Liar, Liar, Heart's Desire Page 2

  “You’re shattering my illusions but, you know,”—he wagged his half-eaten fry at her—“this might make an interesting story. Why Women Fake It and How to Tell.”

  “Yeah.” In her mind, she could actually see the banner headline. It was exactly the sort of thing she expected from a tabloid. “Good luck with the last part.”

  “Not going to share the trade secrets, huh?”

  “You don’t really want to know. Besides, every woman’s different.”

  “I have noticed that.”

  She’d bet he had. He had enough of a bad boy way about him that women probably fell at his feet everywhere he went. Lord knew it hadn’t taken her long to start having hot, steamy, lust-filled fantasies with him in the starring role.

  ~***~

  Alec picked up the last fry on her plate as Cleo checked the time on her phone.

  “I’ve got to go meet Danny,” she said.

  “Okay. I’ll settle the bill and we’ll be on our way.”

  “Uhm.”

  It didn’t dawn on him until he saw the look on her face—as if she wanted to say something but wasn’t sure how—that she didn’t want him tagging along. He shouldn’t have been surprised. With everything that hung in the balance, she wasn’t going to forget his loyalties belonged to a “sleazy” tabloid.

  And they would have if Annaliese were the more distant relative Cleo wanted him to think she was. But despite her best efforts to mislead him, he’d stumbled on the truth: Annaliese was Cleo’s mother. His own madre would box his ears if he didn’t respect that. Besides, he didn’t want to cause Cleo unnecessary pain. Not that he’d hesitate to write anything that was available to some other newshound. Getting scooped by some twit mainstream reporter wasn’t in his plans.

  Speaking of twit reporters . . . “Marty doesn’t know you’re related to Annaliese, does he?”

  “No. And I’d like to keep it that way.”

  “Good.” She looked as though she’d almost figured out what to say, but if he wasn’t going to be invited along anyway, he might as well make some points with her. He dug the car keys out of his pocket and set them on the table. “You don’t need me to meet the lawyer, do you? Because I’ve got some other ideas to follow up on.”

  Relief flooded her face followed by a confused frown. He almost smiled. Pulitzer-caliber reporters needed be thrown off balance regularly to keep their egos in check. It was an ugly job, but someone had to do it.

  She slung the strap of her bag over her shoulder and picked up the keys. “No, I’ll be fine alone. I’ll call when I’m done, and you can let me know where to pick you up.”

  He leaned to the side to watch her thread her way between the tables. She might be at risk for a swelled head, but there wasn’t a damned thing wrong with her ass.

  He paid the bill, pocketing the receipt for his expense reimbursement, and strolled outside where he pulled out his phone and called the direct line to Sebastian Koblect’s office.

  Nancy Bales—Ms. Bales to strangers and colleagues and, if she had any, possibly to her friends as well—had been Sebastian Koblect’s personal assistant for the past ten years.

  Cleo wasn’t the only one with secrets.

  Bales believed Alec was a freelance writer and, armed with tips from Cleo, he’d convinced Bales to help him with an article—and possibly a book—about Sebastian.

  When she answered, he identified himself then said, “I’m sure you’ve heard about the arrest. I’d love to talk to you about it when you have the time.”

  “Yes, I’m sure you would.” Her voice was cool as though he was the last person she wanted to talk to.

  He wondered if she’d somehow learned he worked for a tabloid.

  “Things are a little hectic here right now,” she said. “I won’t have a spare moment until Sunday.”

  Or maybe someone was there and she didn’t want them to guess she was talking to the press. “Whatever’s convenient for you.”

  “The same place as before, then.” A restaurant off the Strip where the bad food kept locals away. “Say, two o’clock. I’ll meet you.”

  Before she could hang up, he said, “I don’t suppose you’ve made any progress getting me an interview with Liz.”

  Her voice frosted over a little more. “Liz is considering her options, but I don’t believe you’re on her short list.”

  “Do you think there’s any chance she’ll reconsider?”

  “I wouldn’t hold my breath if I were you.”

