Blood Always Tells, Hilary Davidson [good book club books .txt] 📗

made a foolish assumption. I thought you were at Miss Lytton-Jones’s apartment on behalf on your sister. I suspected that, with Gary Cowan’s death, your sister was looking for some sort of financial settlement…”

“If you’re wondering if I know about your arrangement with my sister,” Desmond said, “that would be a yes.”

Amberson’s eyebrows went up. “I see. I see. Well, that’s not really a surprise. I’m glad you know. It means I can be completely frank with you. Did she tell you how much I was going to pay her?”

Desmond found it interesting that Amberson was eager to talk about his arrangement with Dominique. That felt all wrong. This lawyer didn’t do upfront and honest; if he was revealing something significant, it had to be because he had other dirt to hide. “Why don’t you tell me about Tom Klepper.”

Amberson’s tongue flicked at the corner of his mouth. “Gary’s lawyer? What can I tell you about him?”

“For starters, how come you took him to lunch so often at the Harvard Club?”

Amberson leaned back. If Desmond didn’t know better, he’d guess the man was nonplussed. His guess had hit its mark. “Tom always wished he’d graduated from Harvard. He was in the law school for two and a half years. It’s a terrible thing to be kicked out on the cusp of graduation.”

“What happened?”

“Tom has always been a little too clever for his own good. I don’t know that he ever cheated on an exam, but he helped other people cheat, and that was the end of his Harvard career. I don’t think he ever got over that. So near and yet so far.”

“I heard somewhere he had Gary Cowan throw a fight.”

“You only heard about one? You’re not as well-informed as you think.”

“Seems funny, you and Tom Klepper being such pals. I mean, Gary and Trin hated each other. Kind of strange to think of their lawyers being all cozy.”

Amberson made an elegant shrug. “It’s a professional relationship. There’s no room for hatred. Just because we have crazy clients, that hardly means we have to behave as badly as they do.” The lawyer leaned forward again. “Which brings me back to my original point. I feel that I should honor the obligation I have to your sister. The reason Dominique was away with Gary Cowan in the first place was to get that recording she and I discussed. There is a part of me that feels—” Here, Amberson’s mouth turned down in a reasonable facsimile of a sorrowful frown. He was a good actor; Desmond gave him that. “—somewhat responsible for what happened to her. I believe I owe you the money I was going to pay your sister.”

“You don’t owe me anything. I don’t want your money.” Something prickled at the back of his neck. Was Amberson trying to bribe him?

“It’s not my money, of course. It belongs to the Lytton-Jones family, if that makes you feel any better.”

Desmond resisted the urge to laugh. “Did Trinity tell you to buy me off?”

“Trinity is a child. A thirty-five-year-old willful child who refuses to grow up.” Amberson sighed. “She’s always been horribly spoiled by her father. He’d think nothing of buying her dresses that cost fifty thousand or sixty thousand dollars apiece. She doesn’t live in the same world as anyone else. She truly believes she should be able to say ‘Off with their heads’ and heads will roll.”

Even though the lawyer’s tone was light, his words pummeled Desmond like fists. Trinity had been upfront about wanting Gary dead, and he’d died. The widow claimed she wasn’t jealous of Dominique—except for how well she wore clothes—but then she’d become hysterical when she’d found out her lawyer was dealing with Dominique. It seemed like whoever Trin disliked died. “You’re basically telling me she’d kill people, given half a chance.”

Amberson chuckled gently, as if Desmond were simply too amusing to be believed. “No, no, of course not. It’s one thing to say it, quite another to do it. She is spoiled, there’s no doubt about that, but to suggest she would ever harm anyone… well, that’s absurd.”

“What about Byron, Shelley, and Keats? I don’t mean the poets. I’m talking about her brothers.”

There was an odd light behind Amberson’s eyes now. He stared at Desmond without blinking. “Their deaths were tragedies. Certainly, you’re not suggesting that Trinity had anything to do with them.”

“That’s exactly what I think.”

“Tread lightly, Mr. Edgars.” Amberson leaned forward. “It would be terribly unfortunate if your understandable remorse over your sister’s death were to cause you to make irrational claims against Miss Lytton-Jones. It’s been my job, for more than thirty years, to protect the family. I take that responsibility with the utmost seriousness.”

“You think you can cover up murder?” Desmond leaned forward to meet his gaze. “The rich can buy justice, any fool knows that, but there’s only so far money will reach. Trinity’s got blood on her hands. Her three brothers, her husband, my sister. That’s five bodies she has to answer for.”

Amberson’s pale eyes pierced into him. There was no nervous tension in the lawyer, just smug condescension emanating from him, like a poisonous vapor. “Mr. Edgars, I will give you double what I was going to pay your sister to go back to your home in Hammond and forget we ever had this conversation. Two million. In your hand. Right now.”

“I just told you, I don’t want your money.”

The lawyer smiled. “Are you a betting man, Mr. Edgars? Your odds of getting a couple million dollars forked over to you for doing nothing at all are slim. I advise you to take it.”

“Since Trinity fired your ass, you want to become my lawyer?”

Amberson’s lizard gaze held steady. He wasn’t upset at all. “I hope you’re not under the illusion that you can put together some kind of case against Trinity. For the record, her brothers’ deaths were all ruled accident or misadventure. Byron was a notorious cokehead. He’s the person who introduced Trinity to drugs, you