Better Read Than Dead Read online

  I paused, trying to assess something that was like a tangle of weeds. There were conflicting messages here, like both parties were full of lies and deceit, and trying to navigate through to the truth was like being blindfolded and walking through a jungle. “Please continue,” Andros said as I concentrated.

  “Well,” I began, trying to figure it out, “I’m not really sure what to tell you, Mr. Kapordelis. You’re stuck between a rock and a hard place, so I’m just going to tell you to trust your own instincts on this. I’m not really sure how it will all turn out.”

  Andros tugged on his beard for a moment, thinking; then he asked, “I want to hear your thoughts on which of my sons should take over for me when I pass on.”

  Great. I was going to pick the next don for the Kapordelis family. How the hell did I get myself into this mess? I hesitated before answering and asked, “I want your solemn vow that if I tune in on this question for you that you will take me safely back to my office.”

  Andros smirked benignly at me. “You have my word, Miss Cooper.”

  I waited for my lie detector to go off, and when it didn’t I closed my eyes and focused. “The first thing I get is that you haven’t told anyone you’re sick yet, have you?”

  “No, that is a secret between you and me.” His tone indicated it would remain a secret.

  “Of course, of course,” I said, waving my hand dismissively and hiding an urge to gulp. “Well, the thing of it is, your oldest has issues, and he’s up to something that could get him in a lot of trouble.” I had concentrated on the first of Andros’s sons, and I didn’t like his energy at all. There was something off about this guy’s brain chemistry; he was sick in some way, and I wondered if Andros knew. “Has your son ever been in therapy?”

  Andros barked a laugh at my question. He thought I was kidding.

  “No, I’m serious,” I insisted. “Your son makes choices that are not good choices, and no offense, but there’s something not quite right up here,” I said, pointing to my head and making circular motions for crazy. “Plus if you put this man in a position of power, I promise you, he will betray your trust.”

  Andros didn’t care for my assessment, and his eyebrows darkened over his beady little eyes. “You are wrong,” Andros said. “My son Demetrius loves his father and would never betray me.”

  Left side, heavy feeling. “Mr. Kapordelis, I’m not wrong on this, seriously,” I insisted, my intuition screaming the message at me. “Your oldest son cannot be trusted, especially where your family is concerned. . . .”

  Andros slammed his fist on the desk in front of him angrily, and I jumped a foot. Wisely, I decided to drop the subject and go on to the next son. “Anyway, maybe your firstborn isn’t such a good choice. Now your second son, he’s the artist, correct?”

  Andros nodded. “Yes, Darius is very talented.”

  “He’s in school, right?”

  “Yes, he’s on the last year of his master’s at the University of Chicago right now.”

  “He’s really, really gifted, Mr. Kapordelis. I see this work . . .” I paused, focusing on the sculpture that had just appeared in my mind’s eye. “He sculpts, right?”

  “Yes.”

  “With metal, right? Not clay, but metal, correct?”

  “That is correct, Miss Cooper.”

  “I see this work making him famous someday. I see him being sought after, especially on the West Coast. Has he been thinking of moving to California?”

  Andros chuckled. “It’s all he talks about. He wants to move there when he’s finished with school, but I want him to come here and be with his family.”

  “Good luck with that,” I scoffed. There was no way this young man was going to give up his dreams of becoming an accomplished sculptor, but sometimes you just had to let parents arrive at their own conclusions. I moved on to the next son. “Okay, your third son. . . .” I paused and focused, sensing a familiar bitter taste in my mouth and wanting to roll my eyes. Great, I’d have to be delicate. “Mr. Kapordelis, do you know your third son has a substance-abuse problem?” I asked tentatively.

  Andros nodded gravely. “Yes, I’m aware of Dorian’s experimentations.”

  Oh, brother. How naive could you get? “Sorry to be the bearer of bad news, but I’m getting that Dorian is way past the experimentation phase, and well into the addiction phase. This kid’s got major problems.” In my head I saw a small bird sitting in a cage swinging back and forth on a little swing. “If he’s not careful he’s headed to prison. I’m telling you he’ll get caught, and quite frankly it’s not a bad place for him, considering how much of a problem he’s already got. Going up river might save his life, unless someone gets him into rehab, pronto.”