  “That’s fair. I have some other leads to follow up on.” He didn’t but she didn’t need to know that. He thanked her for trying, reiterated the time and place of their Sunday meeting, and disconnected the call. It would have been nice if Bales could have arranged an interview with Liz, but he wasn’t giving up yet. There had to be a way to get the Merry Widow to talk to him.

  Chapter 2

  Cleo stopped in front of the glass doors to look at the gold painted words Bonner and Bonner, Attorneys at Law. She hadn’t been to Danny’s office in a long time. Back then, there’d been no and Bonner on the door, but she supposed it was inevitable that his daughter would join his firm.

  Was that a twinge of jealousy she felt? Like there was any doubt. She pushed on the door and entered the office. It practically smelled of money with original art on the walls and thick carpets.

  She was ten minutes early for her appointment, so once she let the receptionist know she was there, she took a seat in the reception area of Bonner and Bonner.

  At the height of Danny Bonner’s career with the Clark County District Attorney’s office, he’d been considered for a judgeship but had been passed over. Cleo wondered if the reasons had anything to do with her mother. Would an illicit affair with a showgirl have been enough to sink the career of a man said to be a brilliant jurist?

  Not that she knew for sure there’d been anything going on between them, but they’d been friends—or at least friendly—and Annaliese had never understood the fuss people made about sex, so the odds were good that “friendly” included some additional benefits.

  Denied the judgeship, Danny Bonner left the DA’s office, started his private practice, and become one of the most sought-after—and expensive—criminal lawyers in Las Vegas.

  His daughter was a few years older than Cleo, but Cleo didn’t know her. With a private school education, Kathleen Bonner had always been destined for a privileged life.

  As far as Cleo was concerned, having Danny for a father gave Kathleen more privileges out of the gate than most people ever got.

  According to her mother, Cleo’s father had been some guy Annaliese had met at the casino. A weekend fling had ensued. By the time Annaliese realized she was pregnant, she couldn’t remember the guy’s last name or where he’d been from. If she’d ever known those things in the first place.

  So many of the kids at her school had been from broken families, not having a dad around hadn’t bothered Cleo. That changed when she was fourteen and Annaliese brought Danny into their circle. Something about him had made her want not just a dad, but a dad who was, well, him.

  She’d never figured out why he had that effect on her when none of Annaliese’s other men did. Maybe the difference was Kathleen. Having already been through his own daughter’s adolescence seemed to have given Danny the ability to put Cleo at ease and to make her want to please him.

  How would her life be different, Cleo wondered, if she’d had a dad like Danny?

  From the depths of her purse, her phone trilled. As she pulled it free, it trilled a second time, louder without the muffling effect of her bag. Her face heated. Somehow it felt inappropriate in here. Like farting in church. She answered without looking at the display.

  “It’s me,” Willa said in response to her hello.

  “Is something wrong?” Cleo asked, keeping her voice low.

  “Well . . . I . . .”

  Cleo heard her take a breath.

  “The police are here with a search warrant,” Wi
lla said in a rush as though ripping a Band-Aid from a wound. “What should I do?”

  Cleo nodded to herself. They’d expected this. After Annaliese’s arrest, Alec had stowed their laptops, voice recorders, and notes in the trunk of their rental car, so they couldn’t be impounded by the police. “Cooperate,” Cleo said. She hoped they didn’t leave too big a mess. “Where’s Jada?”

  “She’s working on a jigsaw puzzle.”

  Cleo winced. Jada was a bit of a savant when it came to puzzles, and they seemed to center her, but having her in the middle of all the activity a search involved was risky. “Do you think you can convince her to sunbathe on the patio until they’re gone?” That would keep Jada from having to watch them carry Annaliese’s things out of the condo.

  “I’ll try. Some sunshine would do her good anyway.”

  “Great. I’ll be home”—how long would this conversation with Danny take?—“In an hour. Maybe two.” She hoped they’d be done by then.

  As she disconnected, the receptionist’s phone buzzed. The woman lifted the receiver and listened, then ushered Cleo into Danny’s inner sanctum.

