Cavanaugh Vanguard

After a lengthy walk through the first floor, Rollins led them into a room that was twice as large as the dining room in the Old Aurora Hotel had been. It turned out to be one of the mansion’s two libraries. There were books lining two of the walls, going from the floor straight up to the vaulted ceiling. One of those walls had a door at its perimeter. Two people, a man and a woman, both in their twenties, were just exiting that way. A third wall was entirely made of tempered glass, allowing afternoon sunlight to bathe the room while effectively keeping the heat at bay.

Seated behind the oversize, highly polished mahogany desk, looking like an emperor presiding over his empire, was Winston Aurora.

Winston Aurora was a man who would have easily taken command of any room he entered. Tanned and slender with distinguished-looking graying hair, he was dressed in a suit that would have easily cost a detective first grade a month’s salary—possibly more.

If she hadn’t known better, Brianna would have said that the oldest of this generation’s three Aurora brothers looked as if he had just stepped out of the pages of Gentlemen’s Quarterly and into this library.

Rising when he saw them entering, Winston came over to greet them. His smile was amiable and appeared to be completely genuine. He shook both their hands warmly, starting with hers.

“My son and daughter just left,” he explained, noting the interest in Brianna’s eyes. “Forgive me,” Winston said in a deep, resonant voice that was quite pleasing to the ear. “I’ve lost track. Is it time for the police department’s widows and orphans fund-raiser already?” Even as he asked, he was taking a checkbook out of his inside breast pocket.

Brianna put her hand up to stop the man from writing out a check. “We’re not here about that, sir, although my uncle said you’re always very generous when it comes to making donations to the fund.”

“Your uncle,” Winston repeated. He raised an eyebrow, asking, “And that would be?”

“Brian Cavanaugh,” Brianna responded. “He’s the—”

“—chief of detectives, yes, I know,” Winston interjected. “I know Brian quite well. Are you here in Brian’s place?”

Not answering the multibillionaire’s question directly, Brianna bent the truth a little and told Winston, “He said to say hello.”

“Ah” was all Winston said, acknowledging what wasn’t being said. “Well, if you don’t want my donation for any of your worthy causes, how can I help you two fine young representatives of the Aurora police department?” Winston asked, looking from one detective to the other.

Brianna glanced over her shoulder. The man who had brought them here was still standing just inside the library threshold like a silent, immovable sentry. While she wasn’t afraid of the head of security, the man’s presence did make her feel uneasy. “Could we talk alone?”

“Rollins is privy to everything that concerns me. I pay him quite a bit to make sure that he is,” Winston said pointedly.

“Then you can tell Rollins all about this after we leave, if you decide he needs to know,” Jackson quietly told the older man.

Just a glimmer of displeasure passed over Winston Aurora’s smooth, amazingly unlined face. The next moment, the expression disappeared as if it had never existed.

“Very well,” Winston agreed. “Rollins, step out, please. I’ll let you know if I need you.”

Unlike his employer, Rollins made no attempt to mask his displeasure. Scowling, the man withdrew, closing the door behind him.

“Better?” Winston asked Brianna once the door was closed. Whether it was because he thought she was in charge or because he preferred dealing with women was unclear. But his attention was directed to her.

“Our thinking is that you might possibly wind up preferring it this way,” Brianna explained.

Winston nodded, making no comment. “Sit, please,” he said, indicating the light gray sofa.

Like the desk, the sofa was oversize. It could have accommodated six people without effort.

When the detectives complied, Winston reseated himself behind the desk. For all the world he appeared like a benevolent ruler holding an audience with two of his subjects.

“Now then, I know that Brian’s your uncle, but I’m afraid I didn’t get your name—or yours,” he added, nodding at Jackson.

Brianna automatically reached for her wallet to show the man her credentials. “Detective Brianna Cavanaugh O’Bannon,” she answered, pulling out her wallet.

“I’ll take you at your word,” Winston told her, waving away her wallet, but his brown eyes shifted toward Jackson expectantly.

“Detective Jackson Muldare,” Jackson replied.

Winston nodded. “Now that we all know one another, I’ll repeat my question. How can I help you?”

“Mr. Aurora—” Brianna began.

