Black Widow Read online

  "Why not?"

  "I don't know. We could ask her."

  "I plan on it." Ellison saw the worried look Sandburg tossed his way. "Don't worry. I won't interrogate her." Much.

  "Be nice to her."

  "I'll be nice to her," he promised, glancing up at the heavy rain clouds. "By the way, I saw the envelope your invitation came in, Doctor Sandburg."

  "Yeah. Pretty funny, huh?"

  "It was at first. Now I'm not so sure."

  "What's that supposed to mean?"

  "Why is she calling you doctor?"

  "She said I've done the work already and more and deserved the title."

  "Why does she know so much about you?"

  "Jim, my recent ... uh ...death ... was on the news, for heaven's sake. A lot of people knew about it. If she gives money to the anthropology department, she was probably really interested in the case, an attempted murder outside the anthropology building."

  "Why did she send you an invitation? Why only you?"

  "How do you know I'm the only one with an invitation? She could have sent a lot of them out."

  "Only one was couriered."

  Sandburg leaned over and smacked his arm. "I can't believe you checked that. Why would you do that?"

  "Better question: why did she send you an invitation?"

  "Because she wanted me to come to the exhibit. That's why you send out invitations. So people will come to your showing."

  "But why you?"

  Sandburg banged his head against the side window slowly, without losing his grip on the wheel. "You're driving me crazy here, Jim. It's no big deal. She must have thought I'd be interested. Maybe she's read one of my papers or something. I've done a paper on the pre-Inca Indians of Bolivia. Maybe she read it and for some reason remembered my name."

  "I don't like coincidences."

  "Don't make a Federal case over it, Jim. It's just a dinner. Just an artifact."

  Thunder rolled ominously. "Correct me if I'm wrong here, Chief, but from where I sit, it looks like Emily Rothschild has lured you to her home, holding back the one piece from the exhibit that would guarantee your acceptance of her invitation to her home."

  Sandburg looked at him incredulously, then burst out laughing. "You have seen way too many bad movies, Jim. Don't you pay attention when they say 'Parental Discretion is Advised'?"

  Sandburg pulled his car off the winding oceanside road and stopped at the entrance to the driveway of the Rothschild mansion, just as a downpour unleashed. "Wow. I imagined it would be big, but look at that place." Sandburg's face was plastered against the side window, trying to get a glimpse of the huge residence high up the hill.

  With a creak and a groan, the huge ironwork gate swung open, allowing them access. "Step into my parlor," Ellison muttered to himself as they drove in.

  `

  * * *

  Cascade PD

  Saturday, 5:30 pm

  It was pouring rain outside, the sky occasionally flashing with lightning.

  So why am I still here?

  Simon Banks adjusted the lamp and stared at the cleared surface of his desk. His "out" box was full, ready for Rhonda to deal with on Monday morning. He should go home now, make some dinner, watch the Jags game. Relax.

  Instead, he absently wiped a fingerprint from the surface of his desk, then flipped open his bottom right drawer. He pulled out several files and spread them over his desk, the storm outside forgotten.

  For the next half hour, he pored over the cases, refamiliarizing himself with them, then jotted down some information and the case numbers. Going to the door of his office, he checked to see who was still around at that time of night on a Saturday. "Rafe?"

  "Yes, Captain?" The detective stopped halfway out of the Bullpen, a file under one arm. "Problem?"

  "What are you doing here? You're still on half-days."

  Rafe shifted the sling supporting one arm. "I'm just putting in time waiting for Serena to verify some fingerprints Henri lifted from that Sony burglary. If I can't help out in the field, at least I can do something here."

  "In that case, do you have a few minutes to spare?"

  "I could."

  "Can you check these case numbers for me? See if there have been any updates since the dates beside them. I'd like copies of anything new."

  "Sure. No problem, sir." Rafe happily dumped the thick file in Brown's box. "I'll just leave this for Henri to deal with."

  "Have him see me if he has a complaint."

  "I'll do that, sir."

