“When I talked to Stan this morning,” Max said, “he said he thought Victoria was being prickly about the business. Did anything about Victoria change in the few months before her death? Meaning, did she act different? Short-tempered maybe?”
“To be honest, I didn’t notice anything different about Victoria, but Judith did. That’s what they argued about. She felt that Victoria was being rude and secretive and that was no way to run a business. I keep out of my children’s financial affairs unless specifically asked for advice. Judith likes to make her opinion known. And my wife is brilliant in real estate. She helped make our family successful by finding the right properties at the right time.”
Max wanted to talk to Judith, but she wouldn’t disturb the grieving woman tonight. “When Judith is feeling up to it, in the next day or two, I’d like to talk to her. Maybe she has specific insight about what secrets Victoria may have been keeping from Mitch and Stan.”
“I’ll talk to her. I’m sure she’ll want to talk to you.”
“The sooner the better, to be honest. I have some threads to follow, but Judith may be able to help me narrow my focus. And my associate Sean Rogan is following up on a few things as well. We hope to have some answers for you.”
“We met him. Bright young man. We were very comfortable with him.”
She wanted to solve Victoria’s murder, or fully believe that Stan was guilty, before she left. Even if she couldn’t prove it.
Grover continued, “I can’t tell you how much this means to me that you’ve taken so much time from your career and your family to be here.”
“This is my job.”
“But you have a sister now, right? She’s living with you?”
Max shouldn’t be surprised at how quickly information spread about her life. “Eve Truman. She’s sixteen. My boyfriend is staying with her, she’s in good hands.”
“I’m sure you would much rather be home with them.”
She was about to deny it, but it was true. She wanted to be with Eve and Ryan. “Yes, but this is also important, and they understand.” She stood. “I’ll let you get back to your evening, and I have a drive ahead of me.”
“How about some coffee? I made some before you arrived, I forgot to offer it.”
“Actually, coffee sounds wonderful.”
She followed him to the kitchen. As they walked down a wide hall, she saw Victoria’s wedding picture. Victoria, Mitch, all the bridesmaids and groomsmen. Stan was there, as one of the ushers.
Grover said, “Judith and I don’t know whether to take it down.”
“I would hold off for now.”
“I miss her, Maxine. I really miss my daughter.”
His voice ached with the agony of losing a child. She had no words for him.
“It’s been such a rough few years for her,” Grover continued. “She and Mitch separated, then her best friend embezzled money from her employer and left the country when the authorities caught on.”
Another embezzlement? What was with the people in Victoria’s life?
“She went to Mexico, according to the reports,” Grover continued. “Victoria defended her, said she must have had a good reason and not to judge her. I’d always wondered if they kept in touch, but I wouldn’t ask because that would make Victoria an accessory after the fact, or some such nonsense. But during the divorce she really needed a friend, and Denise was the only real girlfriend Victoria ever had.”
“Denise?”
“Denise Albright.” Grover pointed to the maid of honor in the picture. It was the same woman in the photo on Mitch’s desk, Max realized. “They met in college, roommates, inseparable. Closer than sisters. Denise named her daughter after Victoria.” He pointed to one of the two flower girls. “So sad all around. I was hoping when Denise heard the news about Victoria’s death that she would reach out, somehow. It would have been a small comfort to Judith, I think. Even a card.” He sighed. “Maybe she didn’t hear. Maybe she doesn’t even care. I don’t know. How about that coffee?”
* * *
Twenty minutes later Max was driving and she couldn’t get the name Denise Albright out of her head.
Where had she seen that name?
She thought seen not heard because she distinctly remembered reading the name somewhere.
Maybe she’d been apprehended. If she embezzled money, that was a white collar crime, and Ryan talked a lot about his cases, which she generally enjoyed. Maybe he’d sent her an article.
She frowned. She didn’t think that was it.
She couldn’t stand it. As soon as it was safe, she pulled over and did an Internet search on the name Denise Albright.
Her heart raced at the first headline.
Bones Uncovered After Labor Day Identified as Fugitive Denise Albright
Denise Albright and her family had been murdered three years ago, but their bodies were only recently discovered.
Just last night, Lucy was talking about her case—vaguely, like many cops did around Max. She had a three-year-old cold case of bones only recently discovered. They’d been identified, but she didn’t give Max the names.
Max had seen the headline that morning while having coffee in her hotel room. But she hadn’t taken time to read it because she was preparing for her interview with Stanley Grant.
Max skimmed three articles before she found one with enough detail that her blood heated with urgency and excitement.
The bones had been uncovered the week after Labor Day weekend. The gravesite had been found on a Friday.
Not only any Friday, but the same Friday that Victoria had been murdered.
Denise Albright had been Victoria’s maid of honor twelve years ago. Her daughter had been a flower girl. They’d been college roommates and best friends.
But the bones hadn’t been identified until a few days ago. Could Victoria have known her longtime friend was dead? Or did she know something about who might have killed her? All the articles said that the authorities believed Denise had fled the country with her family to avoid prosecution on a major embezzlement case.
Grover said Victoria thought they’d left the country as well.
But they’d been dead all this time.
There were no coincidences.
Max’s investigation was connected—somehow—to Lucy’s.
She immediately called her producer, Ben Lawson.
“It’s after nine New York time,” he answered. “I’ve been working since six this morning.”
“You never go to bed before midnight. I need your help.”
“What? Can you repeat that? You need my help. My help?”
“You’re not funny right now, Ben, and this is important. If I’m right about this, you’re going to have another Emmy and I’m going to have another book.”
“I’m listening.”
As she drove back to San Antonio, she laid it all out for him—Victoria’s murder, Stan’s flip, the recovered bones. The embezzlement connected to both cases. She had a lot of holes, but there was something here. Something potentially very big, very juicy. Every reporter instinct she had was firing in her head that this was huge.
“If you’re right … damn, Maxine, this is twisty with drama and money and emotion. Wow. What do you need?”