Inherit the Dead

been happy for the delay. Now he was sorry.
    “What was the story?”
    Perry settled in. “Julia Drusilla told me she was dying and wanted to straighten things out with her estranged daughter.”
    “Angelina.”
    “Angel. Ms. Drusilla wanted me to track her down.”
    “You had the cell number and came to me?”
    Perry supposed a cop, even his friend, going on the record, had to ask questions he already knew the answer to, but that didn’t make it any less irritating.
    Watson sighed. “Look, I know we’ve been through it, but I need to file a report.”
    “On me?”
    Watson’s jaw twitched. “On Drusilla. But you came to me, remember, got me involved. So now I’ve got to include that in that report.”
    So that was part of it: his good pal wanted to make sure he looked clean and pure, none of the old Christo stain on him. The two men stared at each other a moment.
    “First,” Perry said, “I went out to Long Island and met Norman Loki, Julia’s ex. When that marriage went bust, Angel moved to Long Island with her father.”
    “Uh-huh,” Watson said, nodding.
    “Then I met an artist, Lilith Bates—Angel’s best friend. She gave me the name of the motel where Angel and her boyfriend Randy had taken off to, and were supposedly shacked up in.”
    Fleming was frowning. “They weren’t at the motel?”
    “No. But I spoke to the boyfriend, Randy Hyde, and he’d been there, with her. And I spoke to the motel manager, too . . . but no Angel. Not anymore.”
    Perry left out that he thought Randy—or that crooked politician Angel was playing with—might have been driving the car that tried to run him off the damn Brooklyn Bridge. That wasn’t part of the story—that was personal, and he’d keep it to himself.
    “Then?” Watson asked.
    “Then I had you run the cell number. I’m sure you remember.” He tried to keep the edge out of his voice but failed.
    “Yeah.” Watson nodded. “I remember.”
    “And?” Fleming asked.
    “And that sent me to Brooklyn to see Athena Williams.
    “Who’s she?” Fleming asked.
    “Angel’s nanny. She might be the only real friend that girl has in the whole world. That’s where I found my client’s daughter.”
    “But you never got a chance to tell Ms. Drusilla?” Fleming asked.
    Perry just shook his head.
    “Verbally, please.”
    “No, I never got that chance. I already said that.”
    Watson finally asked the question the PI had been waiting for this whole time. “Why was Julia really looking for her daughter? If she wanted to ‘straighten things out,’ she’d had years to do it. Why now, all of a sudden?”
    “Why now? She was dying, and there was the matter of an inheritance.”
    “Details, please.”
    Perry shrugged. “Angel would be eligible for that in a few days. When she turns twenty-one.”
    “Her mom’s estate,” Fleming said, not a question.
    “Which was quite sizable,” Perry said, nodding. “Mommy got a bundle when her own parents died.”
    “When was that?” Fleming asked.
    But it was Watson who answered: “Julia’s old man died in a crash. Him and his wife, both.”
    “Car accident?” the young detective asked.
    “Yeah. He was a big shot, filthy rich, plus he had tons of life insurance coverage on the whole family. Then, wham—his car runs into an eighteen-wheeler. Fell asleep driving, maybe. Anyway, he and his wife die, and presto, Julia’s got herself quite the little nest egg.”
    That was a nasty way to put it, but Perry skipped a comment and finally asked a question of his own. “Any chance that it wasn’t an accident?”
    “State boys handled it. They didn’t come up with anything indicating foul play that I know of.” Watson glanced at Fleming, as if he needed to explain. “I came across it when I was looking into this business for Christo. It’s all a matter of public record.” He tugged at his collar then looked at Perry. “Last time I told you about this, you didn’t have much to say. You have any new thoughts in light of what’s happened?”
    Given what had happened to him on this case, Perry wasn’t sure he believed in accidents anymore. Her parents had died “accidentally,” and now Julia had slipped off her balcony or jumped.
    And even if he did still believe in accidents, Perry sure as hell didn’t believe in coincidences. He wanted to know what was really going on, but that was hard to do when you were the one under the microscope.
    “Anyway,” Perry said, trying hard to keep it