Page 37 of The House of Cross

“Multiple times, according to Alvarez. And it got worse during Leigh’s illness. He said Pak owed him close to a hundred thousand dollars after her death and kept putting off payment, even when Alvarez knew the judge had hit it big on the Super Bowl.”

“The cash in the safe,” Bree said.

“Correct. Alvarez said he’d had no idea Pak was dead and had no idea who would want to kill him.”

“He could have hired the killer.”

“Maybe. But he claimed he loved Pak even after everything the judge did, including shutting him out of his life and taking up with a new, younger woman.”

“You talk to the new, younger woman yet?”

“That’s on deck,” Alex said, and yawned.

“Do you believe Alvarez’s story?”

“Enough to check out the rest. He says he has other polyamorous friends that he and the Paks socialized with and they’ll back up his story.”

“San Francisco’s a different kind of place. Even for appellate court judges.”

“Evidently,” Alex said and chuckled. “Anyway, I’ve got to take a shower.”

“Go,” Bree said. “I’ll call you on my way out of Cleveland.”

“I hope to be on my own plane coming home for Christmas Eve.”

“You better be or you’ll never hear the end of it from Nana Mama and the kids.”

CHAPTER 27

Hunting Valley, Ohio

THE FOLLOWING DAY BREEStone sat outside the funeral home in the small SUV she’d rented at the airport. She had the engine running, the defroster blasting, and the wipers slapping against a sleet-and-snow mix coming off Lake Erie that had rendered midmorning on December 23 truly miserable in the greater Cleveland area.

The first cars were starting to arrive for Ryan Malcomb’s private memorial. A black Mercedes town car went around to the rear of the funeral home.

A big Polynesian man in a dark suit exited the driver’s side and retrieved an umbrella from the trunk. Bree recognized him from her earlier visit to Hunting Valley. His name was Arthur, and he was apparently Theresa May Alcott’s driver, gardener, and bodyguard. Arthur opened an umbrella and the right rear door and helped out the heir to a soap fortune. Tall, rail-thin,and dressed in a black pantsuit, high heels, and a hat with a dark lace veil, Mrs. Alcott said something to Arthur, and they moved quickly inside.

Bree waited until fifteen more cars had arrived and she’d watched many well-heeled mourners disappear inside, including one she knew immediately: Steven Vance, the CEO of Paladin.

Bree buttoned up her overcoat and retrieved her umbrella, at which point her phone buzzed, alerting her to a new email. She ignored it and put the phone on Do Not Disturb. She got out, opened her umbrella, and shivered at the dank cold as she hurried to the funeral home, trying to avoid the puddles of slush forming. She dropped her umbrella on the porch and went inside.

An older man built like a question mark stood in the lobby. He looked at her with well-rehearsed concern. “Family?”

“Friend,” she said.

He stood aside and gestured toward a set of double doors. Bree entered and was glad to find herself at the rear of a chapel where roughly forty mourners sat. There was a green marble urn on a table up front next to a large, close-up photograph of Ryan Malcomb.

She slid into one of the empty pews at the back and then over to the far side, ignoring the few glances she got from other attendees.

I’m the only Black woman in the place. How did I think I was going to pull this off?

She had no time to fret. A silver-haired minister wearing a white collar went to the lectern. He spoke briefly, said Ryan was “an inspiration,” then called up Steve Vance. He talked about Malcomb’s mind, his humor despite his disease, and what the loss of his corporate vision meant to Paladin. He also talked about Malcomb’s outlook near what turned out to be the end of his life.

Vance said Ryan had been figuring out “his next adventure” when he went out west looking for a ranch. “I’ve never been there, but the ranch he was visiting when he passed sounded like exactly what he was searching for. I hope the prospect of owning it made him very happy as he drove down that mountain road for the last time.”

Theresa May Alcott got up before Vance could introduce her. The billionaire’s hands, in black gloves, trembled as she went to the lectern with a few pieces of paper.

Mrs. Alcott tried to speak but trembled more. She put her fist to her lips.

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