“Winston, please,” the billionaire corrected her. “‘Mr. Aurora’ makes me feel ancient.” He chuckled. “Please, continue. I didn’t mean to interrupt you.”

Brianna obliged. Moving forward on her chair, she said, “You recently sold the Old Aurora Hotel.”

“Yes, I did,” Winston replied, “and if you’ve come here to tell me that, you could have saved yourself a trip. I’m not quite the doddering old fool yet. I am aware of all of my financial dealings,” he assured her with a dry laugh.

“When was the last time you were at the hotel?” Jackson asked, wanting to push this along. O’Bannon might be buying this charming act that Aurora was projecting, but he wasn’t sold on it—he thought Aurora seemed to be stalling.

Why the man was stalling wasn’t clear yet, but Jackson intended to find that out as well.

“You mean physically?” Winston questioned.

Jackson looked at him, puzzled. “Is there any other way?”

“Well, there’s Skyping,” Winston answered. “But I closed down the hotel before we could implement that form of communication.”

“All right,” Jackson said, “when was the last time you were at the hotel in person or in spirit?”

Winston paused, thinking. And then he shrugged. “I’m afraid I really can’t remember an exact date. Why? Is it important?” The billionaire turned to direct his question toward Brianna, since she was obviously the friendlier of the two, in the man’s estimation.

“What my partner is attempting to do is establish a timeline, sir,” Brianna explained.

Winston furrowed his brow. “Why?” Not waiting for either of the two detectives to answer that, he continued, “Is there something wrong, Detectives? Don’t tell me that the construction company forgot to get all the right permits.”

Wanting to remain on the man’s good side, Brianna tactfully answered, “As far as we know, sir, all the permits are in place—”

“Then I’m afraid that I don’t understand the reason for all this,” the billionaire confessed, waving his hand at both of them. “Just why is it that you’re here?”

Brianna couldn’t quite decide if what she heard in Aurora’s voice was impatience or concern. For now, she let that go.

“When the wrecking ball hit the rear wall, a body was dislodged,” she told the man, wanting to proceed slowly.

“Several bodies,” Jackson interjected.

Winston looked from one detective to the other, appearing completely caught off guard and speechless. When he finally managed to collect himself, Winston could only echo in hushed disbelief, “Bodies? Whose?”

“That’s what we’re trying to ascertain, sir,” Brianna said.

Winston grew pale right before her eyes. “Do you have any idea who—who killed them?” he asked, his voice almost failing him.

“Another good question,” Jackson told him, his tone totally devoid of emotion.

Exasperated and momentarily losing his temper, Winston demanded, “Well, do you have any good answers, Detective?”

“Not yet,” Brianna answered quickly before Jackson could say something to further irritate Aurora. “But we’re doing our best.”

Responding to Brianna’s soothing voice, Winston seemed to calm down a little. He took in a deep breath, then slowly released it.

“I’m sorry, Detectives. I didn’t mean to fly off the handle like that,” he apologized. “But I find having bodies uncovered on my former property very upsetting and deeply disturbing.”

“We completely understand, Mr. Aurora—” Brianna began.

An almost shy smile quirked the man’s rather small mouth. “Winston,” he reminded her.

Brianna inclined her head obligingly.

“Winston,” she corrected herself. “We definitely have no desire to upset you. At the moment, we’d just like to establish a few basic things.”

Winston nodded a number of times as he listened to Brianna. “Yes, of course, I quite understand. What can I do to help?”

Jackson thought back to what he’d heard his temporary partner tell Del Campo. It was a good place to start.

“We need the hotel’s guest ledgers going as far back as possible, plus a list of all the hotel’s employees,” Jackson said.

Winston appeared mystified. “You do understand that the hotel is over half a century old.”

“We are aware of that, yes, sir,” Brianna answered.

The billionaire’s next question was unexpected and threw them. “How old are these bodies you say were uncovered?”

You say.

Brianna replayed the question in her head. She wasn’t sure if that was just a slip of the tongue on Aurora’s part, or if he was deliberately implying that the whole thing was merely trumped-up charges.

Jackson was obviously rubbing off on her, she thought.

“We won’t know that until our ME finishes doing the autopsies,” Brianna answered the man.

