with its false light and its dead end. Tony leaned against a wall nearby. He appeared to be in excellent condition, with long black hair and an olive cast to his skin. He watched the elder Jacoby carefully, ready to help should he be needed.
“Take him to the hotel,” Ben said to him. “I’ll be along.”
Tony said gently and with a soft Spanish accent, “Let’s go, Lou.”
“I’m sure the sheriff has questions.”
“I’ll take care of them, Dad.”
Jacoby nodded. Despite all his earlier posturing, all his effort at control, he seemed suddenly weak and uncertain. He didn’t move toward the stairway until Tony urged him forward with a hand on his arm.
“We’ll be right up, Sigurd,” Cork said.
The mortician turned off the light in the prep room, closed the door, and left them alone.
“I have some questions about your brother, Mr. Jacoby.”
“Of course. And call me Ben.”
Jacoby was a handsome man, a little taller than Cork and, like his father, tanned and in good physical condition. He had his father’s thick hair. It was still mostly brown, but there was a hint of gray at the temples. His face was smooth, the bones prominent. When he spoke, it was with quiet authority, a man accustomed to being listened to, who didn’t need to flaunt his power. Sometimes the rich were like that, Cork had learned long ago. A profound sense of the responsibility that went along with wealth and position.
“Edward was here on business, is that correct?” Cork said.
“As far as I know, that’s the only reason he came to Aurora.”
“For Starlight Enterprises?”
“I assume so, yes.”
“What does he do for Starlight?”
“I’m not entirely certain, but a lot of it has to do with bringing in new business.”
“What do you do?”
“I run an investment firm with my father.”
“You and your father but not Eddie?”
“Eddie had other ideas about what he wanted to do with his life.”
“Did he talk about his visits to Aurora?”
“Eddie talked a lot. It was hard to know what to listen to, so I usually didn’t. In terms of his business here, there’s an attorney you ought to talk to. Eddie dealt with her a lot, I believe. Someone named Jo O’Connor.” He stopped and gave Cork a quizzical look. “O’Connor?”
“My wife.”
“Convenient.”
Cork shrugged. “Small town.”
“I assume you’ve spoken with her.”
“I have.”
“Would you mind if I did also?”
“Why?”
“My father is a little numb at the moment, but he’ll be expecting answers soon. I’d like to be able to offer a few. Is there a reason I shouldn’t speak with her?”
“No,” Cork replied. “In fact, if you’d like, I’ll drive you there.”
“I could take a taxi.”
“Ben, this isn’t Chicago. We don’t have taxis. I’ll be happy to take you.”
Jo was busy with a client, and they waited a few minutes in the anteroom of her office. Her secretary, Fran Cooper, asked if they’d like something to drink. They both declined.
Jo’s door opened and Amanda Horton stepped out. Amanda was a transplant from Des Moines who, Cork knew, was trying to buy lake property currently tied up in probate.
“Hello, Cork,” she said.
“Afternoon, Amanda.”
She gave Ben Jacoby an appreciative look as she left.
Cork watched her go. When his eyes swung back, he found his wife standing in the doorway of her office, her eyes huge, her mouth open in an oval of surprise.
“Ben?”
“My God,” Jacoby replied with equal wonder. “Jo McKenzie.”
12
J ACOBY ACCEPTED THE coffee she offered him and sat in one of the chairs available for clients.
Cork took the other client chair. “So,” he said. “Law school together.”
“My second year.” Jo put the coffee server back on the tray with the mugs she kept on hand, went behind the desk, and sat down.
“My last,” Jacoby said. “But you still practice, Jo.”
“You don’t?”
“I never did. I do investments.”
“In Chicago?”
“We’re in
“Take him to the hotel,” Ben said to him. “I’ll be along.”
Tony said gently and with a soft Spanish accent, “Let’s go, Lou.”
“I’m sure the sheriff has questions.”
“I’ll take care of them, Dad.”
Jacoby nodded. Despite all his earlier posturing, all his effort at control, he seemed suddenly weak and uncertain. He didn’t move toward the stairway until Tony urged him forward with a hand on his arm.
“We’ll be right up, Sigurd,” Cork said.
The mortician turned off the light in the prep room, closed the door, and left them alone.
“I have some questions about your brother, Mr. Jacoby.”
“Of course. And call me Ben.”
Jacoby was a handsome man, a little taller than Cork and, like his father, tanned and in good physical condition. He had his father’s thick hair. It was still mostly brown, but there was a hint of gray at the temples. His face was smooth, the bones prominent. When he spoke, it was with quiet authority, a man accustomed to being listened to, who didn’t need to flaunt his power. Sometimes the rich were like that, Cork had learned long ago. A profound sense of the responsibility that went along with wealth and position.
“Edward was here on business, is that correct?” Cork said.
“As far as I know, that’s the only reason he came to Aurora.”
“For Starlight Enterprises?”
“I assume so, yes.”
“What does he do for Starlight?”
“I’m not entirely certain, but a lot of it has to do with bringing in new business.”
“What do you do?”
“I run an investment firm with my father.”
“You and your father but not Eddie?”
“Eddie had other ideas about what he wanted to do with his life.”
“Did he talk about his visits to Aurora?”
“Eddie talked a lot. It was hard to know what to listen to, so I usually didn’t. In terms of his business here, there’s an attorney you ought to talk to. Eddie dealt with her a lot, I believe. Someone named Jo O’Connor.” He stopped and gave Cork a quizzical look. “O’Connor?”
“My wife.”
“Convenient.”
Cork shrugged. “Small town.”
“I assume you’ve spoken with her.”
“I have.”
“Would you mind if I did also?”
“Why?”
“My father is a little numb at the moment, but he’ll be expecting answers soon. I’d like to be able to offer a few. Is there a reason I shouldn’t speak with her?”
“No,” Cork replied. “In fact, if you’d like, I’ll drive you there.”
“I could take a taxi.”
“Ben, this isn’t Chicago. We don’t have taxis. I’ll be happy to take you.”
Jo was busy with a client, and they waited a few minutes in the anteroom of her office. Her secretary, Fran Cooper, asked if they’d like something to drink. They both declined.
Jo’s door opened and Amanda Horton stepped out. Amanda was a transplant from Des Moines who, Cork knew, was trying to buy lake property currently tied up in probate.
“Hello, Cork,” she said.
“Afternoon, Amanda.”
She gave Ben Jacoby an appreciative look as she left.
Cork watched her go. When his eyes swung back, he found his wife standing in the doorway of her office, her eyes huge, her mouth open in an oval of surprise.
“Ben?”
“My God,” Jacoby replied with equal wonder. “Jo McKenzie.”
12
J ACOBY ACCEPTED THE coffee she offered him and sat in one of the chairs available for clients.
Cork took the other client chair. “So,” he said. “Law school together.”
“My second year.” Jo put the coffee server back on the tray with the mugs she kept on hand, went behind the desk, and sat down.
“My last,” Jacoby said. “But you still practice, Jo.”
“You don’t?”
“I never did. I do investments.”
“In Chicago?”
“We’re in
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