Niki smirked. “Or anything else with a detectable alcohol content.”
“Excellent!” their guest said with a quick clap of her hands. “It’ll be up here shortly, or so I’ve been assured. Now. What can I help you with today, Detective Merritt? It’s been a while since I saw you last.”
“More than a minute, ma’am. But these things take time, as I’m sure you understand.”
She nodded and reclined prettily in the stylish seat. One arm stretched out along the back, one she left casually in her lap. “I know the wheels of justice may turn slowly, but sometimes I wonder if we’ll ever know what happened to Kevin and Christopher.”
Something about the way she phrased it stuck in Leda’s head. Her stepson’s name first, not her husband’s. “Well,” Leda said with more cheer than the subject required, “as you can see, we’re still on the case!”
Grady gave her a look that could’ve rusted a bumper.
Janette Gilman smiled politely and said, “Now, what do you do again, dear? I caught your name and only that you were a consultant.”
“I consult,” Leda said simply. Somewhat desperately, she wanted to keep talking—to assure Ms. Gilman that she was a competent adult professional—but something about the withering look in Grady’s eye and the death grip Niki had on her thigh convinced her to restrain herself.
Quickly, Grady jumped in. “Ms. Foley is a victim’s rights advocate,” he offered smoothly. “She’s also doing research on a graduate degree in criminology. We’re trying to talk her into joining the force in something of a social work capacity. Ms. Nelson,” he said, gesturing at Niki, “is a forensic accountant who we’ve recently added to the task force.”
Leda gazed at him a little too adoringly, she suspected, but she’d always been a little too impressed with people who could lie on the fly. She aspired to be so effortless, so casual. In anything, really.
“That sounds fascinating,” Janette Gilman said.
Then a server arrived at the top of the stairs, bearing a tray upon which was balanced a big pitcher of sangria and four glasses. Leda very much wanted to ask how she’d known to ask for the right number, but maybe the server had told her how many people were waiting upstairs. Or there was always the chance that four was the number of glasses everybody got.
When all the glasses were full, Grady reached one hand for his ever-present notebook, lying on the table beside a condensation-moistened coaster. He flipped the book open and scanned a page or two of wholly indecipherable handwriting. “I know we went over the case together a time or two, and in great depth, Ms. Gilman, but—”
“Copeland.”
“I’m sorry?”
“Copeland,” she said again. “I’ve returned to my maiden name. I wanted to put the past behind me.”
Leda frowned. “You put the past behind you by going back to your original name? From all the way back in the past?”
Janette flipped her hand dismissively. “Oh, you know what I mean. I needed a fresh start. The Gilman name was never any good, to me or anyone else. If Christopher hadn’t been murdered, we would’ve likely divorced within a year, and I would’ve gotten rid of the name then, at any rate.”
“Really?” Niki asked. “I know a lot of divorcées, and not all of them ditch the married name.”
Leda asked her friend, “Why is that, do you think?”
The older woman answered for her. “It’s a great deal of paperwork, that’s why. Also, some women have children, and they want the whole family to match. I don’t have children, I don’t mind paperwork, and I don’t have much nostalgia regarding Christopher.”
Grady asked, “What about Kevin?”
She hesitated, just a little. “I did like Kevin. He must have favored his mother, I don’t know—she died when he was young. He really wasn’t anything at all like Christopher. Such an upstanding young fellow. Always trying to do the right thing, be the right person, make the right call.” She let out a small, rueful laugh. “I used to call him the Boy Scout, which he hated. But he was always too good-natured to bicker about it.” She took a long drink, nearly emptying the glass. The bottommost cubes of ice tinkled together. “He was the closest thing to a son I ever had, even though I only knew him for a handful of years. I am truly sorry that he’s gone. The world is a darker place for his loss.”
Grady took over again. “Then you don’t think Kevin was the target?”
She frowned. “Oh, are we back on that again? No, I don’t think that—and I never have. I told you then, and I’ll tell you now: Kevin wouldn’t hurt a fly, and he didn’t have any enemies. There’s always a chance that he caught his father doing something untoward and made a stink in front of the wrong person. But whatever happened, you can rest assured that it was Christopher’s fault.”
Leda’s hand tightened on her drink. Her eyelids fluttered, but otherwise, she did not move.
Niki noticed and gave her leg a gentle squeeze.
Grady didn’t notice. He nodded down at his notebook. “You mentioned last year that you suspected Christopher was embroiled in illegal activities, but you were never terribly specific.”
“I didn’t say I suspected, I said that I’d bet my life on it—but I couldn’t prove anything, and my suspicions were vague. The man was so crooked; literally nothing he was mixed up in would surprise me. Why do you ask? Have you turned up anything new?”
Behind Leda’s eyes, fireworks were flashing. Weird, disjoined fireworks with only one word coming through clearly. She blurted it out. “Blackmail.”
Everyone stared at her.
She said it again. “Blackmail.” Then she added, “I’m sorry—I didn’t mean to interrupt. But do you think he was involved in any blackmailing? Of anyone? In any way?”
Janette Gilman née Copeland leaned forward thoughtfully. She took the pitcher of sangria and topped off her own glass, using most of what was left. “It’s funny you should say that. I know for a fact that he wasn’t above blackmail. He blackmailed casually all the time—but you wouldn’t necessarily call it that.” She took a sip and held her glass close to her chest, rubbing her thumb up and down its length, smearing the condensation. “He liked to collect useful people who owed him favors, let’s put it that way. I know he thought of it as leverage, really—and maybe that’s all it was, most of the time. I’d say his idea of ‘blackmail’ was closer to other people’s ideas of insider trading, except that he once… well, it’s funny. It’s definitely funny.” The thoughtful look on her face suggested something less “funny” than “strange.”
“Funny how?” Grady asked.
“I haven’t thought of this in ages, and I don’t think I mentioned it during your early investigations. Only a couple of months before Christopher was killed, he was feeling very pleased with himself about something, and I asked about it. Christopher being pleased with himself was never a good thing. He was never happy about anything that wasn’t dirty or mean.”
“He sounds like a real peach,” Niki observed.