape of her eyes. Her bone structure. Even the way she held her head was Billie's perfect match.

"Have you spoken to my father lately?"

"Edwin? Such a dear man."

With a vague smile, Billie pressed her face into the bouquet and inhaled. Calder sighed.

"Has he called?"

"No. Why would he?"

The filled vase in her hands, Billie left the solarium. Calder followed, determined to get a satisfactory answer. Subtle didn't work with her mother. Time to get direct.

"Did Edwin mention money problems the last time you saw him?"

"He told you? I'm so glad." As she walked and talked, Billie placed the roses on each surface she passed. Never satisfied, she picked up the vase and moved to the next table. Then the next. "I told him you'd understand. But you know your father. Proud and stubborn."

Yet, Edwin confided in Billie. Because…? Calder's stomach sank.

"How much money did you give him?"

Billie brushed off Calder's concern with a wave of her perfectly manicured nails.

"What if I did? He doesn't ask often. Only when his other options have dried up."

Edwin's problems weren't something new? The revelation made Calder's head spin. She believed her father was an accomplished, successful businessman. Obviously, she was wrong.

When she realized Billie was almost to the end of the hallway, Calder hurried to catch up.

"How often does Edwin ask for money?"

"Hmm?" Billie set the flowers on an antique table, stepped back to survey the results, a frown of deep concentration on her face.

"Billie! How often?"

"A few times since we divorced."

"A few?" Calder prodded. "As in twice? Three times? What excuse does he give?"

"Honestly, Calder." Billie rolled her eyes over all the fuss. "Six? Maybe. I've lost track. Bad investments. A downturn in the stock market. That actress who took him to the cleaners. Silly man. I could have told him not to marry her. She had thick ankles."

Since ankles, thick or otherwise, had no correlation, Calder ignored the comment.

"If Dad is in trouble—"

"You don't need to worry about Edwin. He's never down for long." Billie bit her lip. "Promise you won't mention our conversation to Ingo. He doesn't understand why I remain friends with my ex-husbands. I see nothing wrong with helping your father. He might not agree. Understand?"

No problem. Calder avoided the man like the plague.

"Don't worry. I won't say anything."

Her mind already on more important matters, Billie turned her head from side to side as she considered the roses.

"What do you think? Should I leave the flowers here, or move them to the downstairs foyer?"

Any more questions would be useless. Billie had ever so briefly drifted into Calder's world. Now, safely in her own happy cocoon, she was back to her old, carefree self.

"I'm certain wherever you choose will be just right."

The big picture about her father's financial woes had come into focus. The specific details were a murky mess. She could do some digging. Rather, she could put Dee Wakefield on the trail.

To what end? Calder started up the back stairway, deep in thought. Even if she wanted to help—outside of money—what could she do?

 

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"YOU CAN'T DO a thing."

Calder sat in Andi's office as her sister sorted through a stack of gauzy material. She'd come for advice. As expected, the verdict was swift and to the point. Yet, for some reason, she felt the need to protest.

"I might be able to help."

"How? Give him money? If Edwin asked, what would you say?"

"No." For good reason.

When Destry was seventeen, she gave her father money. By Benedict standards, not a lot. Yet, a substantial amount. She didn't expect him to pay her back. Unfortunately, after she gave him a taste, he considered her to be easy pickings. He was wrong.

Destry never made the same mistake twice. The experience added another layer to her already cloudy outlook on life. By example, her sisters learned a valuable lesson.

Never give their fathers money.

"Edwin won't change. Advice is a waste of breath. An offer of support will fall on deaf ears."

Andi's father was the same. Destry's was a lost cause. And while Bryce's father was the most easygoing of the lot, he was unpredictable.

Money was only one of the pitfalls the Benedict sisters had to deal with where Billie's ex-husbands were concerned.

"My problem is, I feel guilty."

"You feel guilty because you don't feel guilty."

"I knew you'd understand."

"Who better?" Andi set aside her work to join Calder on the deep-blue velvet loveseat. "Our parents are screwed up. But at least they gave us each other."

Andi put an arm around Calder's waist. Comforting. Loving. Her hug felt like home.

"Should we thank them?" Calder teased.

Andi's laugh filled the room.

"Let's not get carried away."

 

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THE FILE FELT lighter than Calder expected. After a brief but friendly greeting, Dee Wakefield sat the folder on the desk. She took a seat. Stretched out her legs, crossed her ankles, and relaxed.

