They drank black champagne at the memorial. Harold and the hired staff made the rounds in the palatial living room, each with a bottle of Dom Perignon in one hand and a quart of 1929 Charrington Oatmeal Stout in the other, filling up glasses. A string quartet attired in black played “Clair de Lune.” There were many more people in attendance than at the funeral and the event hummed with hushed conversation.
“Thank you, Harold,” Colleen said, sipping the chilled black mixture.
“No, Ms. Hayes,” Harold said. “Thank you.” He bowed before moving on to the next guest.
Colleen wore a simple black dress with shoes and nylons to match. She turned to Alex, standing next to her, sipping her fortified champagne. “It’s not bad.”
“It’s called Black Velvet.” Alex smiled, radiant without her black hat and veil. Her hair had been curled and shone with product. “They drank it in 1861, to mourn Prince Albert’s passing, at his club in London. Father would have approved.”
“To your father,” Colleen said, holding out her glass.
They clinked glasses. They sipped Black Velvet.
“I hope you got the check,” Alex said. “Christian had it sent over today, special messenger.”
“It’s far too generous,” Colleen said.
“Those were the terms Father agreed to.”
“And a bit more.” Colleen drank more champagne. “All for a little over a week’s work.”
“But what a week,” Alex said, sipping, fluffing her hair.
“That’s the understatement of the year.”
“What next, Colleen?” Alex said.
“You mean, after I set myself up in some new digs—with a view of the Golden Gate Bridge perhaps? I can certainly afford to now.” Colleen frowned. “I still have my parole. That doesn’t go away. I have an appointment with my new parole officer first thing tomorrow. And there are the pending cases regarding your sister. Although there’s not much I can do.” Things were out of her hands. But not her mind. “I think I’m going to take some time off, head up the coast.”
“To see your daughter,” Alex said. “Pamela.”
Colleen showed crossed fingers and drank. Maybe. Just maybe they would finally reconnect.
“I hope it works out this time,” Alex said quietly.
“Me, too,” Colleen whispered. “And you?”
“Antonia asked me to go to Buenos Aires with her.”
“Oh,” Colleen said, a tidal wave of disappointment washing through her, practically knocking her off balance. “The redhead,” she croaked.
“A sculptor Antonia works with has a studio down there.”
“I didn’t know Antonia sculpted.” Colleen had to fight to get the words out. Why had she been harboring the foolish thought that she and Alex could be anything but client and employee? She had put her off, for the sake of the case, and would now pay the price.
“She does a lot of things,” Alex said.
Colleen could imagine. She just didn’t want to.
“Well,” Colleen said, taking a bigger drink of champagne than intended, trying to recover her composure. “It all sounds very exotic.”
“Hello, ladies.”
They turned to see Christian Newell, looking dapper in a dark black two-button suit with narrow lapels and a slim black tie. His short dark hair was immaculate and his pale skin flawless. Colleen couldn’t help but think of a Ken doll, the funeral version. She just hoped Christian would represent her as well as he took care of himself if push came to shove in court.
“Again, Alex,” he said, “my deepest sympathies.”
“Thank you, Christian.”
He turned to include Colleen in the conversation. “I’m sorry to interrupt, but I think I have an encouraging update in the middle of this.”
Alex drank. “I’m always a fan of good news.”
“This is all between us for the moment, but the DA has reopened the murder case on your sister. Charges will be filed against Kieran Skinner in the morning, and he will be brought back into custody.”
“That’s encouraging,” Colleen said.
“It seems that Patrick Skinner played a more significant role in covering up Margaret’s murder than previously thought and had firsthand knowledge of the murder. There’s new evidence that suggested he knows much more than he’s admitting. Another wrinkle is that he was having an affair with Robyn Stiles’ mother.”
“Incredible,” Alex said.
Colleen noticed Christian didn’t come right out and say that Patrick Skinner and Margaret had had an affair, which led to his wife’s suicide, and, as a result, Kieran’s revenge killing. Maybe he didn’t know. Colleen, for all her desire to be transparent, had not passed that particular information along to the Copelands either. Alex would no doubt find out as the case progressed, but now wasn’t the time.
Colleen felt a blast of victory surge through her, although there was still a long way to go.
“Woo-hoo!” Alex whispered, clicking glasses with Christian and Colleen.
“I need to remind you this could take years,” Christian said, holding his untouched champagne like a prop. “Assemblyman Skinner’s legal war chest is overflowing, and his legal team are no doubt chomping at the bit.”
“But this kills his Senate run,” Alex said. “It’s the beginning of the end. We got him.”
“One step at a time,” Christian said. “But, yes. It’s certainly a win.”