  * * * * *

  Rothschild Estate

  6:00 p.m.

  A butler opened the door at their knock and ushered them into an elegant side room. A row of tall, narrow windows were framed by heavy drapes. Across the room from the windows, a fireplace blazed, catching the colors in a red and gold Oriental carpet. Several plush dark leather chairs were arranged around the fireplace. The remaining wall space was covered in bookshelves and a circular, black stairway led up to the narrow second floor mezzanine, also floor-to-ceiling in books.

  Ellison frowned. It was a man's room. He could picture a man sitting at the large desk in the corner of the room.

  The butler motioned them toward the chairs set around the fireplace. "Please have a seat. Madam Rothschild will be with you shortly." He moved over to a side bar. "May I offer you a drink, sir?" he said to Ellison.

  "Bourbon is fine. Thank you."

  Beside him, Sandburg whispered, "Bourbon? I've never seen you drink bourbon before."

  "And you, sir?" the butler asked his partner.

  "Red wine, thank you."

  Ellison walked to the central window of the library. The view looked out east over the front gardens. It was too low to see above the massive hedges around the property. Any grand vista of the ocean or of Cascade City off to the south was reserved for the upper floors. He listened to the hum of the security system, his eyes finding the thin wires in the window casement.

  It has been automatic. He could hear his father's voice ordering a bourbon. He had been in this house before, as a child. He couldn't remember why, but he had stood in this room and looked out this window. His father had had many bourbons before the night was over. His mother hadn't been there. Neither had Stephen. Stephen... had been away at camp. It was summer. He wasn't sure if it was before or after his mother had left, but she hadn't been there that evening.

  Everything else was the same. Exactly the same. The smell of the leather and the books. The rich colors of the carpet. The smoothness of the mahogany casement on the window.

  The butler brought the stiff drink and Ellison took a sip, staring over the rim of the glass to his amused partner. Amazing that he was already off-base here. He wasn't sure if the memory meant anything. Thirty years ago, or more, Emily Rothschild wouldn't have lived here. Paul Rothschild had. Paul Rothschild had sat at that desk and done business with his father.

  He had no memory of what Paul Rothschild looked like, only the memory of his father slowly getting drunk that night. And being bored. He had been the only kid there, nine or ten years old. The smell of cigars and pipes and bourbon. The only women present were the two maids, wearing short black dresses and white aprons. One brought him a coke in a glass that matched his father's. She had smiled and called young James Ellison, "sir".

  "The view is lovely, isn't it?"

  He turned, surprised that he hadn't heard her enter. Emily Rothschild was in her early sixties, still a stunningly beautiful woman with a figure a twenty-year-old would envy. Tonight she was wearing an elegant, royal blue, raw silk dress that brushed the tops of her ankles and hugged her curves.

  "The view is breathtaking," he agreed, putting his drink down, "but it pales in comparison to the hostess." Ellison enjoyed Sandburg's openmouthed stare at him as he moved forward to greet Emily Rothschild. "You look lovely."

  She took Ellison's offered hands, squeezing them warmly. She smiled as he raised one to her hands to his lips and kissed it gallantly. "You a
re so kind, Detective Ellison. Please, call me Emily. The dress is one of my favorites, although I rarely have opportunity to wear it. It was designed for me by a late friend of mine, Carlo DePrimo, a designer who died a few years ago from a late-night mugging. The streets are so unsafe to walk at night."

  "My first name is Jim, and may I assure you that the Cascade Police has been doing all they can to keep the city safe. In fact, the crime rate for assaults at night has actually gone down over the last few years."

  "With you working for the police, Jim, I can't imagine why anyone would feel uneasy."

  Ellison could hear his partner behind him, making little gagging noises, then suddenly Sandburg was at his most engaging, greeting Emily as though she were the Queen of England, trying to outdo his own performance.

  Ellison's skin was crawling from touching her.

