Closer Than Blood

black folder and slid across the high gloss table.

“Shouldn’t the beneficiary be his wife?”

“Ordinarily, yes,” Johnstone said.

“In fact, she called here not wanting it that way at all. She said it wasn’t about the money, but what was best for Parker. Tori thought that setting up a trust for Parker would be best for the boy, too.” Kaminski directed his attention to Hank.

“Were there any problems between the Connellys?” The younger man drank some water before answering.

“Well, not that I know about. I mean—”

“—everyone has problems,” Johnstone said, effectively cutting short Hank’s comment.

“Tell me,” Kaminski said, in part, a comment about his own life and dusted-up marriage, but also, he wanted to know more.

“This is a murder investigation.”

“We work in black-and-white here. We don’t delve into pie-in-the-sky theories or gossip.”

“Understood,” Kaminski said, “but was there trouble in the marriage?” Pacific Investments President Johnstone’s eyes flashed and he glanced in the direction of the comely human resources executive.

“This doesn’t leave this office,” he said. Kaminski shook his head.

“I can’t promise that.”

“It has nothing to do with any of this.”

“I’m sorry, Mr. Johnstone, but you can’t be the decision maker on that. That’ll be up to me, then the Prosecutor’s Office. What are you holding back?” He looked at Lissa and she shifted nervously in her chair. All of a sudden she looked more frightened than sophisticated. Kaminski had seen it before, many times. Fear had a way of dissolving all traces of beauty.

“I had a brief affair with Alex,” she said.

“Tori knew about it.” Tears started to roll down her cheeks and she turned away to wipe them. She dabbed gently at her skin as if she didn’t want the humiliation of her disclosure made worse by the smudging of her makeup. Eli Johnstone handed her a second tissue. Kaminski would never have thought the woman in the pencil skirt would have been a crier.

“The affair was brief. Very brief. Lissa came to me and disclosed the indiscretion—which was against company policy. Since she reported it to me, I agreed to keep her on.” He looked in Lissa’s direction. She was dabbing her eyes.

“Alex was reprimanded, too.”

“I see. When was this?”

“Last year,” she said.

“It was a couple of dates following our Christmas party. We broke it off amicably.” If it was so amicable, why was she crying about it still? he wondered.

“How do you know his wife knew?”

“She confronted me and I broke it off the next day. There was a lot of drama, but it was really over after a week or two.”

Kaminski pushed the button to the elevator and got inside. Just as the doors inched closed, Lissa March slipped between the panels. Her eyes were red and her makeup was smeared. She caught a glimpse of herself on the polished chrome-plated doors.

“I look like hell.”

“Going down?”

“I’m already down. But, no.” She reached over and pushed the STOP button.

“I just wanted to tell you that Tori Connelly scared me.”

“How so?”

“Look, I know I shouldn’t have messed with Alex. I can’t even say it wasn’t my idea, you know, to make me look like a better person. And I wouldn’t lie about a dead man. She came to my condo after she found out. She’s a pretty woman, but she wasn’t pretty that day.” Lissa took a breath. She was beautiful, smart. She’d made a big mistake and it was clear that she’d been paying for it.

“Tell me what happened,” he said.

“All right,” she said.

“From the beginning.”

Lissa March was sweaty from a workout on the elliptical machine in the living room of her top- floor Stadium District condo overlooking Commencement Bay. It was a Sunday afternoon and she relished the respite from Pacific Investments. While others were at church or with families on Sundays, she was usually at the office catching up on paperwork. Her job was her life. Lissa wrapped a towel around her neck, put on some smooth jazz, and poured herself some Evian with a slice of lime and looked out at the water. Things were good just then. The mezzanine doorman buzzed to tell her that a woman was there with a delivery—a large bouquet of white lilies.

“Can she leave them?”

“She wants to come up. Says she knows you.” Lissa wasn’t expecting a visitor, much less flowers. Fleetingly, she allowed herself to believe that Alex had sent them as a peace offering.

“Oh. Who is she?”

“Name’s Tori Connelly.” Lissa could feel the air go out of the room. It wasn’t Alex, after all, but his wife. Lissa felt a wave of nausea. She never wanted to be the ugly part of a triangle. It was certainly nothing her Southern upbringing had ever considered even the remotest of possibilities. Her mom always said, “The other woman is always a tramp. Tramps always end up with nothing but a swim in a pool of shame.” In that instance of guilt and introspection, Lissa felt she had no choice but take her lumps and steep in the shame of what she’d done.

“All right, send her up,” Lissa said. She patted her face with the towel, ran her fingers through her hair, and made the best of her attire by smoothing out the black T-shirt she wore over a pair of black workout shorts. She didn’t look good. I don’t deserve to look good. A knock on the door, and she opened it. Tori Connelly stood outside, poking the bouquet of overly perfumed lilies at Lissa.

“Are you alone?” she asked, her blue eyes sparking disgust as she ran the length of Lissa’s body. Lissa’s face tightened, but she nodded.

“Yes. I’m alone.” She knew that the comment was a dig, a suggestion that she’d pulled herself away from a horny suitor just then.

“You look so damp, I just thought . . .”

“What do you want?”

“I want you to get out of our lives.” Lissa took a step backward.

“I’m out. It’s over.”

“Really? I know women like you never give up on what you want. I brought these for you,” she said, shoving the white flowers at Lissa as if they were a weapon.

“When my mom died we buried her with these, her favorite flower.” Reflexively, Lissa took the bouquet thrust at her.

“I don’t want any drama, Tori. I made a mistake. I’m working through it.”

“Poor you.” Tori looked around the condo, her eyes taking in the expensive furnishings, the original artwork over the fireplace.

“You have expensive taste, Lissa. Uninteresting, but expensive. You can’t have my husband.” A chill ran down Lissa’s spine.

“I don’t want him. Will you go now?”

“I’m leaving. I just wanted to make my point. If I can’t have Alex, no one can. You see, he’s boring and rich. That’s enough for me. At least the rich part is. You’ll be sorry—he’ll be very, very sorry—if you cross me.”

The elevator holding Lissa and Kaminski started to move and the female executive quickly pushed the button to the next floor with her perfectly squared-off French-manicured nails.

“I’m getting out here,” she said.