“If it would help move things along, I know several medical examiners in Sacramento,” Winston told them. “I could put in a call for you and get them down here by the end of the week, perhaps even sooner.”

“That’s very kind of you, sir, but the lab has already put out the word in the department. We have several medical examiners on call already. There’s no shortage of willing hands,” she assured the billionaire. “But thank you for the offer.”

Brianna didn’t want to risk offending the man or getting on his bad side. Most of all, she didn’t want him to think that they were looking at him as a possible suspect. Right now, that wasn’t the case—and it might never be, so they were playing it safe. If it turned out differently down the line, she didn’t want to put Winston on alert.

“Win, what on earth is going on here? Why is there a sedan parked in front of the house?”

A statuesque blonde, appearing to be between her late forties and early fifties, came into the library. Sharp green eyes took immediate measure of the two strangers in the room.

“Who are these people?” she asked, glaring at Jackson and Brianna as if they had just invaded her castle and tracked mud all over the highly polished floors.

“Gloria—” Winston, on his feet, extended his arm out toward his wife, indicating that he wanted her to come stand next to him “—I’d like you to say hello to these two fine young detectives.”

“Detectives,” Gloria Aurora repeated. “Police or private?” she asked in a tone that had icicles attached to it.

“We’re with the city’s police department, Mrs. Aurora,” Brianna told the woman, doing her best not to react to the judgmental tone.

The woman said nothing to either detective. Instead, she turned toward her husband and demanded, “What are they doing here?” When he didn’t answer her as quickly as she wanted, Gloria turned on the two people and questioned them herself. “Why are you here?”

Winston cleared his throat. It was obvious that he didn’t want his wife to create a scene, especially not in front of the detectives. He and his brothers had been raised to believe that image was everything.

“There’s a problem with the hotel,” Winston began to explain.

“The hotel,” Gloria repeated, almost with loathing. “Didn’t I tell you to get rid of that old relic years ago? Why he hung on to it I’ll never know,” she said, addressing her words to Jackson. “The man’s just too sentimental for his own good. I swear he has a heart like a bowl of mush sometimes. You’d never guess that he’s considered to be such a shrewd businessman by his competitors.” Mrs. Aurora sighed. “If they’d only seen him the way I have.”

“Gloria, these detectives are not here to listen to matters concerning our private lives,” he said sternly.

“Neither are you, apparently. Why didn’t you sell that hotel before now?” his wife demanded.

Not wanting to get in the middle of a family dispute, Jackson picked up on Mrs. Aurora’s question. “Why did you pick now to sell it, sir?”

“Because, Detective,” Winston replied, “despite the fact that I did want to hold on to it because it had been my grandfather’s pride and joy, I felt that it was time to allow the city to continue growing. Coupled with that,” he added, slanting a glance toward his wife, “I received an offer I couldn’t refuse.”

Chapter 4

“Do you know the name of the person who made this offer?” Jackson asked.

Gloria Aurora scowled. Her frown had the ability to transform an attractive face almost into a mask, one that even her husband had been known to be wary of.

“Winnie, don’t you think you should have a lawyer present before you answer any more of these people’s questions?” Mrs. Aurora’s tone was civil, but it was more of a demand than a question.

It was obvious that the woman was more than a little surprised when her husband held his ground, not against the police detectives, but against her suggestion.

“There’s no need for lawyers, Gloria,” Winston replied amicably. “There’s no wrongdoing here.” Chuckling, the family patriarch turned to address the two detectives. “You’ll have to forgive my wife. I’m afraid she’s not very trusting.”

Gloria’s eyes were as close to blazing as Brianna had ever seen. “And you’re too trusting, Winston,” the woman snapped.

Brianna exchanged glances with her partner. Was there just trouble in paradise, or did the man’s wife know something? Something she wanted hidden?

“Mr. Aurora,” Jackson said a bit more forcefully, “who made you the offer?”

“The city,” Winston replied mildly, appearing unfazed by his wife’s anger.

This felt as if they were tiptoeing through a minefield, Brianna thought. “Anyone in particular from the city?”

“For the answer to that, I’m afraid that you will have to speak to my lawyer,” Winston told them.

“Finally!” his wife cried triumphantly with a toss of her ever so carefully coiffed hair.