  Once the pleasantries were over, Ms Rothschild looked them each over warmly. "I'm thrilled you could both join me for dinner. I don't get company up this way very often." The butler handed her a glass of white wine. "Thank you, Timothy. Gentlemen, why don't we take our drinks from this dreary room and go for a pre-dinner stroll around the botanical gardens? That way, we won't have to go outside in this horrible weather."

  "Sounds like a plan. Right, Jim?" Sandburg looked over at him, the intense gaze begging his partner to behave.

  Ellison nodded as the butler refilled his drink, then offered his arm to Emily and escorted her through the lead-paned doors.

  * * * * *

  Cascade PD

  Saturday, 6:20 pm

  Simon looked up as Rafe and a night clerk entered with the requested files, all three men jumping as lightning flashed through the room, followed by a loud crack of thunder. Rain began to lash against the windows. The clerk left quickly, as though nervous to be in Major Crimes.

  Rafe was at the window. "Wow, that was close. The storm must be right overhead." Ominous clouds raced across the early evening sky. "I'm going to wait until it ends before I leave. It's tricky to drive with one arm, and it looks wicked out there." He turned and headed to the bullpen. "Let me know if you need anything else, Captain. I'll be at my desk."

  Simon leafed through the updates. "Where is Henri tonight?"

  Rafe paused in the doorway. "His wife's father's birthday. Family thing. He said he'd drop by later." The detective smiled. "H gets nervous if he knows I'm on duty without him."

  "That's going to take awhile before it stops."

  "Yeah, I don't mind, not really. Puttering here makes me feel better than sitting at home staring at my walls that need painting."

  "You're not going to watch the game?"

  "It's on the radio. Should start at seven o'clock. I've got a radio at my desk, if you don't mind, Captain."

  "No, go ahead. Let me know when it starts, and I'll turn my radio on, too."

  Rafe left, and Simon took his files over to the conference table and spread them out. A few minutes later, he brought the white board closer to the table and started a simple chart listing names, ages, cause of death, etc.

  * * * * *

  Rothschild Estate

  Saturday, 6:40 pm

  Emily Rothschild was a very charming lady.

  What was entirely weird was that Jim was being charming, too. What's up with that?

  The entire time they were walking through the solarium, Blair felt like a little kid trying to keep up with the grownups. There was only room for two to walk abreast along the path, so he ended up trailing after them. The solarium was well planned, featuring plants of the Pacific Northwest. It would take a full-time gardener to take care of it, plus the other solarium he could see next to it.

  He couldn't hear what they were talking about. Something about roses and soil. Acid content? Light meters? Just as well he couldn't hear; he wouldn't have been able to add anything to the conversation.

  A subtle chime of bells signaled dinner was ready. Emily led them into a monstrous dining room with a table that was easily thirty-one feet long and could sit thirty or more guests comfortably. Three place settings were at one end if it. The dining room looked old, but well-maintained. Three monstrous chandeliers hung over the table. The mahogany paneling gleamed. There was mother-of-pearl inlaid about the window as well as the open doors leading to a third solarium off the dining room.

  "The chandeliers are beautiful. They look like Waterford," Jim said, walking around the table.

  "You have a good eye, Detective. They are Waterford crystal and were made in Ireland more than 200 years ago."

  Jim, you're scaring me here. Blair forgot sometimes that his partner had had a vastly different childhood than he'd experienced. Certain manners and customs seemed to come naturally to Jim, but were more the result of years of formal dinners, country clubs, and receptions. He could imagine that William Ellison would have made certain his sons didn't disgrace him at any of those events.

  It was interesting to think of a young Jim sitting at a table like this. He would be serious, of course. Careful to do the right thing. Maybe watching out for his younger brother to behave himself and use the right fork or knife.

  Rothschild sat at the head of the table, and Blair found himself across the table from his partner. A fireplace cheerily crackled behind her.

  "Do you entertain often?" Ellison gestured down the extended table.

  "There's certainly room, isn't there?" she laughed. "Next Saturday afternoon, I'm hosting a luncheon here for the Horticultural Society of Cascade. Yesterday, Timothy had the table extended in preparation. He feels the table leaves need time to settle, or they'll creak. I find it's a huge expense to maintain antiques, but there's nothing more appalling than seeing a piece of furniture destroyed forever from neglect."

