So much for moody men. Chalk one up for the moody female.
Zayvion let the windshield wipers have their say for a while. Then, “Sorry. Violet’s been living in the condo with your father since they were married sixteen months ago. Before that, she lived at one of the other properties he owns in the city. The condo is downtown.”
“I know where the condo is,” I grumbled. Realizing just how petty I sounded, “Thanks, though. I didn’t know when they got married. I never received an invitation.”
“She didn’t wear white,” he offered. “And I think her flowers were lilacs and daffodils.”
“You pay attention to the strangest details. Most men would be scoping the crowd for single desperate drunk chicks.”
“That would be Joan, and she was a friend of the bride’s cousin. Recently dumped.”
I held up one hand. “That’s all I need to know about that.”
“I thought you wanted to know my secrets.”
“I don’t need to know who you slept with at my stepmother’s wedding.”
He grinned. “Okay. Your father looked happy, and maybe a little bewildered. He kept looking over at Violet like she was a puzzle he couldn’t quite figure out.”
That didn’t sound good.
“There’s not a person in this world my father couldn’t figure out,” I said.
“There’s you.”
I thought about that. He was probably right. My father never understood my motivations, my desires, my needs. He had an idea of who a daughter of his should be and expected me to fill that preassumed role in his life. I’d let him down pretty badly on that account.
But it did make me more curious about his newest wife.
“So tell me about Violet.”
“What about her?”
“Do you like her?”
“She has been good to work for. Fair. Intelligent, but demanding, as you’d expect of someone pushing the edge of the technological magic field. She has a dry sense of humor and is blunt about her opinion. Like some other women I know, she’s a little too stubborn for her own good.”
I let that comment pass. “Do you know if my dad gave her a controlling share of the company?”
Zay glanced over at me. “I thought you weren’t worried about the money.”
“I’m not. I’m just trying to figure out why she would have married my dad. I mean, money is the obvious reason, but it could also be for some of the patents for magic and tech integration he owns. I could see a woman who was involved in scientific innovations liking the package he could offer her: security, visibility, ability to take product to market, funding, and access to patented technology. Not to mention friends in low and high places.”
Zay shook his head.
“What?”
“Did it ever cross your mind that she might have married him because she loved him?”
I laughed. No snorting this time. “Right. Just like his other four money-digging wives.”
“Five. Or don’t you include your mother on that list?”
“Low, Jones.”
“I’ll take that as a no, then.”
It was the sort of comment that should have made me really angry, and when I was younger I might have even hit him in the nose for it. But I’d had time to think about why my mother married my dad. Maybe it was love in the beginning. I hope there was still love when I was conceived, but for all I know she was in it for the quickly multiplying fortune he was acquiring. I had been told she wasn’t living in the poorhouse overseas. Dad paid alimony to all his wives, and I knew my mom was, for the most part, taken care of because of the years she’d spent with him.
Not that I had heard from her since she left.
“Do you really think any woman would marry Daniel Beckstrom without thinking about how good his wealth was gonna look on her?”
Zay shrugged. “Probably not.”
“You didn’t answer me about the controlling share of Dad’s company.”
“What about it?”
“Who holds it?”
“Now that your father is gone, you.”
Oh, good loves. Just what I needed. “So I am the sole heir to the Beckstrom fortune, minus taxes and whatever the other wives get, and I have the controlling share of the company?”
“Yes.”
I didn’t know I even had shares in the company, much less enough to swing a vote. Maybe Zayvion was right—I should have read the newspaper more often. “So much for keeping a low profile.”
“Well, that, and don’t forget the fact that you’re indicated in your father’s murder.”
“I have not forgotten that.”
He looked over and gave me a small smile. “Good.”
Oh. He was trying to make sure my memories were still there. Decent of him, I supposed. It might get a little tedious to be reminded about what I had not forgotten, but it might be nice to be filled in on the things I had lost.
“It’s what, another four-hour drive to the city?” I asked.
He nodded.
“Good. I expect to spend most of that time listening to you tell me everything you know about my father, his company, my stepmom, and her inventions.”
“Really? And if I don’t feel like talking?”
“We Beckstroms are known for our knack at Influencing people.”
“Influence doesn’t work on a Grounder, Allie.”
Hells. He was right. That meant I probably couldn’t force Zay to do anything against his free will. There was something so satisfying about that, I actually chuckled.
“What?”
“I hadn’t thought about it,” I said. “I suppose it bothered my father.”
“No, it was one of the reasons he hired me—I couldn’t be Influenced by anyone and he knew I wouldn’t just do what he wanted me to, but would make solid, lawful decision on my own . . . in his best interest, of course.”
And it also made sense as to why my dad had hired him to follow me. He knew I wouldn’t be able to Influence him either. Like I said, my dad was a thorough, careful man.
“So, what? You’re not going to answer my questions?”
“I said I couldn’t be Influenced. I didn’t say I couldn’t be bribed. What will you give me if I talk?”
“How about Nola’s cooking?”
“It’s a good start.”
I unbuckled my seat belt and crawled into the backseat. Nola had packed several sandwiches, home-baked cookies, some cheeses and bread, bottles of water, a container of what looked to be soup, a thermos of coffee, and other foil-wrapped things at the bottom of the box that I didn’t bother digging down for.
I pulled out the sandwiches and cookies, grabbed water and the coffee thermos, and crawled back to the front seat.
I unwrapped a sandwich, held it out for Zay. When he reached for it, I pulled it away. “Talk?”
“What do you want to know?”
I handed him the sandwich, unwrapped one for myself. “How long have you known my dad?”
“I’ve worked for him for about a year.”
I noted the slight side step of worked instead of known, but let it pass. “And my stepmom?”
“Worked for her for three years.”
“What did you do before that?”
“I agreed to tell you about your dad and stepmom, not to fill you in on my personal life.”