  Andros’s eyebrows furrowed again down into the danger zone. This guy didn’t like hearing about his sons’ shortcomings, which were considerable. I moved on to the next in line. “Okay, so your fourth son is the one who should inherit the business. He’s the one who’s got a great head on his shoulders, and a nose for numbers. He’s really lucky with money, like he has the Midas touch. My guides are saying that everything he touches turns to gold. He’s someone you can trust, and he’s a man of his word, like he keeps his promises. I’m surprised you hadn’t automatically considered him; he’s absolutely the natural choice,” I finished triumphantly. That was a piece of cake.

  Andros, however, didn’t look happy. In fact, he looked downright confused. “I hadn’t considered whom, Miss Cooper?” he asked me.

  “Your fourth son. You have four boys, right?”

  Andros looked at me pointedly for a long moment and answered slowly, “No, I have three sons and a daughter.”

  That caught me totally by surprise. I’m really good with numbers, and it’s a very rare instance when I’m off on an offspring or sibling. I blinked at him a couple of times, asking my crew to confirm the number four. They did. What was I missing?

  Then an idea occurred to me. “Okay, so do you have a nephew or someone who’s like a son? Someone in your family, or a really close friend of the family who is like a son?”

  Andros lost himself deep in thought for a moment, saying, “Perhaps . . .”

  I offered, “Sometimes the answer isn’t so obvious, and it takes thinking about it for a minute to figure it out. Like maybe it’s a stepson. Do you have a stepson?”

  Andros looked at me sharply, “No, my wife had no other children,” he said, turning to a small bookshelf behind him to look at a black-and-white photograph on the shelf of a beautiful woman with soft blond hair in a style that was dated some thirty years past.

  “Is that your wife?” I asked curiously. There was something about the photo, something intriguing; like it was a clue to something—I wasn’t sure to what.

  “Yes, this was Dora,” Andros said, picking up the photo and wiping the dust off with his sleeve.

  I peered over the desk at the photo. The way he said “was” made me believe that his wife had died, so I expected to see the picture appear flat and one-dimensional. I have a knack for being able to look at a photo and know if someone is alive or dead. It’s hard to explain, but if the person in the photo appears one-dimensional to me, sort of flat and pancakelike, then they have crossed over. If they look more two-dimensional then they’re probably still alive. Dora didn’t look flat, and curiously, I had a feeling she was still alive, so I couldn’t understand why Andros looked so distraught over the photo.

  I got my answer when he began to speak in a soft voice filled with the emotion of a painful memory. “Years ago, when my daughter was only two, my wife disappeared without a trace.”

  “She left you?” I asked, stunned. Who would have the guts to try to walk out on this guy? He seemed like the type who would not rest until he’d found you and made you pay for every moment you’d been away from him.

  “Perhaps she left me,” he said, still caught somewhere far away. “Perhaps not.” He set the photo down and turned back to tell me the story. “I was here at work one
afternoon—it was a day very much like today, in fact—and a call came in from our nanny. My wife had gone out to run some errands one afternoon, and never came home. My son, Demetrius, had been with her. He was . . . what?” Andros paused, thinking. “Seven or eight at the time, and he had wandered away from her, and when he went back to find her, he couldn’t. A Good Samaritan finally stopped and asked him what was wrong. The police were called and they contacted the house and my nanny.

  “We lived in a very safe neighborhood back then, so it was impossible to think that Dora had been kidnapped, but her car was still in the parking lot, and the credit cards she had on her person were never used. Over the years I’ve put my considerable resources to work trying to locate her, but we never found any trace. To this day I have only my suspicions, but no real answers.”

  Something lit in my brain as he said the word “suspicions,” and I blurted out, “That’s what caused the rift!”

  “What?” he asked, startled by my statement.

