Dig One Grave, page 5
“Share?” Grace asks.
"Yes, our relationship is not based on love or even friendship," Hilda says as she slowly walks over to the two detectives. She glances at Grace. Then focuses her attention on Erin. "It's more of a mutual interest in the different things life offers."
"Things?" Grace asks, noticing Erin is getting all of the woman's attention.
Hilda goes over to one of the cars and runs her hand over the fender. "Dennis loves these cars. He loves to drive fast. More than he loves me. Correction. He lusts after me. Like me, he likes to push the limit. We both like to push the limit...in all things."
"So girlfriend...lover..." Erin says, looking straight into Hilda's eyes.
“More than a lover but never a wife." Hilda comes back. "I don't think Dennis will ever marry. He would be terrified a wife would divorce him and take all his pretty cars."
“Do you drive these pretty cars?” Erin asks.
"Dennis would be horrified if he saw me touching it. He would be over here rubbing this spot with a cloth. I have a very nice Porsche outside, but still. You would think he would let me drive one. Considering what I give him."
“You know men and their toys.” Grace says.”
"I do know men love their toys," Hilda says. "Dennis knows I will stay with him as long as he lets me live here—shop on Rodeo Drive. Take me on wonderful vacations. Go to Monte Carlo and gamble. He knows he can't buy love, but lust does have a price."
"He is your sugar daddy," Grace says.
Hilda ignores this question, moving very close to Erin.
“You have ever been to the penthouse," Erin asks.
“Many times and not always with Dennis. We have that freedom." Hilda said, walking around Erin, obviously admiring the detective's body. "To be honest. I prefer the company of women in and out of bed. Do you detective?"
"I have never been with a woman in that way," Erin says with a smile. "I prefer men."
Hilda moves even closer to Erin and sniffs her. Erin doesn't budge. "Love your perfume. You may want to consider what the other team has to offer you. I would be more than willing to...guide you.”
"No, thank you," Erin says, looking into Hilda's eyes. "I am straight."
"Are you sure?" Hilda says. She walks away. "You are blushing, detective. I will be in the kitchen. I haven't forgotten about the shoes."
"Daniel's on Rodeo Drive," Erin says. "We may have some questions for you."
"Let me think. Does Dennis have more money than he should? Yes. All partners do. Do I suspect they were doing something illegal? Absolutely. Two billion. The boss is away. How could he not be tempted to steal? I would have at least been but clever about it."
“How would you be clever?” Grace asks.
"The downfall of most criminals is greed and arrogance," Hilda says. "They just don't know when to stop. They think their scheme is different. The law will never catch them. Bernie Madoff did keep his scheme up for decades, but he did die in prison. The Bible says. Yes, I have read it. It can be a good read when one is in the right mood. There is nothing new under the sun. The fact you are here proves me right. Poor Arnie. A sweet, silly man with no backbone. In my opinion, you are looking at the wrong people. It would help if you had balls to kill. Arnie had no balls. His new bride had him twisted around her little finger."
Hilda smiles and walks out of the garage like many actresses had done to highlight their asses.
“Am I putting out a vibe today?” Erin says. “That’s the second woman who has hit on me today.”
"I think Hilda hits on anyone breathing," Grace says. "That redhead was adorable. Did you ever?"
"Sleep with a woman," Erin says. "Dad was a minister. He would kill me or himself if I did. Have you?"
"Yes, second year of college," Grace says. "A sorority sister. I enjoyed it. But we were both a little tipsy."
"So just once," Erin says.
"Three times. The first time was at the sorority house. The next two times, we were in a cabin during a snowstorm. We didn't want to go outside to get more wood. We had just watched a slasher movie. So we cuddled under blankets and a quilt."
“Cuddled?” Erin looks at her.
“Let's see what Wilford likes to collect," Grace says with a straight face and walks out.
CHAPTER 12
Wilford's home looks like it belongs in an English country. A Tudor-styled house made of red brick with white wood trim. Even the driveway is made of right brick. Rose bushes are planted under the cathedral windows. A bird bath and sundial were set up on the expansive green lawn.