“If he thinks I’m not going to keep after him,” Alex said, “he’s a fool.”
“Will Kieran get bail, Christian?” Colleen asked. He’d been bailed out for the lesser charges against Robyn Stiles.
Christian frowned, gave a shrug. “Murder One? I sincerely doubt it. I hope not.”
“If he does, Colleen here will take care of him.” Alex gave a sly grin over the top of her glass.
“Not even close to funny,” Colleen said.
“Who’s joking?” Alex said, winking.
Colleen shook her head. She was going to miss Alex. She couldn’t shake the thought that Alex was going to another continent. Leaving. She forced a smile on her face. “I’m glad we’re being so demure and respectful at your father’s memorial, Alex.”
Alex drank. “He would have been the first to toast Christian’s update.”
“Any word on Frank Madrid?” Colleen asked.
Christian grimaced. “I hear he was questioned yesterday by SFPD Detective … Olson, is it?”
“Owens,” Colleen said, drinking. A start, anyway. Owens was following through.
Christian, somewhat red-faced now, bowed and excused himself.
“What’s the matter, Coll?” Alex said.
Their eyes met. Was Alex really that obtuse? No, it was Colleen’s fault. For throwing cold water on every attempt Alex had made to get close to her.
Colleen cleared her throat. “I’ve got something for you. Hold this. Don’t go anywhere. I’ll be right back.”
She left Alex with two glasses as she went into the hallway where she found her handbag. She retrieved the letter in the pink envelope Margaret Copeland had written to her little sister eleven years before.
Alex eyed the envelope in Colleen’s hand when she returned.
“I got you a refill,” she said, handing Colleen a full glass of Black Velvet. “You look like you needed it. Like your dog had died. Did you get some bad news?”
Their eyes met for a long moment.
“Maybe,” Colleen said. She took the black champagne and handed the envelope to Alex. “This was in Margaret’s ex-landlord’s effects. I thought you might like to have it.”
When Alex saw her name written on the unposted letter, she immediately handed Colleen her own glass. She opened the letter, read it, her eyes growing soft and moist as she brushed a curl of blond hair out of her eyes.
“She always called me ‘Bobo.’”
“I hope you don’t mind that I read it,” Colleen said. “I was looking for evidence.”
Alex looked up at Colleen. “I don’t mind at all that you read it, Colleen. I’m glad you did.”
“You’re the reason she was planning to come home.”
“She almost made it.”
“Almost,” Colleen said softly.
“But this …” Alex slipped the letter back in its envelope. “This brings me some peace.”
“Yes,” Colleen said. She finished her drink, looked at her watch. “Well, I better go. And you better send me a postcard from Buenos Aires.”
Alex put her hand on Colleen’s arm, soft, warm, as she looked her in the eye. She dropped her voice.
“I don’t have to go, Colleen.”
Colleen drew a breath as their eyes locked.
“No?” she said.
“All you have to do is ask me to stay.”
“It wouldn’t be fair to you, Alex.”
“Why—because of that Latin heartthrob?”
Colleen felt as if she had been smacked. “Good God—did I really tell you about him?”
“That night we got so wasted at Peg’s Place. Something about a shower.”
Colleen felt her face flush. “Okay, now I am suitably embarrassed.”
Alex sipped. “I was just pleased you were thinking about yourself for once.”
That morning, Colleen had found a battered postcard in her mailbox, from El Salvador. Ramon had made it home and was thinking about her. He hoped she was doing well, catching her villains.
“It’s for the best,” she said.
“I think it’s for the best, too.” Alex came up close and Colleen could smell her sweet breath as she spoke. “I think he should stay right the hell where he is and leave us alone.”
Colleen smiled, the first real smile in a long time. “Do you now?”
“Yep.” Alex downed her champagne. She hooked her arm in Colleen’s. “Have you had enough of this deadly wake yet?”
Colleen smiled at Alex’s choice of words. “You’re actually going to bail out of your own father’s wake?”
“I did my bit. And the old goat knows it.”
“Yes,” Colleen said, “I think he does.”
“Well?” Alex said, grinning. “How about it, sport?”
Colleen narrowed his eyes. “What exactly did you have in mind?”
Alex shrugged, crossed her legs as she stood next to Colleen. “I was thinking we could just hop in the car and head up the coast. See if your Pamela is around. After that, if we’re still talking to each other, we could get back in the car and kind of see which way it goes.” Her eyes crinkled as she gave a wry smirk. “What do you think?”
Colleen thought about that for the briefest moment. Her face broke out into an uncontrollable smile. “Alex, I think that might just be one of your better ideas.”