  “The rift in your family. You think another family member had something to do with your wife’s disappearance!”

  Andros nodded, seeming a little awed at my accuracy, and said, “Yes, that’s correct. Dora and my cousin Nico’s wife, Sophia, were best friends. Sophia denied knowing anything about Dora’s disappearance, but I knew she was lying. Nico refused to force Sophia to tell me where Dora was, and that caused a war between us. He and I used to be partners, but I wanted nothing more to do with him after Dora vanished. He went his way and I went mine, and we haven’t spoken a word since.”

  “But recently that’s changed, right?” I asked.

  “Perhaps,” Andros said elusively. I was prying a little too deep, and it suddenly dawned on me that the less I knew about these people, the better it probably was for my own continued health and longevity.

  “Well, then,” I said, leaning forward in the chair, changing the subject and ending the session, “if you’ll excuse me, I have clients this afternoon, and I’d like to get back to my office.”

  Andros nodded, continuing to look at me thoughtfully. After a moment he said, “I’d like to see you again, Miss Cooper. I could use someone of your talents for a few business dealings I’m wrapping up.”

  He had to be kidding. “Well, I’d really love to help, Mr. Kapordelis; however, I’m afraid I’m completely booked for the next several months. But good luck with that . . .” I said, getting up from the chair.

  “You know, I had a woman of your abilities work for me several years ago,” he continued, as if I hadn’t already made my intentions clear.

  I stopped midstep around the chair and looked back at him. “Then why not ask her to help you?”

  “Madame Jarosolov. She was Russian,” he said with a faraway look. “Have you heard of her?”

  “No.”

  “Yes, she was very good. Ophelia loved her.”

  “Uh-huh.” Gooseflesh had suddenly appeared on my arm. I didn’t know the point of this story, but I knew I wasn’t going to like how it ended.

  “Yes, she was a great help to me,” Andros said, again toying with his cigar.

  “What happened to her?” I had to know.

  Andros looked at me for a long, pointed minute. Finally he said, “She betrayed my trust and my family. I dismissed her.”

  The way he said “dismissed” left little doubt as to what he actually meant by that. Obviously, Madame Jarosolov had been fitted with a comfortable pair of cement sandals, and shortly thereafter had gone swimming in the Detroit River. I gulped but stood my ground. “Well, Mr. Kapordelis, as I said, I’m quite busy.”

  “This is a very good offer I am making you, Miss Cooper,” Andros replied. I understood from the note of arrogance in his voice that very few people turned him down.

  Still, I stuck to my guns. “No, thank you. I’m really not interested.”

  Andros squinted at me, snakelike, his reptilian features making me shiver. “I think, Miss Cooper, that you will need some time to warm to the idea, so I will give you a week or so to think it over, and then you will tell me your answer.” Andros lifted his phone abruptly and barked a single Greek word into it. The door opened immediately, and Goon stepped through the doorway.

  My heart began to pound again as I wondered whether or not Andros would keep his word about taking me back to my office unharmed. I walked by Goon out the door and past the secretary, thankful to be under my own stewardship and not with the assistance of the not-so-gentle giant behind me.

  I led the way, remembering the way out, and once outside walked purposefully straight to the car. I opened the door and got in. Goon got in on the other side and we were off.

  The next twenty minutes were probably the longest of my life. I watched the road pass by as I stared out the window, willing the miles to pass more quickly. I wanted to go home and take a long, hot shower and forget this day ever happened. Mostly, however, I really, really wanted to talk to Dutch.

  I had a sinking feeling that this wasn’t the last I would see of Andros; his cryptic message about persuading me to work for him left a haunting feeling in my bones. I didn’t know how the hell I was going to get myself out of this mess, but Dutch might.

  The problem was that he was unreachable. All I knew was that he was somewhere out of town on assignment, undercover and unavailable. Oh, and with a woman who was more than ready to comfort him on a lonely night if he needed it. I sighed heavily, suddenly wanting to cry, but straightened up abruptly as Goon looked over at me, a question mark on his face. I ignored him and continued to stare out the window, concentrating on willing the car to hurry.