"I feel like I should be wearing tweed," Grace says as they walk to the front door.
Constance Fowler opens the door and steps out. She is thirty with what is now called a plus-size figure. A brunette. Her hair was pinned up into a smile twist. Her makeup is minimal. Brown doe eyes and soft features give her a pleasantly beautiful face. She is wearing a white peasant blouse that tastefully shows off her more than ample bosom. A bright, floral loose skirt falls to her knee. She is wearing sensible shoes. Constance smiles and says with a very refined British accent again. "Welcome to our home. I have been expecting you."
“Why is that?” Erin asked.
"Please. Don't be droll." Constance says, "I find your question somewhat insulting.
Grace and Erin follow Constance into the house. They walk through a tastefully decorated room. Overstuffed chairs and sofa with a bright floral print. The dark wood coffee table has fresh flowers and figurines. The matching side tables had dollies with bowls filled with the potent scent of lavender.
"Just needs a fireplace, and we will be in merry old England," Grace says.
"The fireplace is in the den," Constance says over her shoulder. "You are being droll again."
Erin and Grace look at each other with raised eyebrows. They follow her into a large kitchen with white walls and wood trim. The table and chairs are oak with a white cotton tablecloth covering it. A bouquet of flowers in the middle. The appliances are all vintage. Constance turns, stopping by a heavy oak door with a lock and a keypad mounted into the wall.
"I would ask what you are looking for," Constance says with a smile. "But I suspect you know."
“If I said. We are not sure.” Grace asks. “Would we be droll again?”
"American humor. I have been here three years and still don't understand it."
"I am not going to guess what we are looking for is behind that heavy door with the lock and keypad," Erin says.
"Yes. That would be the wine cellar. Wilford and I started collecting about a year ago. We're quite proud of our little cellar." Constance says with a smile. "We have some excellent vintages. A couple of Chateau Lafite Rothschild and quite a few Dom Perignon. Thanks to those amusing spy films. Who doesn't have at least one?"
"You and Wilford have been married long?"
"Two years." She says. "We met when Wilford was building this house. I was giving him my advice on decorating the rooms. He wished to have a refined look to his home."
“That's about the same time Mr. Smith got married?” Grace asks.
"No. I believe we were married before the Smiths," Constance says. “To be honest. We only socialize a little with Wilford's partners. We went to the wedding because it would have been in bad taste not to attend.”
"You have a key?" Grace says, not sure what to make of the woman.
Constance pulls a key out of her skirt pocket and walks to the door. She quickly punches a code into the keypad. Then, he opens the door.
"After you," Erin says.
Constance politely nods and steps through the room. She leads then a wooded spiral staircase into a large basement with stone walls and wood rafters. Lights click on, revealing several rows of wine racks. Three large wooden kegs with spouts are on the wine rack against the wall. Grace notices a small control panel at the top of the stairs. She pushes a green button. Music fills the cellar. Grace continues down the steps.
"I think it’s Bach," Grace says.
"Well done, detective," Constance says. "It is Bach. Wilford is trying to broaden his musical tastes. He was raised on Rock and Roll. Nothing is wrong with that kind of music, but it has its time and place."
"Sounds like Wilford is trying to develop some class...style," Erin said. "He was wearing a very nice suit with a pocket watch. Even had a bowler hat."
"I keep telling him a bowler hat is out of place in America, but he watched that old British spy show. At least he is not carrying an umbrella."
"I know that show. The spy was always impeccably dressed." Grace says. "Everything matched. Suit, hat, and umbrella. Even after a fight, he just had to adjust his tie."
"Wilford is trying to improve his outward appearance and inner self," Constance says. "But he does have the handicap of being American."
"I know the show," Erin says. "You are not Emma Peel?"
“Is that supposed to be clever?” Constance asks cocking her head to one side.
"You are being droll again, Erin," Grace says. "You ever go to the penthouse?"