  "There's an excellent furniture restorer on Brice Street--" Jim began.

  "Sven Jarlson?"

  "Old Man Jarlson. Right. You've used him?"

  "He redid this table a few years ago, just before he retired."

  Blair dug into the salad placed before him, letting the conversation continue without him. Apparently Old Man Jarlson was a big hero of Jim's for some reason. His partner talked about the man as though he was some restoration guru or something.

  Emily turned to him after a few minutes. "Blair, I have been wanting to redo the southern sitting room. It's closed right now. We finally had to retire some of the French pieces we had in it. I donated them to a furniture museum back east."

  Blair swallowed carefully, wondering what he was supposed to say. He knew nothing about antiques. If she wanted to talk artifacts, he could probably hold his own, or even where the good thrift shops in town were, but antiques were not in his area of expertise.

  Emily continued without a break, though. "I thought of you the other day when I saw the etched glass window in your office at Rainier. An exquisite piece. I decided to hunt you down and talk to you about it."

  Before he could answer, Jim shot him a look that was clearly understood to be: What was she doing by your office?

  Blair deliberately ignored him and turned to Emily. "The anthropology department put the Haida wolf on my office. Did you see the other ones, as well, throughout the building? They're incredible."

  "They certainly are. I've become interested in Native American art as a result."

  "I'm not sure who the artist was for that, but I could find out for you."

  "Thank you. Do you happen to know of anyone I could contact about adding local art to my collection?"

  "Current art or historical?"

  "Historical. I prefer older pieces that fit better with the theme of the estate."

  "I'll ask around. I'm sorry, I can't think of anyone offhand," Blair said. "I know some local artists, but they specialize in silver jewelry."

  "It's more the furniture I'd be interested in."

  "I'll see what I can find," Blair said.

  She turned back to the detective, dismissing the topic. "How is your father these days? William, isn't it?"

  "Yes
. He's fine, thank you. He's retired, but still manages to go in to his office every day."

  Blair looked up quickly at that comment. It almost sounded like Jim was talking to his father more than he let on. He'd have to grill his roommate on that later.

  Emily nodded knowingly. "Paul was like that, too. Even when he was supposed to be relaxing, he'd often have men up for a game of golf on his mini-course in the back of the house. He said more business deals were done on the golf course than in the executive offices."

  "True." Ellison raised his glass in toast. "To our lovely hostess. Thank you."

  "Thank you," Blair echoed. "This is all very impressive."

  "It's my pleasure." She turned to Blair. "You find me a source for Native American goods and I'll be forever in your debt."

  Blair nodded and took a sip of his wine while she spoke to the server. He had to admit, he was a little disappointed. Well, at least that should put Jim at ease. It explained why she wanted to meet him. That etching. She was just networking, looking for a bargain. It was a embarrassing, but at least it explained her interest in him.

  The second course arrived, steaming soup that tasted as good as it looked. As the dinner progressed, Blair kept glancing over at his partner from the corner of his eye, monitoring which spoon or fork he was supposed to pick up next and which plate he was supposed to put his bread on. Jim knew all that, too, of course.

  Emily seemed captivated with his partner. She had read the same books as Jim, she turned out to know Jim's favorite professor from when he went to college, and she even told a funny story about Jim's father at a civic library meeting the previous year.

  Not that Blair was ignored for a moment; Emily made sure to include him, dropping subjects into the conversation for him to contribute to. The perfect hostess. Despite their dinner served in a very elaborate setting, Blair noticed she still managed to keep them at ease and relaxed in her company.

  Finally, when the main course was placed before them -- roast lamb with mint sauce and a beautiful array of roasted potatoes and vegetables - Jim took his wine glass, swirling the rich ruby liquid before taking another sip. "Emily, tell me about this artifact that my friend here is so anxious to see. I spent some time in Peru, so I'm obviously interested in your decision to return the statues there."