"What does luminol do?" Holly asked.
"Spread luminol over a supposedly clean surface, and if blood had been there, it would cause it to glow under the proper light. It's been a critical help in criminal investigations countless times.”
“I would have been happier if his grandfather had figured out how to get chocolate cake out of a two-hundred-and-fifty-dollar black dress.”
"I don't know about luminol," Rob offered, "but you should show that dress to my bride. Between Micah and Alice, I think Karin has mastered the art of making every oops, including birthday party chocolate cake, disappear."
"Maybe you'll have better luck at the next billionaire's funeral you attend," Eddie offered.
"If Karin can't pull off a miracle, at least I'll have a second reason to wear this dress."
CHAPTER THREE
“I know you would like to write something about Fran,” William Adams said privately to Sylvia near the end of the reception for his wife. “I want two or three weeks to hide from the rest of the world. I need time to think about what has happened. It’s like my whole world came crashing down in a single moment.”
“I wish there were something Jack and I could do, but I’m sure everyone you know feels the same."
“They do. Sadly, of course, there is nothing anyone can do. It’s the one reality you’re always aware of regardless of your financial successes. Right now, I simply need time.”
Sylvia was the only reporter that William agreed to talk with about Fran’s life. The Wall Street Journal, Bloomberg Business Week and others did obituaries on Fran, but in each case, the stories were about her business acumen. Fran had an uncanny gift for seeing the one high tech startup company out of a hundred that would be thriving five to ten years into the future.
The Adams’ family portfolio grew faster than either he or Fran could have imagined. During Apple’s turmoil, and then the decline and death of Steve Jobs, many investors headed for the exits. Fran argued that was their time to rush in. She bet substantially on a far brighter future for Apple, and her bet paid off. Together with substantial investments in Oracle, Google, and Salesforce.com to outperform expectations, she and William rode their combined talents and instincts to dizzying heights.
Even during lean times—bursting tech bubbles and recessionary economies—the Adams’ family fortune continued its climb from the millions into the billions.
William, however, was disinterested in business stories about his wife's sudden and tragic death. The wound of her loss ran too deep. Although the law firm of Adams Finch and Adams had impressive accommodations in one of San Francisco’s prestigious Mission Street office towers, William preferred working from home. Most days his mansion on Belvedere’s Golden Gate Avenue was quiet as a tomb, with only his housekeeper, Mrs. Jackson, and his driver, Malcolm, present and available if needed.
Six weeks after Fran’s service, William invited Sylvia to his home to discuss Fran’s work and life.
Sylvia was excited and honored to have this opportunity. She alerted Rob, who in turn decided to make the interview his lead story in the next issue of The Peninsula Standard.
Sylvia spent an hour going over her questions and then another hour preparing herself for the interview. Outside of her two weekly columns, Belvedere Buzz and Tiburon Talk, it was rare for Sylvia to write a lead story. Between that and William entrusting her to share his insights into Fran’s private life, she felt a bit uncertain when she rang the bell of the Adams mansion promptly at eleven.
Mrs. Jackson greeted her with a warm smile, pleased that her employer had invited a guest to the house. She seated her in a comfortable and impressive Massoud blue and white wingback chair. One of two that served as focal points of William’s study, both chairs were positioned near a stately stone fireplace that had a fire already burning.
William entered the room a few minutes after Sylvia’s arrival. He was comfortably dressed in dark slacks and a gray cashmere cardigan sweater over a white collared dress shirt.
“Sylvia,” he said in a happy voice as she stood to greet him. “Sit please, did Mrs. Jackson offer you some coffee or something to eat?”
“She did. But Jack and I took a pledge last week: three meals a day and no food, tea, or coffee in-between. There are so many people in this community who keep themselves in great shape, biking, hiking, kayaking, that we have to do something that gives the appearance we’re at least trying to stay fit.”
“I’ve lost ten pounds since Fran’s death. It’s not hard to do when you have no appetite.”
“You mentioned on the phone that you’ve been working from home and not going into the office.”
“I’m sure I’ll get back to my usual routine before long, but for now I’m content working out of the house. My partner, James Finch, has been with the firm almost as long as Fran and me, and I trust him completely to keep an eye on the operation. Right now if I went into the office, I’d find myself buried in sympathy cards and well-wishers, and that’s not going to get my mind off what’s happened.”
“But you’re alright talking about Fran for the profile piece I’d like to do?”
“Absolutely. Besides, I know Fran would want me to keep people focused on some of the local causes that Belvedere and Tiburon organizations like the Waterfront Preservation League have been working on for a long time. An article in the local paper is a good way for me to inform Pamela Botherton, Julia Hassie, and others, like Cynthia Buckley, that supporting community causes will remain a priority for me.”
“That’s wonderful. Let’s start by talking about how you and Fran met at Berkeley Law.”
“We were friends from the outset. We