"The what?" She asks, looking a little surprised.
"So how do we know if this is the good stuff or just glorified grape juice?" Grace asks.
Erin pulls out a bottle and smiles. "Screaming Eagle Cabernet Sauvignon. I would love to try this."
"You into wine now?" Grace asks, looking credulous.
"Yeah, kind of. We should get Henry down here." Erin says.
“Who is Henry?”
“He's my wine tutor.”
Grace turns and looks at her partner. “You have a wine tutor?”
"I wanted to learn about wines, so I hired a wine tutor. It's no different than you hiring a math tutor for Allen."
“You planning on collecting wines?” Grace asks.
“Is that Henry Grandin?” Constance asks. “He is an excellent tutor. We have used him. He helped pick out some of our best labels. The man is a treasure.”
"Grace, when I go to a nice restaurant," Erin says defensively. "I want to know which wine to have with my meal."
"You do the whole sip, swill, and spit thing?" Grace asks.
“It's called tasting.”
"Geez, Erin, a wine tutor, it's just strange."
"I approve," Constance says. "One should always try to educate oneself in any way possible. I would like to point out your outfit. It is quite beautiful. If I wish I had the figure for it."
"I can remember when you enjoyed a good burger and beer," Grace says.
"I still do. It's just I want to be more, more... Cultured. Is that a problem for you?"
Grace laughs playfully, hitting Erin on her shoulder. "I'm just playing with you."
"I'm not becoming a snob," Erin says, wandering around the cellar.
"Never said you were," Grace says. "Miss Fowler, did you ever wonder how Wilford could afford all this?"
"A good wife never asks his husband about his business," Constance says. "But. I would be lying if I was not concerned. There are five Domaine Leroy Chambertin, 2013. About thirty thousand a bottle."
"Thirty thousand for a bottle of wine," Grace says in shock.
"Grace, there are wines that cost hundreds of thousands of dollars," Erin says. "But those are more for an investment than drinking."
"Well, cars, wine," Grace says. "I can't wait to see what is next."
They turn and start up the stairs. Constance looks around the cellar and turns off the lights.
"One thing I want to know. What's the deal with sniffing the cork? I always needed to understand that...
"Grace, you are pissing off," Erin says.
“No, no, I really want to know...
CHAPTER 13
Randy Wood's house looks like the more typical house in the area. A farmhouse style with a long body with an addition coming out. The wing had V-shaped roofs. It is made of white wood with blue trim. There is a green lawn surrounded by a very high steel pole fence. A heavy steel gate is the only way in. Several cameras are mounted around the property.
Erin and Grace come into his home, led by Tara. She is twenty years old, wearing jeans cutoffs and a tank top. Her long blonde hair is twisted into pigtails. She could be a stereotypical California girl with blue eyes, freckles, and a big white smile. It is her thick Southern accent that dispels the image. The house is nicely furnished with chairs and sofas built more for comfort than style. The whole room is a mismatch of different types of furniture. A recliner sits in front of the TV. The room is cluttered but not messy.
“You're Randy's girlfriend?” Erin asks.
"Girlfriend?" Tara asks, turning back and giggling. "Yes, Randy and I are going steady."
Tara slides into a chair, making herself comfortable. She picks up a beer and smiles at the detectives.
"You live here?" Erin asked, annoyed.
“Kind of.” She says,
"Listen, sweetie, we are cops. So, yes or no, you are Randy's live-in squeeze?" Grace says with a tone she uses on her son when he annoys her.
"You girls are nothing like the cops back home." She says, taking a long sip of beer. "Now, those boys can be threatening. Yes, we met at the Getty. We both are into art. I came home with him. He hasn't asked me to leave."
“Where did you live before moving in?” Erin asked.
"How you ask that question makes me feel a little dirty," Tara says. "I lived in Venice Beach and South Carolina before that. I'm a model. I've been on quite a few sites. Mostly swimsuits. That gave me the idea to start my own Twitch account. I lie out by the pool in a bikini and just chat with my followers. I know they are lusting after my body and having nasty little fantasies. It's easy money. I am considering posting on OnlyFans, but I am unsure I am ready to show that much flesh."
