Murder Notes (Lilah Love #1)

“We,” Eddie says, “are doing this by the book and covering every possible base. And if you were going to be difficult tonight, why even come to dinner? I mean, we’re regulars here. You are not. You’re the outsider.”

I could react to this. I could tell him he’s a small-minded, small-dicked—if that is even a word—wannabe-good detective. And it would feel good. Really damn good, but I’m struck by the way he seems to be baiting me here at my father’s house, where he is normally well behaved. I mean, we insiders all know about my father’s lethal temper, easily provoked by disrespect and disorder. Two things he cannot tolerate. And where was Eddie’s car outside? And why would my father, or even my brother, who swears he wants me to return home to live, invite these two here tonight, knowing they would push me away, not pull me closer? Plus, why the hell didn’t Andrew call me about Woods today? It’s as if I was intentionally sideswiped tonight, my attention directed, if not forced, in one direction: Kevin Woods. Why is the question.

My conversation with Kane returns to me:

“There are rumors about your father but not your brother.”

I blanch. “What? My father? What about my father?”

“His run for a higher office and favors promised to the wrong people.”

I’m going to go out on a limb and assume that my father doesn’t want me to dig into his business. He wants me focused on Woods, not him. It might not be the case, but my gut, my best friend in times like these, says that’s exactly what is going on right now. My lips thin and I push off the table, and turn, walking toward the door my father has yet to enter. “Lilah,” Andrew calls out. “Where the hell are you going?”

I don’t stop walking. I enter the hallway and head toward my father’s office, only to have him meet me halfway. “What’s wrong?” he asks, looking concerned, but that’s a practiced skill for my father, and that’s exactly what his reaction strikes me as—practiced.

I stop in front of him. “Is Pocher backing you for a run as New York governor?”

To his credit if I’ve sideswiped him as I believe he did me, he doesn’t blink, and his reply is fast and easy. “Pocher seems to think the five years I spent in the higher ranks of the NYPD is a good launchpad for a run.”

“That’s a yes,” I say. “And I assume murder, especially one taken over by the FBI, isn’t going to please Pocher or help your aspiring political career. Tell me Woods isn’t an election-launch fall guy.”

“For God’s sake,” my father growls, that temper of his flashing in his eyes. “Why must you be difficult?”

“Difficult” is what he has called me all too often as I grew up, usually when I didn’t fit into his preferred mold for me, which was most of the time. It cut then, and it cuts now, but then he knows that. Because those close to him know that if he so chooses, he can use words with exceptional skill to hurt you, and do so with the precision of a killer with a deadly blade.

“It’s called doing my job,” I reply. “And I’m good at it.”

“We have a man who confessed, Lilah. If we get Woods, we win. If this connects to another case that you’re looking to solve, you win with us. We all look good. It’s not difficult. Don’t make it that way.”

“If we get him? Or if he’s guilty?”

“Why would he confess if he didn’t do it?” he challenges.

“Why indeed, Father?” I challenge, and with that I turn and head for the door, grabbing my coat and purse. I reach for the knob, only to hear, “Lilah,” in his most authoritative, fatherly voice.

I stop but I don’t turn, several silent, heavy beats passing before he says, “Family first, daughter. Always. Don’t forget that.”

My spine stiffens at the use of my mother’s words, no doubt chosen to manipulate me, and unless I’m stupid, and I’m not stupid, there’s a distinct inference that I might need to look the other way to prove my loyalty to him. I don’t bother to reply. I open the door and leave, pulling the door shut behind me, and for several beats I stand on the porch, a chime singing in the wind, seeming to replay his words, my mother’s words: Family first. And I wonder if he’ll still feel that way when he discovers just how “difficult” I’m about to become.





CHAPTER FIFTEEN

I’m hurrying away from my family home, digging my keys from my purse in the process, a motion detector casting the driveway in a glow of light, when I hear my damn name again. “Lilah!”

At the sound of Andrew’s voice, I keep walking and click the locks on the rental. I mean, what’s a sister for if not to ignore her brother? I reach for the door to open it, but I’m too late. Andrew’s big-ass damn body is now beside me, and it’s blocking my entry. And since he’s here and being as difficult as I’m accused of being, I rotate and blast him with a question that suddenly hits me. “Where’s your BMW?”

“I traded it for a Porsche.”

“Okay, smart-ass,” I snap. “Where’s your Porsche?”

“In the garage where all Porsches should be.”

“And Eddie and Alexandra’s vehicle?”

“Already in the garage when I got here.”

“Why are they even here?” I demand.

“I had no idea you didn’t know about Alexandra and Eddie, but I should have known, since you don’t know how to pick up the damn phone. And Eddie’s been at every family dinner for a decade. You know that.”

“You and Dad both knew I wouldn’t want him here.”

“I don’t make Dad’s guest list,” he says. “You know that, too.”

“Fine. Let’s move on. Tell me you aren’t considering making Woods a fall guy.”

“Do you really think that of me? Come on, Lilah.”

“I don’t know what to think after everything that’s happened.”

“Everything that’s happened? What does that even mean, Lilah?”

“The stunt Eddie pulled at the diner. Dad’s secret political aspirations. The suicide announcement at the press conference. Some random guy and a confession that you didn’t call me about earlier. I can probably go on. Do you want me to try?”

“At the risk of repeating myself, since you aren’t listening, here we go: Woods is simply a suspect I can’t ignore. Eddie is simply territorial. I tried to call you about Dad, but you don’t take my fucking calls. You didn’t show up to the press conference, and I had my hands full with press and locals all day. And finally, I never said suicide—”

“You inferred it.”

“You weren’t there.”

“How do you know I didn’t watch it?”

“Did you?”

“You inferred it,” I repeat.

“I inferred all options were open for consideration, as is the case with all investigations, and come on. You know the beasts that are the Hollywood and big-money types in this town when they panic. You know I need to manage that. Now, what else is your problem?”

“Samantha,” I say. “She’s trouble and I thought you were smarter than that.”

“I have one name for you to answer that worry: Kane.”

“This isn’t about me. It’s about you. She’s dangerous.”

“She’s not dangerous. Kane—”

“Kane again? Huh. You’re deflecting with ancient history.”

“And yet, he showed up at the crime scene last night, not for his dead employee, but for you.”

“For me? You don’t know that. I just happened to be there.”

“Bullshit,” he says.

“Samantha is not your type.”

“But Kane is yours.”

“Ancient fucking history, Andrew. Samantha is not for you.”

“And yet she is.”

“I don’t understand you with her.”

“I don’t either, but it works. I think you know about that, now don’t you?”

He’s right. Kane defines that answer for me, but Kane really was into me. Kane was in love with me. I don’t want Andrew to get hurt. “And if I told you she’s not faithful?”

“I’d tell you we haven’t been exclusive, but I’m about to fix that. And you and Kane—”

“I hate him,” I say, because he won’t shut up until I answer him and because it’s true. “I hate the fuck out of him. Is that what you want to hear?”

He narrows his eyes on me. “Damn it. You still love him. I’d hoped—”

“Woods,” I say, changing the subject.