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“Who’s complaining? Point them out to me so I can punch them in the face. Did someone say something bad about your house online?”
“Ourhouse,” he corrected while watching her remove a knife from the butcher block to chop a batch of kale. He arched a brow. “You wield that thing like you know how to use it. Something tells me Austin’s influence lingers.”
“Just his Tae Kwon Do workouts. He was tired of getting picked on by bullies and became quite a proficient instructor. I picked up a lot of moves during his stint in the guest house. He taught me to spin, kick, and punch fast with the most efficiency. That’s me now. But maybe I’ll miss all those times he made his infamous beef stew the most. It was always packed with vegetables just the way I like it.”
Lucien noticed a pensive look cross Brogan’s face. “Austin will be fine. He’s smart as a whip and eager to learn. He’ll be back here in no time when he interns with Cord Bennett.”
“I know that, but it’s the bullies I worry about who gang up on him,” Brogan acknowledged as she dumped the kale on top of the butter lettuce and dropped a few cherry tomatoes into the mix. When the doorbell rang, she shoved the entire bowl into the fridge to chill until they were ready to eat. As Lucien disappeared around the corner to answer the door, she wasn’t sure Mr. Pollock would be staying for dinner. “This could be the shortest get-to-know-you in the history of get-to-know-yous,” she murmured to herself, wiping her hands on a dishtowel before following Lucien out to the entryway.
The fifty-something Chad Pollock had dressed as though he’d just finished playing eighteen holes. He stepped inside the house wearing a long-sleeve crew-neck sweater over a windproof vest and tailored jogging pants. His shoes were sporty and spotless, making him look like he was ready to grab a pickup game of basketball in the park—minus the icky sweaty factor.
Pollock toted a white oblong banker’s box.
Lucien ushered him into the living room. “Can we get you anything to drink?”
“No thanks. I’m not staying. I have a full bar in the Bentley. Plus, I have reservations in twenty minutes at one of your upscale dining establishments in the area called The Pointe. I know the guy who owns the place. Perry promised me a table on the terrace and fresh oysters. So if you don’t mind, I’d like to get right to why I’m here.”
Chad scanned the room, looking for a place to set the box. He spotted the sofa table and slid the flower arrangement to the side so the cardboard box would fit. He flipped open the lid. “Like I told Kate the other night when we bumped into each other, I’ve tried numerous private detectives in the past to look into my sister’s murder. They’ve all been a waste of time and money. You guys are probably no different. But I promised myself I’d try every angle to learn who murdered my sister. Even though I already suspect it had something to do with that low-life husband she married.”
“You mean Malcolm Dolworth, also known as Mack,” Brogan deduced. “How does a software engineer become a low life in your eyes? Did he gamble? Fool around? Do drugs? What made him a low life?”
“None of that, at least not that I know. Mack did have a weird background and family, though. There were rumors about mob connections and the like. We obviously thought Anna married beneath her. She could’ve done a lot better than Malcolm Dull-worth.”
Lucien’s brow tightened. “From what we’ve discovered, he made a good living, bought Anna a house, and provided a stable income. What was the beef against him?”
“Oh, come on. Do you mean that shingled one-story rambler Malcolm bought in the heart of Canoga Park? Please. After marrying Dull-worth, Anna was stuck out in the Valley, of all places. It certainly wasn’t nowhere near Bel-Air where she grew up.”
Lucien frowned. “I thought you and Anna grew up in Alhambra.”
Pollock’s brown eyes flashed with fury. “Our parents got us out of that neighborhood to something better as soon as they could possibly afford an upgrade. But it sounds like you’ve both done your homework.” He shoved a file folder—two inches thick—into Lucien’s chest. “Not a single one of the other agencies I hired has been able to figure out a motive. Maybe you can find one. I take a retainer for a hundred thousand dollars will be sufficient to get you started?”
“Sure. If we need more, we know where to find you. Just one question before you go, though. Are you the least bit interested in what happened to your nephew, Elliott, their son?”
“He’s probably dead. I never once believed the cop’s theory. Honestly, the paperboy pulled this off? It’s such a lazy way to end a murder investigation that it’s not even worth considering. I bumped heads with the sheriff’s detective about it no less than twenty times through the years. The cop’s name was Kenneth Rivkin. He still works at the county in a consultant capacity. Promise me that whatever you find out, whatever you discover, you won’t take it to Rivkin.”
“You’re the boss,” Lucien said mildly. “Then you think the paperboy is likely dead as well?”
“Well, yeah. Don’t you? I mean, the kid’s family was just as devastated as we were. What sense does it make that a kid would commit this crime? I just never bought into Rivkin’s theory.”
“What about Mack’s family?” Brogan prompted
“That’s a good question. As far as I know, Mack had a contentious relationship with them. I’m pretty sure the cops checked out what family they could find and didn’t come up with anything weird. At least, that’s what I remember. Twenty years is a long time. Everything you need to know is in this box.”
Lucien eyed the man. “How did you get that box?”
“I won’t lie. I paid an insider at the sheriff’s department under the table to get me copies of everything they had, including the crime scene photos. For a double murder, there’s not that much in the box. Again, my opinion for what it’s worth.”
“When was this?” Lucien pressed.
“Ten years ago. Why? Is that a problem?”
“Not at all.”
“Look, if I took over this thing, I’d start the investigation with a total reboot, meaning I’d go back and check everybody out twice,” Pollock suggested.
“Oh, don’t worry,” Lucien assured their newest client. “We intend to start from the ground up, dig deep into everyone’s background, and discover all their dirty little secrets.”
Over slow-cookedpork chops and salad, Brogan forked up a bite of greens and admitted, “I don’t like Pollock very much. He reminds me of a pretentious, arrogant sewer rat.”
