Mother-Daughter Murder Night

Beth raised her Corona again. “To your father’s dreams,” she said.

Martin downed the rest of his whiskey and turned to the window, staring into the darkness of the marina.

“What about your dreams?” Beth asked.

“I’m sorry?”

“What are you going to do with the money from the sale?”

He frowned. “I’m not sure there’s going to be a sale. Di’s dragging her feet. I got us a solid offer, all cash, from a development group that wants to build a bunch of houses there. Could be good for the community, and it could really help my company get over this cash-flow hump. But the offer expires on Monday, and Di’s been refusing to discuss it. She’s been making noise about family legacies, some dream she has about building a horse spa. We’ll probably be holed up at the ranch all weekend battling it out.”

When he signaled to Scotty for yet another whiskey, Beth decided to make her exit.

Then the music changed, and Martin’s eyes lit up.

“Another one of Mom’s favorites,” he said.

Beth looked around. Scotty had dimmed the dining room, and Billy Idol was crooning about eyes without a face. She’d always thought the song was kind of creepy, but it clearly had sentimental value for Martin. He was wobbling to his feet, a wistful, lopsided smile on his face.

“What do you think it’s about?” she asked.

“Who cares?” Martin said. “Let’s dance.”

Martin extended a hand to Beth. She smiled but didn’t move. Then again, he looked kind of cute with his hand outstretched, his white button-down glowing in the dusky light. Beth let him pull her out into the no-man’s-land between the bar and the tables. She swayed back and forth an arm’s length from Martin, wary of who might be watching, maybe laughing, from the bar. But Scotty was in the back doing God knows what, and the regulars were all staring deep in their shot glasses like the meaning of life might be drowning down there. She closed her eyes and let the music take her away.





Chapter Forty-One




When Beth got home at ten, humming “White Wedding” under her breath, she found her mother and daughter on the sofa in the living room. Lana’s head was tipped back, mouth open, sending snores up to the ceiling. Jack was blinking at her phone. There was an empty pill counter and an open laptop on the driftwood side table.

Beth switched off the TV and put her hand on Jack’s shoulder.

“Hi, honey,” Beth said.

Lana jolted awake at the sound. For a moment her eyes flashed wide, hands grasping the couch cushions. She looked fragile and afraid. Then her eyes focused on her daughter, and her body relaxed.

“Beth.” Lana shook away a yawn. “You went to see Martin? Did you give him the envelope?”

“Yeah.” Beth decided it wouldn’t hurt to tell her mother what she’d seen. “It was a set of plans for some kind of compound, like—”

“Like this?” Lana swung the laptop onto her lap.

“How in the world did you . . . ?” Beth shook her head. “Yes, Ma. Exactly like that. But he didn’t seem to think they were a big deal.”

“He already knew about the project?” Lana sounded surprised.

“I don’t think so.” Beth rewound the evening in her head, trying to recall exactly what Martin had said about the plans. All she could remember was his distracted stare out the window, searching the shadows for the parents he’d lost.

“Lady Di acted shocked when I told her about it,” Lana said. “I think Hal was keeping the project from both of them.”

“I always thought of Mr. Rhoads as a straight arrow,” Beth said. “But it sounds like he didn’t tell his kids what he was planning, or even how sick he was. Maybe he was hiding other things as well.”

“Or he was trying to find the right way to tell them,” Lana said. “Maybe he was scared of how it might change their relationship.”

Beth looked quizzically at her mother. She wondered if Lana was still talking about the Rhoadses.

“Diana and Martin could be lying,” Jack said. “If they killed Ricardo to stop the project, they’d have to know about it.”

“I don’t think the two of them are close,” Beth said. “Martin was talking about Di like he resented her, or pitied her maybe.”

“Pitied?” Lana asked.

“I guess her husband cheats on her,” Beth said.

“Hm. I’m not surprised. Most men find strong women exhausting—especially when they’re married to them.”

Again Beth wondered who Lana was talking about. She yawned. “Is there a reason this chat couldn’t wait until the morning?”

Lana and Jack looked at each other.

“I think that Verdadera Libertad project is the key to all of this,” Lana said. “When Hal and Ricardo died, that project died too. Which would benefit Martin, if he wants to sell the ranch.”

“But Martin was in San Francisco when Ricardo was killed. And Diana wants the ranch too, right?”

“With a passion. It might’ve been her, Beth. I think she’s hiding something about Ricardo. But Martin could have been involved in some other way. And you were alone with him.”

Beth waved both of them off the couch so she could unlatch the sofa bed. “You don’t have to worry about me. I can take care of myself.”

“The Rubicon family motto,” Lana said. She stepped back and helped pull out the mattress. “We didn’t want to meddle, Beth. We just want you to know . . . we care.”

Jack got her blanket and fell into the pull-out. Once Jack had nestled in, Beth joined Lana at the door to the back bedroom.

“Do you think it’s possible Martin was pretending he hadn’t seen those plans before tonight?” Lana whispered.

“Ma, I’m not a mind reader. And the man’s a mess. He practically drank his weight in whiskey tonight. He’s under pressure at work, and from his sister. Not to mention his grief.” Beth looked at her daughter, already conked out on the sofa bed. “It must be hard, to lose a parent.”

Lana raised an eyebrow. “Even one who takes over your house and drives you crazy?”

“You’re getting stronger every day, Ma. You’ll be back running rings around those Beverly Hills bimbos before you know it.”

“But what if I . . .” Lana shifted her weight, reaching out to steady herself against the doorframe.

“Yeah?”

Lana looked at her daughter. She squeezed her fingers into the doorjamb. She and Beth had never been close enough to read between each other’s lines. The question was pounding inside her head. But she couldn’t ask it out loud. Not yet.

“We’re close to the killer,” Lana said instead. “It has something to do with those plans, that project. I can feel it.”

“Maybe it’s time to talk to the sheriff, then. Keep everyone safe.”

“I will. Once I know what it all means. One way or another, everything will be over soon.” She stepped through the dark doorway. “I love you, Beth.”

“I love you too,” Beth said. But the door to the bedroom was already closed.





Chapter Forty-Two




Lana rolled into a visitor’s spot at Bayshore Oaks the next day at eleven, just as the sun was breaking through the coastal fog. She was finally getting her energy back. Either that, or she’d just hit the time of the month when the chemo took a break from ramming her into a wall on repeat. She’d know more when she got the results from yesterday’s MRI and PET scans.

Before leaving the car, Lana straightened her suit. She touched up her lipstick and the heavy concealer she used to cover the fading bruises from the fire. There was no way she’d let anyone clock her for a potential resident of Bayshore Oaks.

Lana clicked her way down the antiseptic hallway to the nursing station, where Beth was listening to a tiny, animated woman with pink hair and a turquoise strapless evening gown. The older woman appeared to be berating her daughter, and Beth was using the Formica counter as a shield.

“Beth, I swear to you, Dr. Ramcharan says I have the heart of a seventeen-year-old! Not joking!”

“You sure he didn’t say ‘seventy’?” Beth asked.

“No!” Miss Gigi said. “SevenTEEN. It is the candles my Angela lights at Our Lady of Virtues for me every week.”

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