She did not, however, invite them in.
“Hi, Becky Lynn,” Sydney said, trying to keep things casual. “I was hoping I might ask you a couple questions about my father.”
“I was on my way to a lunch date. Can it wait?”
“Actually, no. May we come in?”
Becky Lynn glanced at Carillo, and Sydney figured she was trying to determine his part in all this. “I guess. If it doesn’t take too long.” She stepped aside and allowed them entry. The gleaming hardwood floor was covered by a large Oriental rug that muted their steps as she led them into the front room decorated in light cherry. The decor was exquisite, and quite different from the Becky Lynn that Sydney remembered, a woman who thought that red flocked wallpaper would be perfect for the ladies’ room, until Sydney’s mother put the nix on that idea.
“What is it I can help you with?” Becky Lynn folded her hands in her lap, attempting, no doubt, to look calmer than she felt-a fact easy to discern from the strong and fast pulse in her carotid. She never asked who Carillo was, something Sydney found a bit odd. Maybe she knew Sydney’s profession and didn’t need to ask. Either way, they weren’t about to pull out their creds and make this an official visit.
“I have some questions about my father… money he might have demanded from your late ex-husband. And a photograph I’d like you to look at.”
“Oh? Is that all?” Her smile grew so relaxed at that point, Sydney figured she’d somehow missed something very big, something else she was worried about. “I do vaguely recall him contacting Will about money. It could have something to do with some irregularities I remember seeing in your father’s books, but those were destroyed in the fire.”
“What sort of irregularities?”
“He seemed to be in the habit of ordering large quantities of goods, goods that weren’t delivered, or were delivered damaged and were returned for a refund. Odd things like that. I needed the money, so I wasn’t about to rock the boat and let on I saw anything.”
“Can you name any specific examples?”
“It’s been so long, and really I put it from my mind once he died. I didn’t think it was the thing to do, pointing my finger at… your father, after his death.”
“And I appreciate your concern,” Sydney said. Not. “But if you could try to remember anyway.”
“Well, there was all that hamburger he ordered. I’m pretty sure we didn’t serve hamburgers,” she offered, and Sydney refrained from commenting that she was only thirteen, wasn’t there every day, and could have told her the same. “There may have even been some orders for liquor, where some whiskey or gin came in damaged, but maybe I’m remembering another place.”
And that did send alarm bells ringing. Beer and wine were all her father’s liquor license allowed. Hard liquor being delivered, damaged, smacked of organized crime. But was this her father’s business, or was this Becky Lynn’s doing? She was, after all, the one currently being looked at for organized crime dealings. But Sydney kept her expression as neutral as she could, as though none of this meant anything to her. “Any visitors, anyone who came by that shouldn’t have been there?”
“Heavens, Sydney. It was a pizza place just off the freeway. There were always people dropping by we didn’t know.”
“Did you and my father have an affair?”
She seemed slightly surprised by the question, but not overly so. “Did your mother say that? What a horrid thing to do. I’d think she’d want you to remember-”
“I’m quite sure she has no idea I suspect a thing,” Sydney said, in her mother’s defense. “Did you?”
“Not with your father. No.”
Sydney took that to mean she’d had an affair with someone. “Robert Orozco, perhaps?”
“I’m sure I never met the man.”
“And yet you’ve been calling him down in Baja”-she turned to Carillo-“for how many years now?”
“A lot,” he said.
Sydney eyed Becky Lynn. “If I’m not mistaken, the most recent calls were right before your ex-husband killed himself, then right after…” She had no idea on the times, but figured it was a safe guess. Someone had contacted Orozco about the suicide, and he’d made it no secret that Becky Lynn was his contact.
When Becky Lynn shifted uncomfortably, Sydney figured she’d guessed right on. “He was a friend of Will’s. I thought he should know that Will was having problems.”
“But you don’t know him personally?”
“No. I helped him out years ago by getting him some fake ID to leave the country.” She gave a saccharine smile, then glanced at her watch. “Now if you have no further questions?” she said, glancing at her watch.
“Just a photo I need you to look at.”
Sydney had tucked it in her purse; took it out of the envelope and handed it to Becky Lynn, who raised her brows, and immediately began shaking her head. “No… no. Except for your father, and my ex, I really don’t see anyone in there I know.”
“How about the guy in uniform?”
“Sorry.”
“You don’t recognize Senator Gnoble?”
“ That’s Senator Gnoble? I guess I didn’t recognize him without that goatee. Or in uniform, for that matter. He looks so much younger than the pictures I’ve seen of him in the paper. Are we finished?”
Sydney pointed to Orozco. “And Robert?”
“So that’s what he looks like. He’s always just been a voice on the phone.”
Right. “And this man,” she said, pointing to who they thought was Wheeler’s father. “Frank White?”
“No. Name doesn’t ring a bell, and I can’t say I’ve ever met him. Really, is there a point to any of this?”
“Just trying to figure the connection between my father, your ex, and the restaurant,” Sydney said, now just fishing for answers, because, frankly, she’d gotten nothing. “Especially any references to Cisco’s Kid.”
Becky Lynn’s face paled. She sat up, brushed at her slacks, then crossed her legs, as though trying to appear far more relaxed than she was. “Cisco’s Kid?” she said, sounding, or trying to sound, confused. “What on earth are you talking about?”
“My father’s boat?”
The woman narrowed her gaze. “A boat?” And then she smiled, truly relaxed, and Sydney realized she’d missed something critical. “You’re asking me about a boat? I’ve never seen your father’s boat. I’m sure I didn’t even know he had one.” Becky Lynn reached across and grasped her hand, and Sydney could smell the alcohol on her breath, see that her eyes were somewhat bloodshot. That brought a vague recollection of the woman making drunken phone calls periodically to Sydney’s mother. What they talked about, why her mother never discussed it, Sydney didn’t know. Becky Lynn gave a sigh, exaggerated for her benefit, no doubt, and said, “I really wish I could stay and chat some more, but I’ve got to go, or I’ll be late. It was so good to see you again, Sydney. I hope your mother is doing well.”
Carillo and Sydney stood, and she walked them to the door, holding it open for them. Sydney paused on the threshold, looked out at the Lexus, and thought how much Becky Lynn had changed since the days of the pizza place…
“You know,” Sydney said, her foot against the door. “I forgot to mention how sorry I was that your husband died.”
“That’s right,” Carillo said. “We wanted to pass on our condolences.”
“Thank you,” Becky Lynn replied, her saccharine smile back in place.
And Sydney said, “You don’t happen to know what he was so upset about? I heard they found something in his background.”
“I have no idea.”
“Something to do with…” She looked at Carillo. “What was it again?”
“That old banking scandal.”
“That’s right. BICTT. Isn’t that the one where the guys all got together, and if something happened to one of them, they had all these safeguards set up? Sort of as protection? Like that photo being mailed to me.”
“Makes you wonder what the other safeguards were… Who else will get implicated,” Carillo said.