  He rose and came around his massive desk to give her a hug.

  For a moment, she let herself melt into it the way a daughter would, but she pulled back before it could get awkward, reminding herself he really wasn’t anything more than her mother’s friend and, at this moment, her attorney—and maybe the only thing standing between Annaliese and a long prison sentence.

  Except for a little bit more weight in the middle, he looked the way she remembered him. In his mid-fifties, he was going gray with distinguished grace. The jacket of his navy, three-piece suit—probably purchased from some exotic Saville Row tailor—was unbuttoned, but the matching vest underneath kept him looking dapper.

  “Have you seen her?” Cleo asked as she sat in a black leather chair. “How is she doing?”

  Danny smiled and shook his head as he settled in on his side of the desk. “Your mom. She’s a survivor. To hear her tell it, she’s in jail with a shitload of potential Rockettes.”

  Cleo barked a laugh. She should have expected something like that. It wasn’t hard to imagine that, in a week or two, Annaliese would have an orange-clad chorus line of women doing high kicks.

  Danny sobered. “I wish someone had called me yesterday when they took Annaliese in for questioning.”

  He didn’t say it accusingly, but Cleo flushed anyway. “I didn’t think . . . I mean, they’d questioned her before, right after Sebastian’s death, but they didn’t arrest her.”

  “I know. But you had Jada call me then.”

  Cleo had been at her new job at The Inside Word in Denver just over a week when Sebastian died. When she’d gotten the call from her mother’s thirty-year-old life partner, Jada had been frantic and nearly hysterical. In hindsight, Cleo should have guessed that all was not as Jada said. Jada was . . . well, challenged. Or to put it plainly, what people had once called simple. From the little Annaliese had said years ago, the result of some early childhood head injury. Cleo had never asked for the details. “Jada told me she’d been arrested.”

  Danny nodded as if he’d expected that. He picked up a gold pen and twiddled it in his fingers. “Annaliese is anxious about how Jada’s handling this.”

  Cleo’s hand rose to her face, ostensibly to rub her temple, but it was a shielding maneuver, one she suspected criminal lawyers recognized as readily as reporters. She forced her hand back into her lap.

  “Jada’s not handling this well. It’s not completely her fault. Liz Morrow is her dance captain.”

  “Koblect’s widow?”

  Cleo nodded. “Jada has auditions coming up soon.” Showgirls had to re-audition every six months to keep their jobs. “She was at rehearsal when word spread about the arrest. Liz went off on her.”

  Danny winced.

  “The doctor prescribed tranquilizers. I’m hoping she won’t need them for long.”

  “Where is she now?” he asked.

  Translation: You didn’t leave her alone, did you? “Willa James is with her at the condo. She’s been a godsend.”

  When news of the arrest had spread, the phone calls had started pouring in. That was what happened when someone got broadsided by notoriety. Cleo deleted most of the voicemails without listening to them, but she’d known Willa forever. A retired showgirl like Annaliese and, at one time, Annaliese’s best friend, she now worked as a dresser for El Dorado’s showgirl revue.

  Her message, offering to help any way she could, elevated her onto Cleo’s blessing list. She’d called Willa back and asked if she’d mind staying with Jada during the press conference.

  “I’d be more than happy to,” Willa had said. “In fact, any time you need someone to stay with Jada, you call me. She’s such a sweetie, and I know she needs someone to be with her. Especially now. I’m just glad there’s something I can do to help, you know.”

  No gladder than Cleo was. She trusted Willa. If there was anyone more perfect to keep an eye on Jada when she and Alec were elsewhere, Cleo couldn’t imagine who it would be.

  “Hm.” Danny made a note. “I thought Annaliese and Willa didn’t get along any more.”

  “They don’t,” Cleo confessed. “But I can’t afford to turn down help when it’s offered.” Nor did she want to rock the boat asking Willa if the gossip about her being one of Sebastian’s on-the-side women was true. “Besides, Jada knows Willa. I couldn’t leave her alone with a stranger right now.”