  Finally we pulled into the parking garage and up the ramp to my car. The driver flipped a switch again, and before anyone had a chance to change their minds I was out of the car and bolting to my Mazda. I already had my key out and quickly inserted it into the door, shoving myself into place and slamming the door closed with one hand while I hammered down the lock with the other. I had the key in the ignition and the car in reverse before you could say “Yankee Doodle,” and I peeled out of the garage much faster than the posted speed limit allowed. I had only one brief glimpse of the Kapordelis car behind me, as I turned right out of the parking structure, noting with a fragment of satisfaction that my kidnappers wisely turned left.

  I took side streets home, vigilantly checking my rearview mirror for any signs of a tail. I made it home and pulled my car quickly into the garage, then bolted inside, slamming the front door closed behind me.

  Dave was upstairs in my attic, and I walked tiredly up to greet him.

  “Hey, there, how’s it—” He stopped midsentence and scrutinized my face, nearly dropping the hammer he was holding and stepping over several beams to get to me quickly. “What happened to your face?” he demanded.

  Belatedly I remembered my split lip and swollen cheek, and my hand went up to cover the area. “It’s nothing,” I said dismissively. There was no way I was going to involve Dave in this.

  “Horse hockey,” Dave said, setting down the hammer and taking me by the arm. He led me downstairs and into the kitchen, where he sat me on a chair and walked over to the freezer. He extracted a package of frozen peas, closed the door and handed them to me.

  I gave him a muffled, “Thanks,” and put the cool package against my cheek. It felt wonderful.

  “So you want to tell me about it?” Dave asked, reclining against the sink crossing his arms and looking at me like an errant child.

  “No,” I said flatly, staring at the ground.

  Dave looked at me for a long moment, anger brimming behind his eyes. Finally I watched him straighten and walk over to stand tall above me. In the sternest voice I have ever heard him use, he said, “I’ll kill that son of a bitch Dutch if I ever see him again.”

  I couldn’t help it; I had to smile.

  “What?” Dave asked, offense creeping into his voice.

  “Dutch didn’t do this to me, Dave, so please don’t kill him,” I said gently.

>   Dave cocked his head, assessing whether or not I was telling the truth, then demanded, “Well, then who the hell did?”

  “It’s embarrassing,” I said, stalling for time to think up a story.

  “Then I promise not to repeat it,” he said stubbornly.

  “Well, the truth of it is that I got into a fight in the parking structure by my building. See, I have an assigned parking spot, and I saw this woman pull into it before I had a chance to, and I boxed her in with my car and we got into it. . . .” Liar, liar, pants on fire . . .

  Dave looked at me for a long moment; then a grin spread across his face, and a chuckle escaped him before he had a chance to muffle it. “Road rage?”

  I nodded and tried my best to look chagrined. “Guilty as charged,” I said, holding up my palm.

  “Does she look better or worse than you?” Dave asked.

  “ ’Bout the same,” I said.

  Dave chuckled again and patted my hair. “You’ve had a tough couple of days, haven’t you?”

  “You wouldn’t believe the half of it,” I said.

  “Well, sorry to add more bad news to your plate, but I’m gonna need a check for the replacement lumber today.”

  Son of a bitch. I looked at the kitchen floor as I said, “Yeah, about that . . .”

  “What’s up?”

  “Well, remember that party I was supposed to work last night to pay for the repairs?”

  “Yeah?”

  “Well, it turns out the party got canceled, so I’m afraid we’re going to have to hold off for a couple of weeks.”

  “You know, if you’re in a money crunch I can spot you for it.”

  I smiled up at him. He was such a good guy. “No, no, Dave. I’d really rather not. Why don’t we just stop where we are and give me a couple of weeks to get the money together, and then we can pick it back up then?”

  Dave nodded but avoided my eyes. “Sure, whatever you say.”

  Dave had worked for me solidly since March, and it was going to feel really strange coming home to a quiet house. “Besides, don’t you have a job for your cousin that you’ve been putting off?”