"Before I say anything, read what I found. I'll add my take after you get a feel for the information. Warning. A week isn't very long. I've only scratched the surface."

"I understand." Calder started reading.

"Are your sisters coming?"

"Just me. I'll fill them in later."

Dee popped a butter cookie into her mouth. "Between the excellent coffee and the butter cookies? You're my favorite client ever."

Calder smiled.

"If I took away the treats?"

"Top five. With a bullet."

The report started with the basics. Ingo Hunter's age. Place of birth. He was an only child. Parents deceased. The money they left him was enough for several very indulgent lifetimes.

Calder checked the amount of the inheritance against Hunter's current estimated net worth. Frowning, she looked up.

"Are these numbers correct?"

"We haven't known each other long, so I won't take offense." Dee topped off her coffee, then retook her seat. "I check every fact. Every number. Every period and comma. Hunter isn't the savvy businessman he wants the world to believe."

Unlike Calder's father, Ingo Hunter wasn't hurting. However, in thirty-five years, he managed to diminish his fortune by a considerable amount.

"I'm no expert, but some things are obvious. Hunter loses a lot of money for his investors. He tends to skate through with a few bumps then, recoups a hefty chunk of cash on the next deal. Then loses. Recoups. The circle bends."

"But never breaks."

"My guess? His tax returns are this side of dodgy. A good accountant and some high-up friends keep him in clover." Dee shrugged. "You'll never know for certain unless you find someone equally as dodgy to do some digging."

Calder could speak for her sisters without hesitation.

"No."

The approval in Dee's eyes was easy to read.

"Be nice if Hunter's actions were an anomaly. Truth is, what I found is standard operating procedure for the filthy rich. No offense."

"None taken."

The books Calder kept defined squeaky clean. Professionally, and personally.

"I haven't been able to scratch up a lot about Hunter's after-hours life. Other than the basics. He was married. Only once. One child. Ingo Hunter the third." Dee sneered. "What's the deal with numbers? The second. The fourth? One is more than enough."

"Legacy, I suppose." Considering the history of her name, Calder didn't feel in any position to judge. "Why don't I remember anything about Hunter's son?"

"Fell off the map ten years ago. And when I say fell off, I mean vanished. Without a trace. I'll keep looking. Even if his address is six feet under, he has to be somewhere."

"You think he's dead?"

Thoughtfully, Dee sipped her coffee.

"Nah. The funeral would have made headlines. Hunter wouldn't let grief get in the way of publicity."

Sad, but true. Calder knew many people who felt the same way. Huge weddings. Bigger funerals. Many, many cameras.

"The Third attended Carver Academy. Some snooty, and very exclusive, upstate prep school."

Calder was impressed. Unlike many of the places wealthy families chose to educate their children, money couldn't get a child through Carver's gates, only brains. The entrance exam was killer. For some.

"Carver Academy made a hard push for Destry."

"They came after her? Like a college after a top athlete?" Dee shook her head as if the scenario was beyond her grasp.

"High school academic recruitment is a big deal. The best minds plus the highest test scores equal prestige."

The ideals of learning were a lofty goal. However, only money kept the doors open, the lights on, and the eighteen-hole golf course groomed. Because of their reputation, Carver charged triple what some schools asked. Tuition alone—forget about all the extra fees—was more than most people made in ten years.

"Destry attended Carver Academy? Maybe she met Hunter's son."

"She aced the entrance exam—to prove she could. Then, the little genius told them where they could shove their blue and gold uniform. Destry isn't a fan of rules. Or uniforms."

Calder chuckled at the memory. Thirteen years old and full of piss and vinegar. The only thing that had changed was Destry's age.

"On the surface, Ingo Hunter's information cupboards are pretty bare. Makes me itchy." Absently, Dee scratched her leg. "Figure if I can't find anything, there must be something."

"What's your plan?"

"Dig, baby, dig. So far, nobody's talking. Yet. One disgruntled employee. A spurned ex." Some of Calder's misgivings must have shown in her eyes. "Don't worry. I won't step on too many toes."

"I'd hoped our meeting would give me a definitive answer."

"I will find out if Hunter is a threat to your mother."

"But a threat how?"

Dee shrugged.

"Exactly why you hired me. If Hunter wants something besides your mother's scintillating company, I'll find out."

Calder believed in Dee. Trusted her to find what they needed. Information. Hunter's secrets. His agenda.

Absently, Calder tapped the file with her finger. Nothing would help if they found out too late.