“Hilarious.”
“Don’t be so uptight.”
Gage sipped his water. “Just when I thought you people couldn’t get any more bizarre, you tell me all this.”
“You’re a good looking man, Gage. And you have access. That combination around here is very rare, because we trust no one.”
“We, or you?”
“It’s the Vogel way, believe me. I still don’t know what you did to crack the code with mother.”
Brutally killing a handful of French mobsters seemed enough for Claudia…
He crossed his leg over his knee. “Was that all your questions?”
“Pretty much.”
Without going into details, Gage told her he’d managed to get an extension on Claudia’s last will and testament.
“How long?”
“I’m not positive of anything yet. Just do me a favor and keep Ina at bay. I’m trying like hell to find someone with a motive to kill your father.”
“Are you the only person working on this?”
“It’s what your mother allowed for.”
“But for right now, Ina and I are safe?”
“Yes.”
He thought he glimpsed a wisp of a smile.
Gage finished his water. Katja sipped her wine. The silence built.
And built.
It seemed Katja was on the verge of saying something. Gage forced himself to remain quiet.
Then…
“Our father sexually abused both of us, Gage. I could go into detail, but I won’t. I’m not lying, nor am I telling you this to garner sympathy. He did it to each of us during our early teens. Ina and I were so scared of him we didn’t even tell each other—not until we were older. To my knowledge, he never abused any other young girls outside of the family, but I’m probably naïve to believe he didn’t.”
“That’s absolutely…” His voice trailed off—he didn’t know how to properly respond.
“Yes. And it wasn’t regular sex, Gage. It was bizarre activity. He was twisted. When Ina and I finally confided in each other, we went to mother. She wouldn’t hear of it. She thought we made it up to get back at our father for his miserable, asshole ways.” She joined eyes with Gage. “We didn’t make it up. We even confronted him, together. Do you have any idea how scary that was for us?”
“I can’t imagine.”
“At first, he responded calmly, telling us we were confused, treating us like two crazy women. When we kept at it, he turned into his ugly, normal self, threatening us with our inheritance and standard of living. Whenever he was cornered, he’d go on the offensive and he always fought dirty. I’m unashamed to say I’m glad he’s dead.”
It appeared Katja might go on, but she didn’t. She finished her glass and poured more wine, the wine glass trembling and clanking against the bottle. That’s when Gage noticed the twin streams of tears on her cheeks.
He was still tongue-tied.
“It’s okay if you don’t want to respond,” she said, her voice hitching.
“Well, you said you don’t want to talk about it, Katja, so all I will say is I’m very sorry you had to go through that. It’s a terrible, miserable story that makes me sick.”
Katja ran her hand back through her thick mane of hair. She seemed to regain a measure of her composure when she laughed as she said, “You probably think we’re the most petulant, spoiled, trust fund bitches on the face of the earth.”
“No, I do not. I could tell there was more to the story of the Vogel family.” He poured the last of the mineral water over the ice. “And now, given what you told me, it makes sense. He institutionalized each of you in this lifestyle, and manipulated you with fear and…well…I can see—”
“Why we’re all so fucked up?” she finished.
He drank the water.
“Okay, not another word about any of this tonight,” she said. “In fact, not another word about the Vogel family.” Katja grasped a pillow and hugged it to herself, pulling her legs up underneath her. “Tell me a good story while I drink my wine. It needs to be true and interesting and aufreizend,” meaning corrupt or sleazy.
“Aufreizend, huh?”
“Yes.”
Running his tongue over his teeth, Gage inventoried his true stories. One in particular seemed apropos, considering all he’d heard about Il Magnifico. “Promise to keep this quiet?”
“Cross my heart,” she said, making the motion.
“Wait, before I tell you, I want to ask you to do something.”
“What is it?”
“Somehow, some way, please make sure there’s a proper funeral for your mother.”
Katja shrugged, then nodded. “I’ll get with Ina—we’ll come up with something. Now, tell me your story, Boy Scout.”
Satisfied with the progress tonight, Gage settled himself back into the couch and gestured with his thumb to the southwest. “Not all that long ago, down in South America, there was an American named Sonny. Now, Sonny was a grade-A piece of ex-military shit who’d made millions—many, many millions—by robbing the drug cartels of their product and selling it himself…”
Katja was rapt.
Gage stayed for another hour, telling the tale and answering Katja’s questions, the ones he could answer. At the end of the evening, Katja hugged him, pecked him on his cheek and sent him on his way.
Sent him on his way with a pat on his butt.
As he crossed the dark and cold courtyard with his sleepy dog beside him, Gage was struck with the realization that things at the Vogel estate seemed to have taken a 90-degree turn.
It seemed he now had a friend.
* * *
The following day, Katja phoned Gage to tell him that the funeral for her mother was scheduled to occur in four
