Grave Matters

Brass, fairly overwhelmed by this little soap opera, said, 'Sure.'

'My mother never fired the woman-Daddy's secretary, I mean. Don't you think it's possible the secretary was in on it? That it was a put-up job?'

Brass said, 'Possible.'

'Anyway, my finding out that Mommy screwed Daddy over was what drove the wedge between us. My father going broke, dying of alcoholism a few years later, didn't exactly…help. I didn't even go to the wedding when she married Peter. I was still in high school then-that was one of our four-alarm arguments, let me tell you.'

'I can imagine,' Brass said. 'How long since you've spoken to your mother?'

'Over ten years.' Another shrug. 'As I said, since shortly after my eighteenth birthday…when I moved out. Not so much as a Christmas card.'

'And, if you don't mind my asking,' Brass said, 'what have you been doing all this time?'

'I worked my way through Cabrerra University in Miami. Waitressing. Took six years to get the four-year degree.'

'Why Miami?'

'That seemed about as far away from home as I could get without falling in the ocean. I majored in hotel/motel management-both my parents had business in their blood, and it got passed on, I guess. After that, I worked for a chain in Miami, last six years. Two months ago, I got transferred out here-the Sphere.'

'Finding yourself in such close proximity to your mother-did you try to contact her?'

'Yes…yes, I thought fate had finally put me on the spot. Time to be a grown-up and make some kind of peace with the miserable bitch.' She laughed harshly and then it turned into a sob. She got into her purse, found a tissue, and dried her eyes.

Brass and Atwater exchanged raised eyebrows.

Then Rebecca was talking again. 'That was when…when I finally learned that she'd died. Just this May.'

'You talked to your stepfather?'

'Yes-he said she died peacefully.' She paused for a long, ragged breath. 'In her sleep.'

Brass glanced at Atwater, but the sheriff had his eyes on Rebecca Bennett.

'But you don't believe him,' Atwater prompted.

'No, I don't.'

'That's what brought you here today, isn't it?'

Hesitating, Rebecca glanced between the two men before saying, 'Yes. I think my stepfather murdered my mother.'

A prickle of anger tweaked the back of Brass's neck-so that was why Atwater had brought him in on this! With the daughter of a deceased major contributor battling the widower, who could say where the money would wind up?

Brass allowed himself to cast his boss a disgusted smirk, but Atwater didn't seem to notice-he appeared placid, somberly so. Just a concerned friend of the family, trying to do the right thing…

'I want you to know right now, Rebecca,' Atwater said, 'that we'll look into this immediately…and thoroughly.'

Brass had sense enough to tread carefully around the sheriff when Atwater was playing one of those cards from up his sleeve. Nonetheless, he asked, 'Why don't you believe your stepfather, Ms. Bennett?'

She turned to Brass, her wide eyes like exclamation marks in her surprised face. Apparently it had never occurred to her that anyone might question her reasoning, much less her motives.

'There are several things,' she finally said, as if that were explanation enough.

'What were the autopsy results?'

Rebecca's mouth formed a sarcastic kiss. 'What autopsy results?'

'There was no autopsy?'

She shook her head. 'In fact, that's one of the reasons I suspect Peter-he told me an autopsy would have been contrary to my mother's wishes…due to her religious beliefs.'

'And you're skeptical of that reason?'

'I'm skeptical of that excuse-I've been away from Mom for a long time, and I understand that things can change, people can change…but she wasn't religious at all when I lived with her.'

'Some kind of religious conversion, then….' Brass offered.

'Yes, a conservative fundamentalistic church she and Peter joined-the body has to be preserved for resurrection and all of that b.s.'

'Not everyone considers that belief 'b.s.,' Ms. Bennett….'

'I know, I know…. I don't mean to sound like some kind of religious bigot, but it just…seems very drastic for Mom. Out of character. But there are other things too. For example…Peter got everything in Mom's will.'

Brass already knew why Atwater was here (to protect his ass, whichever Bennett inheritor wound up with the family fortune) and why he himself was here (to provide Atwater with a potential fall guy); and now, finally, Brass understood why Rebecca Bennett was here. Whatever contempt she might have felt for her mother, Rebecca wanted her share. Her piece.

She must have read what he was thinking, because she quickly said, 'Understand, it's not about the money.'

Keeping his face neutral, Brass nodded. Very little was certain in this wicked world; but one thing Jim Brass knew: Whenever somebody said it wasn't about the money-it was about the money.

'My mother's fortune was built on my father's used car business-a business she and Peter Thompson all but swindled Daddy out of. That after all these years Peter would be the one to benefit-it's just too much. Just too goddamn much.'

'Ms. Bennett-'

She sat forward, blue eyes flashing. 'There just seems to be so much…secrecy about my mother's death, and when I tried to talk to Peter? He shut me out.'

'Which is why,' Atwater said, with terrible casualness, 'you want her exhumed.'

Brass sat up like a sleeping driver awakened by a truck horn. 'Ex-,' Brass said, '-humed?'

'Yes,' Rebecca said, with her own dreadful ease. 'I want my mother exhumed, and an autopsy performed, so I'll know once and for all whether or not Peter Thompson killed her.'

Brass felt the words tumble out: 'Well, certainly your stepfather will fight you on this….'

She laughed, head back, as if proud of herself. 'He promised me he would. He hates me like poison…and he'll use my own murdered mother's money against me.'

Softly, to try to bring the melodrama down a notch, Brass said, 'We'll check him out.'

'What about the exhumation?' she asked, sitting forward, excited now, nostrils flaring, tiny teeth clenched.

'Well…' Brass said, looking toward the sheriff, who would surely have the sense to call off this witch hunt….

Atwater jumped into the situation with both feet…which of course landed on Brass, right where the sun didn't shine, even in a Vegas heat wave.

'The exhumation will be no problem,' Atwater said, his gaze flicking for just a second to Brass, then back to his potentially lucrative audience. 'As your mother's last blood relative, you have the right to an autopsy…especially with your suspicions about your stepfather. My best man, Captain Brass, will see to it…personally.'

Here they were, murders up higher than the temp, and Sheriff Atwater was assigning him a case that was little more than a political favor.

In his mind, Brass said, 'Like hell I will. Do your own damn political bullshit!'

But what he said was, 'Get right on it, Ms. Bennett.'

He had to swim in these waters, too.

The Desert Palm Memorial Cemetery occupied a lush green space not far from the intersection of North Las Vegas Boulevard and Main Street. Two days had passed since Captain Brass met with Sheriff Atwater and Rebecca