Part 5 (2/2)

”He's the son of a very wealthy man,” I said.

”A very, very wealthy man,” added Marshall. ”Warner Breslow is a lot like Donald Trump...only less modest.”

Judy shot him a disapproving look, although she wasn't about to disagree. Warner Breslow's ego was world-renowned. It even had its own Wikipedia page.

”Have they caught the killer?” I asked.

”No,” said Judy. ”The news said there were no witnesses. They were in Turks and Caicos, I think.”

”Turks and where?” asked Max, unaware that he'd just walked into another one of his grandma's teaching moments.

”Turks and Caicos,” she said. ”It's an island in the Caribbean-really a bunch of islands.”

As she began a brief history lesson about the British West Indies, I heard the phone ring inside the house. I was about to get up when Marshall beat me to the punch. ”I'll get it,” he said.

Less than twenty seconds later, he returned to the table, looking utterly shocked and confused. He had his hand over the phone.

”Who is it?” I asked.

”It's Warner Breslow,” he said. ”He wants to speak to you.”

Chapter 8

COINCIDENCE WAS NOT the word; downright spooky was more like it.

Marshall handed me the phone and I walked inside the house, finally sitting down in the den off the kitchen. I'd never met Warner Breslow, let alone spoken to him. Until now.

”This is O'Hara.”

He introduced himself and apologized for calling me at home. I listened to every word, but what I really heard-what really struck me-was his voice. When I'd seen him on television doing interviews, he spoke every bit like the powerful and uberalpha male that he was. A true world beater.

Now he just sounded beaten, and maybe vulnerable.

”I a.s.sume you've heard about my son and his wife,” he said.

”Yes, I have. I'm very sorry.”

There was silence on the line. I wanted to say something more, but I couldn't think of anything useful or appropriate. I didn't know this man, and I didn't know yet why he was calling.

But I had a gut feeling.

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