Vivian and Sterling stepped out of the cab in front of Lilian Everhart’s house; Sterling had to bicker a bit, but he asked the driver to wait for them, assuring him they’d be no longer than fifteen minutes. Based on what Vivian had learned from the case files, Lilian had married an investment banker who’d passed away three years before; she lived in one of the nicer parts of the city. Her lawn was quite large—large enough to house a sizable flower garden on the western rim. It was a bright spot in an atmosphere that already seemed gray even before they climbed the porch stairs.
They approached the door, and Sterling knocked with a firm yet polite strength. They waited less than ten seconds before it was answered. The door opened just a crack and a beautiful, yet mousy woman peered out at them. Vivian guessed her to be forty, her flawless blonde hair framing a face that showed signs of constant crying over the last few days.
“Hello?” the woman said.
“Hi, Mrs. Everhart? I'm Vivian Fox, and this is my partner, Michael Sterling, with INTERPOL. We're deeply sorry for your loss," she said. Her words were measured yet genuine, and slow as well, because she was speaking French. "We're here to ask you some questions to hopefully find whoever did such a thing to your sister."
Lilian nodded and opened the door wider. “Of course. I’ve already spoken with the police. I answered so many of their questions.”
“We understand,” Vivian said. “Consider us as a sort of clean-up crew. Just making sure nothing got left out.”
“I see. Come on in.”
She led them inside, motioning with a hand that trembled despite her best efforts to appear composed. She led them through the hallway, where the air seemed thick with unspoken words and memories, into the living room. If Lilian shared passion for art with her sister, it was nowhere to be seen in the house. The walls and shelves were mostly bare. The only art Vivian saw was a large painting in the hallway, a watercolor of violets.
As Lilian led them into a spacious living room, Vivian’s keen eyes took in every detail of the space—the way the sunlight fell across the couch through the blinds, the slight disarray of condolence cards and books on the coffee table.
"We understand this is a difficult time,” Sterling said. “But anything you can tell us about recent events or interactions Cassandra had could be extremely helpful."
Lilian sank into an armchair, her gaze flitting towards a small photo on the coffee table. It was a picture of Cassandra, radiant and alive while standing on a beach. Lilian smiled faintly and sighed.
“What sort of things are you looking for specifically?” she asked.
"Was there anything unusual about her or her life in the last few weeks?” Vivian asked. “Any encounters or disagreements that she might have told you about?"
The silence in response from Lilian felt like a physical presence in the room that seemed to press against Vivian's chest. She had seen grief many times before—in the eyes of betrayed collectors, in the faces of those who had lost priceless heritage—but never quite like this. Lilian's sorrow was a tangible shroud that seemed to cloak the room.
"Lucas Drake," Lilian finally murmured, her voice a fragile wisp of sound that threatened to break under the weight of her words. "Cassandra... she was so upset with him."
“Who is Lucas Drake?” Vivian asked.
“A spoiled, rich son of a bitch. I don’t know if he and Cassandra actually got into a spat, but I do know he was upset with her over an auction. Being outbid on a painting or some such nonsense.”
“And Cassandra told you about this specifically?” She leaned forward, studying Lilian's face, as if she could excavate the truth from her features alone.
“Yes, but just in passing. Almost like it didn’t really bother her. But for Cassandra to even mention such a thing…that means it did bother her. She wasn’t one to purposefully stir up trouble or drama.”
"When might this skirmish have occurred?" Vivian asked, her tone soft yet insistent.
"It was at an auction—a charity event two weeks ago. From what I understand, Cassandra had advised another buyer on a piece Lucas wanted. When he lost, he was livid. Accused her of sabotaging the bid. I think there was an argument in public."
“And did Cassandra say anything else about Mr. Drake?" Vivian probed, her senses sharpening with the scent of a lead.
"Only that he was not a man accustomed to losing. That he seemed to take it personally.”
“And did you tell the police about this?”
“Yes.”
Vivian felt a flash of anger and confusion. Nowhere in the records had the name Lucas Drake shown up. Had it been a misstep by the cops, or was Drake's wealth a factor in such an omission? She figured she and Sterling could discuss that later. Now wasn't the time to talk about it.
Vivian's mind raced, piecing together the jagged edges of this new information. Lucas Drake, a millionaire and maybe even an art aficionado, known for his competitive nature at auctions. Now with a potential grudge against Cassandra Holt, art consultant, and the second victim in their case. She looked at Sterling and saw the same understanding in his eyes. It was clear they were both thinking the same thing: the possibility that Lucas Drake's bruised ego might have driven him to extreme measures. But suspicion alone wasn't evidence, and they would need more than the hearsay of a heated argument to build a case.
"Did she feel threatened by him afterward?” Vivian asked.
“I…I don’t think so. If she did, she never told me.”
“Did she mention any other encounters following the auction?”
Lilian shook her head, a fresh wave of grief washing over her features. “No. I mean, they rarely ever bumped into one another before the argument. And I don’t know that they ever really knew one another…not well, anyway. I think it was a sort of one-and-done situation.”
“And is that the only bit of confrontation you can think of that Cassandra experienced in the past few weeks?”
“It’s the only one I knew about.”
"I wonder, Lilian, are you at all interested in the art world?”
Lilian smiled, but there was no joy in it. “No. I mean, I can appreciate good art, a nice painting, you know? But the passion for art…that was always Cassandra.”
“Did she ever talk about work with you?”
“From time to time. And she had a very good radar for when I was starting to lose interest.”
“Were there any complaints about work as of late?”
"No, she was…well, now that you mention it. She had mentioned some bickering among appraisers from different museums and galleries over the value of certain paintings and what they could go for at auctions. Do you…do you think that might be why Lucas Drake was irate that night?"
“It’s a possibility,” Sterling said. “But we can’t make assumptions like that.”
"I looked him up, you know?” Lilian said, almost randomly. “Drake. Online. After... after everything happened. All I found were articles about his philanthropy, his donations. Nothing incriminating. If you believe what’s written about him in most places online, you’d assume he’s just a young man who came from a lot of money that has a passion for art and makes generous donations to noble causes."
“And we will also look into him on our end,” Vivian assured her. “But for now, I think we can get out of your hair. Thanks for your cooperation.”
"Of course. And…please," Lilian whispered, gripping the photo tighter. "Find who did this."
As she got to her feet, Vivian felt the weight of the task ahead. It always felt more pressing and urgent after speaking with a loved one who was dealing with the loss of a family member or friend. Back outside, the suburban calm seemed out of place, as if the world had simply shrugged in the wakes of these two deaths and carried on as usual.
When they returned to the cab, Sterling opened the door for Vivian. Before getting in, she said, “Do you think it’s Lucas Drake?”
"My best educated guess says no. Men with that much wealth and power have too much to lose. However, based on the cases we've cracked so far, I also know that there are some oddly eccentric folks out there. So, the short answer is: who knows?”
"I feel like someone in his position could at least point us towards others who might be capable of murder. However, I don’t want to eliminate him from contention just yet just because he has money.”
“I say we pay him a visit,” Sterling said, finally stepping back into the cab. And then, leaning forward, he told the driver, “It looks like you may be stuck with us for a while longer. Can you hold a few minutes while I get an address?”
The cab driver seemed slightly annoyed, but agreed. He drummed his fingers impatiently on the steering wheel while waiting for Sterling to call the office for Lucas Drake’s address. Meanwhile, Vivian looked back out the window, not to Lilian’s house but to the garden along the edge of the yard. The colorful wildflowers growing there did their best to bring some cheer to the place, but knowing what Lilian was suffering through inside made it all seem dreary and gray.