"So you do have some lines you won't cross," Erin says. "You met Randy and moved in."
"It's better than the one-room dump I was in," Tara said, waving around the room. "Randy's okay. He is happy to cuddle while watching TV and eating pizza."
“Are you telling me there is no sex?” Erin asks in disbelief.
"Of course, there is sex. Mostly missionary, but Randy does like his oral."
“Until someone better comes along...” Grace asks.
"I could be replaced any day. Hence the Twitch account." Tara says. "You do know about the penthouse? Randy took me a couple of times. His buddies at the office use it, too. You have been to his office. He might bring home one of those sweet honeys from the office and give me the boot."
“Does that worry you?” Grace asks.
"Not really. I have been putting most of my allowance and Twitch in the bank. I have my eye on a nice little condo close to the beach." Tara says. "I have one last card to play if he tries to boot me out without notice or money. That is a very nice painting on the wall."
Grace wanders over to the wall and studies the painting. She looks even closer. "Degas? I don't think so."
"He's got a Monet over there, and a great Pollack is in the bedroom."
“That’s impossible. This could be worth millions.”
"Makes you wonder how he can afford it," Tara says, sliding lower into the chair, smiling like a Cheshire cat. "His partners were not pleased. You should have heard the arguments. The language made me blush."
“You know about this stuff, Grace?” Erin asks.
"I have a degree in Art History. I used to paint." Grace says, moving across the room and looking at another painting. "I can't believe I am looking at a real Monet."
"I didn't know that. Why'd you stop?"
"Got married, the kid stuff. I wasn't that good."
"I bet you were great," Erin says.
"You gave up your art for a man?" Tara says, sitting up and staring at Grace.
“I fell in love...” Grace says.
"Then I hope I never fall in love," Tara says.
Grace turns and glares at the girl, then looks at Erin. "If there is a Pollack in the bedroom. We are talking hundreds of millions worth of artwork hanging on these walls.
"Randy's best security was no one knew he had the paintings. If you arrest him. I suggest you move them to a safe place." Tara says. "Your partner is right. A lot of money is hanging on these walls. Oh, I once asked Randy how he got the Pollock. He said it was best I didn't know."
"The partners let him keep the paintings," Erin says.
"Yes, but they wanted to move them to a safer place. The idea was it would be part of their retirement package. They debated whether to keep the stuff in the States or ship it overseas. Did Arnie really die?"
"Yes," Grace says.
"Good timing for Randy. They were going to meet tomorrow to make him move the paintings." Tara said. "Now they have other things on their minds,"
"Come on, let's see what Greggie likes to collect," Grace says, heading for the door.
"Grace," Erin says. "You are forgetting the Pollock."
Grace stops and looks at Erin. Then, she walks toward the back of the house.
"I don't think you will be surprised at what Greg collects," Tara says. “He likes to think of himself as a ladies' man."
“Were you interested in him?” Erin asks.
"No, he is a child, as you soon will discover," Tara said. "So is Randy, but at least he is sweet in his way."
CHAPTER 14
Erin parks her car in the U-shaped driveway of a house that looks almost like a modern idea of a castle. It is made of gray stones with a turret-shaped door. The wings spread out, giving the impression of a stone fortress. The stained glass windows lined the house's front, and tall bushes down the sides of the lawn. They climb out and take in the building.
"Oh, this a man's idea of class," Grace says.
"Makes you wonder what is inside," Erin says, looking at three identical Porches parked in the driveway. All bright yellow with black detail. "Three identical Porsches. I got a feeling I know what Greggie likes to collect."
They walk up to the door and ring the bell. A few seconds later, Bianca opens the door. A very tall woman with a square-shaped face and very dark eyes. Her pouty lips are curved up in a smile. The pink bikini covers very little of her hourglass figure. Her olive skin and waist-length black curls make her an exotic fantasy.