It was obvious that Winston Aurora was not about to let his wife have the last word. “I hated the idea of selling the property, so I turned everything over to Thomas Cahill, senior lawyer at Cahill, Adams and Sons. Call the firm, tell him I sent you. He can give you all the details behind the sale. Now,” he said in a tone indicating that he assumed the subject was closed, “is there anything else?”

“Not at the moment, sir, but we’ll let you know if there is,” Brianna told the man pleasantly. Her gaze swept over both parties. “Thank you for your time, Mr. and Mrs. Aurora.”

“I hope this is the end of your interrogation.” Gloria Aurora’s tone was cold enough to freeze large cuts of beef.

“If not,” Brianna responded politely, not about to be intimidated, “we’ll be in touch.”

“With our lawyer!” Gloria called after them as they left the library.

“Well, that proves it,” Jackson said as they made their way out of the mansion under the head of security’s watchful eye.

“Proves what?” Brianna asked.

They went down the half dozen stairs from the front door to the circular driveway. “That money doesn’t buy happiness.”

Brianna shrugged. “He seemed all right.”

Jackson glanced in her direction. “I was referring to Mrs. Aurora. Every time that woman opened her mouth to talk, I had the impression that she was sucking on a lemon. A really sour lemon,” he underscored. “Almost made me feel sorry for her husband.”

“Almost?” Brianna questioned as she got into the car.

Jackson laughed shortly. “Hard to feel sorry for a man who could buy the whole state before noon if he wanted to.”

Jackson sounded as if he was sinking farther into a mood, so she tried to kid him out of it. In her opinion, he was an excellent detective, but he was really difficult to get close to. Even after being partnered with him three times, she was still trying to find the chink in his armor.

“Ah, but as you just pointed out,” she told him, “money can’t buy happiness.”

“Yeah, but it can buy a lot of other things,” Jackson replied as he started the car.

Was he going anywhere with this, or just complaining in general, Brianna wondered. “What are you getting at? What other things?”

“Like other people’s silence.” He began to drive toward the main road. “What do you want to bet that we’re not going to get any worthwhile information out of Aurora’s lawyer—or anyone else connected with this sale or the demolition, for that matter?”

Jackson sounded as if he believed a major conspiracy was going on. “Hey, the owner of the construction company was the one who called the police,” Brianna reminded him.

That didn’t change his opinion. “That was a spontaneous reaction,” he said. “Besides, some of his crew saw those bodies. And that was then. It doesn’t take all that long to talk to the involved parties and get them to see things differently, change their stories for a price, that sort of thing.”

“Don’t you think you’re getting a little carried away here?” Brianna asked him. “We’re talking about the Aurora family, not a drug cartel or crime syndicate.”

Jackson glanced at her, and she couldn’t quite read his expression. “We’ll see.”

“Why do you insist on seeing the dark side of everything?” Brianna asked.

“Why do you always insist on seeing the bright side?” he countered.

She’d expected him to come back with that and was prepared. “Because I like having faith in my fellow human being.”

His eyes on the road, Jackson made a disparaging sound. “Fastest way to be disappointed, if you ask me, is to have faith in your fellow human being.”

Brianna looked at the man driving beside her for a long moment. She knew very little about Jackson Muldare—other than he was an excellent detective—even though they had worked together before. The little she did know, by way of rumor and innuendo, was rather sad and depressing. She debated saying something to him, trying to make him come around.

But before she could open her mouth, Jackson warned, “Don’t analyze me, O’Bannon.” He never took his eyes off the winding road.

“I didn’t say a word,” she said, raising her hands in mock surrender.

“You didn’t have to,” he told her. “I can feel you thinking.”

“That’s quite a talent you have there,” she replied, a touch of mocking in her voice.

“It’s my survival instinct,” he answered in all seriousness.

While he respected the woman as a detective and, yes, maybe even liked her to some extent, he was aware of the reputation she and the rest of her family had. They never met a person they didn’t try to bring into their circle and absorb. Whether or not that person was willing didn’t seem to matter. The Cavanaughs were firmly convinced that everyone was better off as part of a group.

Hell, most of the time he didn’t even really see himself as part of the police force. He certainly didn’t feel the need to buddy up to anyone, no matter what anyone thought to the contrary.

