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family
wants answers and prefers their own security team over the
cops.”
    This wasn’t unusual among the caliber of
people who could afford to retain personal security. I knew it
meant there was a great deal of pressure on Jack from all sides.
Expectations were high. His reputation was at stake.
    “With the cops ruling the death a murder,” he
said, “it could mean the family has been targeted. There’s the
possibility of kidnapping, extortion, robbery. I’ve put
round-the-clock security on the house but I need more.”
    “What can I do?” I asked.
    “Find out everything you can about the
family,” Jack said, “especially those relatives who just showed
up.”
    Veronica’s three aunts and young cousin had
seemed perfectly harmless to me. But was it something more than a
coincidence that Veronica had been murdered moments after they
arrived?
    “Find out everything you can about the staff
and what went on in that house, especially on the day of the
murder,” Jack said.
    Normally I would have been thrilled at the
opportunity to help Jack with a case—his life is so much cooler
than mine—but this time the circumstances were grim, sobering.
    “You got it,” I told him.
    “Stay in touch,” he said, then headed for the
elevator.
    I went back inside L.A. Affairs, grabbed my
handbag and the Spencer-Taft event portfolio, and headed out.
     
    * * *
     
    “No way,” Andrea said. “No way would Veronica
take her own life.”
    We were standing in the entryway of the
Calabasas mansion and I’d flat-out asked her about Julia’s
assertion that Veronica had jumped from the balcony. Even though
Jack had told me the police had concluded it was murder, I wanted
Andrea’s take on the situation.
    “You’re sure?” I asked.
    “Absolutely,” she told me. “Come in. Let’s
talk.”
    She led the way down the hall in the west
wing of the house, past several rooms—including the one I’d been
held hostage in with the family yesterday—and into the kitchen. The
place was huge, with miles of cabinets, state-of-the-art
appliances, and magnificent tile, granite, and woodwork. Dishes,
pots, and pans had been washed and left to dry beside the sink;
apparently, the house guests were cooking for themselves.
    “Where is everybody?” I asked.
    I’d seen no workers at the front of the house
when I’d pulled up, but had spotted two of Jack’s security team
patrolling the grounds. No construction was underway inside the
house. It was completely empty and silent.
    “I’d booked all sorts of tours and outings
for Veronica’s family,” Andrea explained as she opened the
refrigerator door. “None of them were up to sightseeing but there
was nothing for them to do here, so they went. I just put them in a
limo a few minutes ago.”
    “I guess Patrick’s not staying here?” I
said.
    I couldn’t imagine he’d ever want to sleep in
the master suite again.
    I wouldn’t.
    “He spoke to Veronica’s family last night,”
Andrea said. She grabbed a soda and passed it to me. “He’s a real
mess. He might be staying at his parents’ place in Hancock
Park.”
    Hancock Park was a very prestigious section
of Los Angeles, populated by sedate, wealthy, old-money families,
just the sort of location the Spencer-Tafts would call home.
    “Or he might have gone back to the house in
Culver City that he and Veronica lived in,” Andrea said, and took a
soda for herself. “They were splitting their time between there and
here, depending on which rooms were being renovated.”
    I didn’t like thinking of Patrick alone in
the house he’d shared with his new bride, remembering all of their
time together, recalling their special moments. Too sad.
    “He’d probably be better off at his parents’
house,” I said.
    “That would certainly suit Julia,” Andrea
said, and opened her soda.
    I did the same, took a sip and said, “Julia
didn’t seem all that thrilled with Patrick’s choice in a wife.”
    Andrea led the way to a worktable