Peter Decker 3-Book Thriller Collection: False Prophet, Grievous Sin, Sanctuary

“I’m sorry for your loss,” Decker said. “I’m sure Lilah is devastated as well.”

“Why? She didn’t lose any jewelry.” There was a momentary pause. “Oh … yes, that was terrible. Poor dear. But she’s young, Peter. Youth is resilient. She’ll get over it. It’s so much harder for people like me.”

“I think it would have been very difficult if you had been beaten,” Decker said. “But you weren’t, Ms. Eversong. Lilah was. And I’m going to find the perpetrator.”

Davida looked up and caught his eyes. “Tell me something, Peter. Are you going to look for my jewels with as much zest as you have for Lilah’s attacker?”

“We’ll get to the bottom of all of it.”

“You didn’t answer my question.”

“Let’s talk some more about your jewels, Ms. Eversong. Who, besides Lilah, knew you kept your jewelry in Lilah’s safe?”

“Every single one of my children. And I wouldn’t put it past any of them to try to rob me blind.”

The comment sparked a circuit in Decker’s brain. Just as Freddy Brecht was pointing an accusing finger at Kingston Merritt, old Mom was blaming family. Made him awfully curious about the whole bunch.

“You think your children would steal from you?”

“No, not really. I’m just talking.”

But Decker wasn’t so sure. Her words sounded as if she were covering a slip of the tongue. But her manner was so casual. Then again, the woman was an actress.

“Does Dr. Brecht have the combination to the safe?”

“I don’t think so. He’s my little messenger boy. Brings my pieces to Lilah to lock up.”

So he knew what was stored in the safe, Decker thought. He remembered how Brecht had vehemently denied knowing the contents of Lilah’s safe. He jotted the inconsistency down in his notes. Family was getting more and more interesting. He decided to focus in on them.

“Do you think your children could mastermind a robbery like this one, Ms. Eversong?”

Davida laughed wickedly. “I doubt it. Not that they wouldn’t mind my money. I pad their wallets from time to time, but it never seems to be enough … the carrion eaters.”

“How much padding are we talking about?”

“A thousand or two, here and there.”

“Including Lilah?”

“No, she has her own money. And why would she steal from me, knowing she’s going to get the whole kit and caboodle after I move on to the next world?”

“She inherits everything?”

“Oh, I haven’t given her everything. I’ve remembered my boys, but not as much as my little girl and that’s just tough titties if they don’t like it. Men have it easy in society. No one looks askance when an old frog is hooked up with a princess fifty years his junior. Women—aging women—need an extra boost and that boost is money. Lilah doesn’t understand that now. She thinks her looks will last forever. Someday, when she’s old and gray, she’ll realize what I’ve done for her. Despite my admitted self-obsession, I do have her interests at heart.”

Decker didn’t answer.

Davida picked up an emery board and began to file her nails. “Not that I’m claiming to be Mother Teresa. Yes, I’m selfish. So what? Why shouldn’t I take care of myself? Didn’t some ancient philosopher say, ‘If I’m not for myself, who’ll be for me?’”

“Rabbi Hillel,” Decker said.

“What?”

“Rabbi Hillel said that.”

“A Jew said that?”

Decker nodded.

“That figures.” Davida stopped filing and looked up at Decker. “Are you Jewish?”

“Yes.”

“Did I offend you?”

“Not really.”

Davida studied him. “You don’t look Jewish. Sure you weren’t adopted?”

Decker broke into sudden laughter.

“It wasn’t that funny,” Davida said.

But it was. The old lady had hit it on the nose. Born to a Jewish mother, he’d been adopted in infancy by a good Baptist family. It wasn’t until he met Rina that he’d returned to the religion of his bloodline.

“Well, your Rabbi what’s his face was right in this case,” Davida said. “One must take care of Number One.”

“You missed the next line of the quote, Ms. Eversong. Hillel also said, ‘And if I’m only for myself, then who am I?’”

Davida gave him a sour expression which slowly turned into a grin. “Who am I? A bitchy, famous, rich old woman, that’s who I am. Are you here to quote dead rabbis, Sergeant, or are you going to find my jewels?”

“Any other pieces inside the safe?”

“Let’s see. You have the earrings, the pearls, the brooch. Did I tell you about the diamond bracelet?”

“No.”

“Heavy braided gold studded with diamonds. I also have a ruby and emerald bracelet to go with my Christmas earrings. And of course, I have lesser pieces. An amethyst ring surrounded by baguettes, a peridot brooch that’s identical to the emerald brooch. Sometimes I want to wear the brooch but don’t feel comfortable going out in a five-carat Colombian emerald. So I had the same brooch made up with peridot and faux diamonds.”

She took his hand and stroked it.

“Find my pieces, Peter. I’ll make sure you’re more than adequately compensated for your time.”

Decker looked down at his hand in hers. Like mother, like daughter. He pulled away gently. “Doing my job well is all the compensation I need. I’d like to touch just a moment on the memoirs—”

“God, you’re tedious!” She faced him. “What!”

“You knew about them, but you’ve never seen them.”