His best bet until this was resolved, Jackson felt, was to keep the woman’s mind on the case—and off anything personal that might have to do with him.

Having finally arrived at the main road, he glanced in her direction. “Where do you want to go?”

She thought of what Winston Aurora had said just before they left his mansion. “We might as well get the family lawyer out of the way, see if he can shed some light on the sale of the decade.”

Jackson laughed shortly, although there was no smile on his face. “I can just see the posting online—‘For sale, one classic hotel. Comes with built-in tenants, no extra charge.’”

“Why, Muldare, I had no idea that you had a sense of humor.”

His expression remained unchanged and almost stoic. “I don’t.”

“That would explain a lot of things,” she responded. It occurred to Brianna that she hadn’t given him the address to the law firm. “Oh, Cahill’s office is located on—”

“I know where it is,” he cut her off. And then, in case she had any doubts about what he’d just said, he told her, “McFadden.”

Brianna just shook her head. “Muldare, you are just an endless source of surprises, you know that?”

For the first time since they’d left the hotel, she noticed just the barest hint of a smile on Jackson’s ruggedly handsome face. “I like keeping you on your toes,” he said.

What Muldare liked, she thought, was keeping her off balance.

She paused for a second, debating her next question. Deciding she had nothing to lose, she forged ahead and asked, “How’s everything?”

The simple question made no sense to him. He never liked things that made no sense. “In reference to what?”

“Your life,” she specified. Met with a stony silence, she tried again. “I’m asking you about your life, Muldare.”

“You writing a book?” he asked her.

“No,” she replied, doing her best not to get exasperated. “I’m trying to make small talk with my partner.”

“Your temporary partner doesn’t like small talk,” Jackson told her. “It serves no purpose. Hence the word small.”

He really was an exasperating man, Brianna thought. But she was far too stubborn to give up.

“Then you’re missing the point of small talk,” she told him.

“Isn’t that the lawyer’s building just up ahead to the right?” he asked, knowing full well that it was. He only asked because he wanted to divert her attention.

Aware of what he was trying to do, Brianna suppressed a sigh. This isn’t over, Muldare.

She turned her attention toward the very modern-looking building Jackson had just pointed out. The edifice was constructed out of what looked to be, at first glance, all reflective glass. At certain times of the day in the spring and fall, the building made driving by it close to impossible because of the glare. But since it was only for a few minutes each time, and the office building housed a number of important companies, no steps were taken to change anything.

“That it is,” Brianna said, confirming what she knew that Muldare already knew. “Small talk is tabled for now,” she said deliberately—and then put him on notice. “But I intend to get back to it.”

“Good luck with that,” Jackson murmured under his breath.

But she heard him. And she smiled because at that moment, she’d made herself a vow. She fully intended to peel away Jackson Muldare’s protective shield if it was the last thing she ever did. Not to satisfy her own curiosity, which she admittedly had in spades, but because she felt that he needed to expose whatever it was he was guarding so zealously to the light of day. She was convinced that he would remain a tortured soul until such time as he cleared out his demons.

* * *

Forewarned, Roman Thomas Cahill was waiting for them when they arrived at the law firm.

Stopping at the reception desk, Brianna and Jackson asked the very efficient-looking young man manning the desk if they could speak with Cahill.

“First door to your right,” the receptionist said. “Mr. Cahill is waiting for you.”

“One hurdle down, four hundred and ninety-nine to go,” Brianna said to her partner.

“Only?” was Jackson’s response.

A moment later, they were walking into R. Thomas Cahill’s cavernous office.

Leaving the shelter of his desk, Cahill met them halfway. “I was told that you’d be stopping by,” he said, shaking both their hands. He gestured toward the two chairs before his desk, his indication clear. “Although I must admit that I’m a little unclear why the Aurora police department would have the slightest interest in the sale of the Old Aurora Hotel.” He chuckled. “I realize that the city doesn’t have much in the way of crime to keep detectives like yourselves busy, but surely there are more pressing things for you to look into than the sale of that fine old building to the city in order to make way for another wave of development.” Finished, he leaned back in his richly padded chair, his hands on either armrest as he waited for the weight of his words to sink in.