  “I understand,” Danny said. “And it’s your call to make. Annaliese will just have to accept that.”

  “Why did they arrest her this time and not before?” Cleo asked.

  He leaned back in his chair and swung it slightly from side to side, the pen waggling between the knuckles of his right hand. “Okay, some of what I know is hearsay. I won’t know the full score until we get to discovery, but a couple of things made them decide to arrest your mother. The first is that Koblect drowned in his tub. He’d been drinking and initial speculation was that he was drunk. That maybe he fell into the pool. Or he could have already been in the pool and simply slid underwater. But the coroner also found bruising around his neck consistent with someone holding him underwater.”

  She already knew about that. Martin had gotten it from a source and shared it with her a few hours before the police had shown up at her mother’s condo. “It couldn’t have been Annaliese. He’d have fought, and she’s not strong enough to―”

  “There were also prescription drugs in Koblect’s system,” Bonner said. “The police believe they were slipped into his drink. According to his blood work, enough to make him woozy, especially with the amount of alcohol they found. Any struggle he put up would have been ineffectual.”

  Cleo flashed on her mother standing in the kitchen taking a muscle relaxer, but she shoved the image away. Lots of drugs reacted with alcohol. “That still doesn’t mean―”

  “And Annaliese admits to being in Koblect’s apartment that night.” He paused, his chair and the pen going still. A look of sympathy crossed his face. “The DA hinted they have something even more damning, but I don’t know what it is.”

  It could only be one thing. Cleo braced herself and asked, “Do they have a motive?”

  “I got the impression they were still working on that.”

  She swallowed. This was going to be tricky. “If I tell you something, is it confidential?”

  The pen was back in motion as he studied her. “You were in Denver when Koblect died. Is that correct?”

  “Yes.”

  “Give me a dollar.”

  “What?”

  “I need a retainer.”

  She dug into her purse, pulled a dollar from her wallet, and placed it on the desk.

  “I’m now officially your lawyer. Whatever you tell me is protected.”

  She took a deep breath. “Annaliese owed Sebastian money.”

  “How much?”

  “By Sebastian’s sta
ndards, not much. By Annaliese’s—and mine”—she took another deep breath—“a lot.”

  “Was the source of this debt any kind of illegal activity?”

  She shook her head. “They had some medical expenses, and then Annaliese got sued over a traffic accident. And you know how she was about money.” She never had any to spare. “But it was never supposed to be a long-term debt.”

  “I should hope not,” Bonner said. “Was he charging usury rates?”

  She nodded. “I knew I could come up with the money she needed, but it took time to convert my assets, so she took a loan from Sebastian.”

  “And did you come up with the money?”

  “Yes, but . . .”

  His lips tightened for a split second, and she could imagine him thinking yes, but was a phrase he heard far too often.

  “The money never made it to Sebastian,” she said.

  “What happened to it?”

  “Annaliese was sick, so she sent Jada to repay the loan, and―”

  “And she lost it in the casino,” he said with the finality of someone who’s made an intuitive leap that explained everything.

  Cleo nodded, relieved he understood. Too bad the police wouldn’t. “It took me longer to come up with the money a second time.”

  “And where’s that money now?”

  “In Annaliese’s account. I deposited it from Denver on Thursday, but the bank put a forty-eight-hour hold on it.”

  “So she had the money, but she couldn’t get to it before he died.”

  She nodded again.

  “And when the police investigate her finances they’re going to see that deposit,” Danny said.

  “And the one before that.”

  “And, I assume, the one she made with Koblect’s money.”

  Oh God, yes. Three deposits. Cleo had forgotten to count the first one.

  “And the police will want an explanation,” he said.

  “I don’t know what I should tell them.”

  “The first thing you tell them is you want your lawyer present before you answer any questions. Do they know about the debt?”

  “It was a personal loan, so it may not be on the books anywhere. Annaliese says she signed a marker, but I don’t know if they found it.” She swallowed hard. “I know she didn’t tell them about it when they questioned her the first time.” Which was going to make her look guilty as sin when they figured it out.