“Then why Santa Cruz?”
“Maybe everyone just assumed Santa Cruz because of the kid. For all anyone knows Ms. Delacroix and your sister-in-law could have been pulling a Thelma and Louise and just taking off down the coast. They could’ve been planning to go to L.A. or Mexico.”
“Another dead end,” Nick grumbled.
“O
r one less to consider.”
“Why were they together?”
“Good question,” Walt said. “But it probably wasn’t to play tennis. As far as I can tell Pam Delacroix never belonged to Marla’s club. I doubt if she owned a racquet much less a membership in an athletic club. She was more of a bookworm than an athlete.”
“Is that so?”
“I talked with her ex and a few friends. The only connection she seems to have with your family is that she attended the Holy Trinity of God church in Sausalito.”
“Where Cherise’s husband is the minister,” Nick said, his eyes narrowing.
“Yep.”
Nick filed the information away, but it didn’t quite fit. “I don’t think Marla’s a big churchgoer.”
“Nah, she’s not a member. But my guess is that she met Pam through Cherise’s husband. He was on the staff at Cahill House for a while. Counseled girls in trouble and got himself in a pot of hot water.”
“Did he?” Nick asked, a bad feeling beginning to gnaw at his gut.
“Seems he couldn’t keep his hands off one of the unwed mothers.”
“Shit.”
“Your brother fired him. About a year ago. There was a big scandal—lots of flak for a while. I’ve got copies of the newspaper articles and I’ll fax ’em to you—but no charges were ever filed and the preacher went back to his congregation over in Sausalito.”
“And that was the end of it?” Nick was incredulous.
“Seems as if his flock and the girl he was supposed to have been involved with found a way to forgive him.” Walt paused long enough to light up. Nick heard the distinctive click of a lighter.
“And that’s just the tip of the iceberg. Man, are you related to a bunch of wackos.”
“Tell me something I don’t know,” Nick said as he pulled the second pillow from the side of the bed and used it to prop himself. He grabbed a pen and notepad from the bedside table.
“Okay, how about this? Marla’s old man, Conrad Amhurst, he’s about to kick off.”
“That I heard.”
“I imagine,” Walt said with more than an edge of contempt. “The rest of the family is practically drooling, waiting for him to buy the farm ’cuz he’s worth millions and the kicker is that most of the estate is earmarked for that new baby.”
“What?”
“You heard me. Seems the old man has a thing against women, some archaic bent and even though Marla’s son isn’t able to carry on the Amhurst name, the guy is giving most of his wealth, estimated to be over a hundred million, to the kid. In trust, of course.”
“Of course.” Nick leaned back on the bed, scratched at the stubble on his chin. “What about Marla, or her brother or her daughter Cissy?”
“Oh, they each get some of the pie, but a pittance. Rory, he’ll be taken care of for life, Cissy gets her share when she’s twenty-five if she finishes college and Marla will get something, but seventy-five percent of the estate goes to that newborn. How about that, just a few weeks old and a multimillionaire?”
“How do you know this?” Nick asked.
“I know it, okay?” Walt said with a laugh. “You pay me to. You know, Marla’s old man has always been an ornery bastard. Never played by the rules. Hard drinker. Big womanizer. It’s a wonder Marla’s mother stayed with him, but probably did for the money.”