Inherit the Dead

her. I’m frightened, Detective.”
    Perry tried to read her face, but it was flat, expressionless. “You said that your daughter often took off, wandered, so there’s probably no reason to suspect anything is wrong—or is there?”
    She looked away, and when she turned back there was something ferocious in her eyes though she spoke calmly, “No. There’s nothing. Nothing at all.” She continued to stare at him, not speaking.
    Perry let the quiet expand between them. Something he’d learned as a cop: let the suspect fill the uncomfortable void.
    And she did. “There’s something you should know, Detective. Angel will be twenty-one in less than two weeks, at which time she will come into a sizable fortune.”
    “I see. And Angel knows this?”
    “No. At least I never told her. Of course she knew she would get money, my money, which is considerable, though she has a small, serviceable income of her own. I thought it best she not spend her youth knowing she would come into tremendous wealth. I did not wantmoney to stifle her need to work, to grow as a human being. It’s better to come into money later and not know about it, don’t you agree, Detective?”
    “Sure,” said Perry. “Though I wouldn’t know.”
    “Well, I do. Money can make one lazy, even corrupt.”
    Money can make people do all sorts of things, thought Perry.
    “All Angel has to do is sign some papers and the money is hers. I would not have waited until the last minute, but the trust stipulates that she sign on her twenty-first birthday. Not a day earlier—or later. A ridiculous technicality, but I suppose it was put there in the event that”—she heaved a sigh—“that Angel was not alive on her twenty-first birthday. My God, what a horrid thought.”
    “And if she doesn’t sign?”
    “The trust remains entirely with me. We are meant to split what remains of my father’s money, which he put in trust for his heirs.”
    “Let me get this straight. If Angel signs, she gets half the money.”
    “Yes.”
    “And if she doesn’t, you get it all.”
    “Yes.” She painted on a smile. “I see what you’re thinking, Detective. That I might want to keep all of the money for myself.”
    “The thought did cross my mind.”
    “Please. I have more money than I know what to do with. And I’m dying.” Her eyes locked on his. “Why would I want you to find my daughter if I wanted to keep her money?”
    Perry didn’t know, but he let the question sit there.
    “Another two or three hundred million makes no difference to me.”
    “Which is it?”
    “Which is what ?” She stood up and shook out her arms, then started to pace again, her white tunic floating behind her. She looks like a ghost, Perry thought.
    “Two or three hundred million?”
    She stopped pacing and looked at him. “I’m not sure. Does it really matter?”
    “We’re talking about a lot of money.”
    “I suppose.” Julia Drusilla shrugged her bony shoulders. “I just want Angel to have what is rightfully hers—to have the life she was meant to have, the freedom to do whatever she wants. Money can buy freedom, Detective.” She started pacing again, tapping her bony hand against her thigh as she did.
    “I can imagine,” said Perry, and almost corrected himself: he could not imagine. He was trying to think it through: a girl about to inherit a fortune who disappears. Did she know—or didn’t she?
    “Is there anyone who might benefit if Angel doesn’t sign those papers?”
    Julia Drusilla stopped pacing again. “None who I know of.”
    “But there could be?”
    “What do you mean?”
    “You said none who you know of, but could there be someone out there you don’t know of?”
    “Like who?”
    “What about your husband?”
    “Norman? That’s ridiculous. He’s perfectly comfortable. His needs are well taken care of. I’ve seen to that.”
    “Two or three hundred million dollars can fulfill even more needs.”
    “Don’t be absurd. Norman adores Angel. And he has plenty of money.” Her voice went hard then softened, and she came closer, her hand on his hand again.
    An air-conditioned breeze grazed the back of Perry’s neck, and he shivered—or was it Julia Drusilla’s touch?
    “Anyone else?” he asked.
    “No. No one.”
    “If Angel doesn’t sign the papers, do you still get your half of the money?”
    She let her hand drop from his. “It may take a bit longer but . . . yes.”
    “That must be a relief.”
    “I’ve already told you,