"You don't know my family," he said, obviously recognizing that look. "They love to gossip and some of what they say about other people, well, it's less than pleasant. They play with secrets like children play with toys. I had to know if you might be even a little bit like them."
"You judge the rest of the world by the way they act? No sir, this is not the job for me." I turned and started to walk away, thinking he should take a good look at himself if he wanted to know how his relatives got that way.
"I'm sorry I offended you," he called after me. "I need your help, Abby. And I promise you, I could never murder anyone. I truly regret that remark."
I stopped, took a deep breath. This had to be the strangest case I'd ever considered taking on. But Richter reminded me of my daddy in a way. Older money in this family, yes, but both men had that same attitude of invincibility and confidence that comes from having enough power and cash to think you can get anything you want. Daddy and I went a few rounds on living the privileged life. I didn't like his "events" and the business meetings and the parties and I sure as hell hated playing dress-up. I got rid of the big house with the greenhouse, tennis courts and pool when I decided to take on my first independent venture—creating Yellow Rose Investigations. Dealing with someone like Richter might be a good reminder of why I do what I do and might also be a way to make a little peace with my past and my father's flaws.
I faced Richter again. "You're a man who wants control. But I can't work with you pulling my strings. Is that clear?"
"Very. JoLynn needs a bulldog to take charge of this investigation."
"Hold on. Chief Boyd is in charge and he will require everyone's cooperation. As for my role, there will be a few ground rules."
"Certainly. In my business dealings I would never agree to be bound by your rules, but this is not business. This is personal."
Personal enough for him to forgo his usual background check on JoLynn last year, something I found very difficult to understand or even believe. Yet now he wanted me to do what he might have already done himself.
I returned to the table and sat, waiting in silence while another servant, an older woman with clear eyes and a stocky build, asked if we wanted anything more to eat or drink.
Richter looked at me questioningly and I shook my head no.
"Danke, no, Eva," Richter said.
She said, "Bitte," and left us alone.
"Your ground rules?" Richter asked.
"Give me access to anything connected to JoLynn. I'll need to search her room and interview you and your family, ask any questions I decide are important. And I want to know about Katarina and why you think JoLynn is your granddaughter despite no concrete evidence aside from the lies JoLynn told you and Scott."
"Lies? Scott? I'm confused."
"JoLynn told him that she'd hired Yellow Rose Investigations to find you. You've already discovered that I am Yellow Rose Investigations."
Confusion was turning to what almost looked like panic. "She told Scott she hired you?"
I nodded. "And I know that's not true, though she did have my card and did write me a letter."
His eyes narrowed and his brow furrowed. "All right, here is what she told me. She said an adoption registry informed her about me. A registry that Katarina had provided information to before she passed on. According to JoLynn, the people she went to for information at this agency said Katarina informed them she was dying and wanted to give up her baby. If one day JoLynn came looking for her birth parents, which she did, Katarina wanted her daughter to know she gave her up because her daughter deserved a normal, happy family with two loving parents. That's definitely something Katarina would do, so I never questioned this story."
I sat back. Was this the truth? JoLynn went through the registry? Why did she tell Scott something different, then? And why write me that letter about wanting to find her birth parents? Richter was looking at me expectantly and I said, "Why didn't she stick with one story?"
Richter stiffened. "I'm sure she had a good reason to lie to Scott, though he is the most rational and trustwor thy of the bunch. I did tell her to be careful what she said to family members."
I said, "There is a Texas Adoption Registry and guess what? I inform folks all about it in those tip sheets I send out—and I sent one to her. Here's the problem. They might have told her Katarina was deceased, but if you never registered with them, they would never have given JoLynn your name. Reunions must be requested by both parties when you skip court petitions and go through them."
"I certainly didn't register," Richter said, "but every bureaucracy has its cracks. There are ways she could have learned about me through them."
"Does the fact that she may have lied twice about her search for her birth family tell you something?"
"Obviously she was afraid to tell the truth. Someone harmed her for a reason and that's what you need to focus on. Not on her missteps," Richter said. The more I'd pressed him, the redder his neck had become.
I leaned toward him and in a quiet voice said, "I'll bet you're used to folks kowtowing to you. For the record, I focus on what I consider important to getting at the truth, and the truth may not be what you're ready to hear." That was my short version of the "You can't handle the truth" speech because I feared this was the case.
Richter closed his eyes and calmed himself before speaking. "I have handled many difficult events in my life, the death of my wife and Katarina being the worst, of course. I apologize if I sounded arrogant. I'm simply remembering JoLynn in that hospital bed and I'm sick at heart to think someone would do that to her. If this murder attempt is connected to her past, I need to know—so I can continue to protect her after she gets well and comes home. Name your fee. I'll pay whatever you wish."
After I quoted him the highest price I'd ever charged anyone—ten thousand dollars, which would go toward my dream of building the most fabulous user-friendly group home for folks like Doris—I said, "Let me get to work. Her bedroom?"
9
When I'd first arrived, I hadn't fully taken in the grandeur of the Richter home, but grand was everywhere. Pillars of dark wood separated the living areas from the hall that led to the back of the house. These were double living areas separated by the longest dining table I'd seen outside a wedding reception. Vases sat on little shelves; paintings that probably cost a small fortune hung on the walls; thick Oriental rugs protected polished oak flooring. As we headed back toward the way I'd come in, I glanced at rustic leather furniture and end tables with fresh flowers in the less formal living area. Up ahead to my right, brocade and satin upholstered chairs faced a grand piano. Richter led me to another hallway off the foyer.
We'd had no shortage of expensive art and antiques in our home while I was growing up, but this place was more well dressed than you'd expect a "ranch" to be. We turned left and seemed to travel for minutes, passing closed door after closed door. What was behind all of them? Bedrooms? Studies? Offices? Maybe a media center or a billiards room? Finally we reached JoLynn's room and Richter produced a ring of keys from his pocket and used one to open her door.
Locked? Hmmm. Who is he keeping out?
He caught my expression and said, "I only added the lock this weekend. I didn't want the others snooping around in her things."
"The others? You mean your family?"
"That's right." Richter widened the door. "This is it."
I expected more expensive decor, but the room, though large by non-master-bedroom standards, seemed, well, plain. The linens on the four-poster were beige. The two mahogany dressers had no photos on top. Two brown upholstered wing chairs with a small round table between them sat in front of a window that looked out on a fenced-in garden and fountain. I felt like I'd walked into an upscale hotel room—pleasant but impersonal.