Drawn in Blood (Burbank and Parker 2)

“Like I said, Wallace’s decency always prevailed—which, in this case, backfired. During a playful moment when he and Meili were together, he stupidly told her about the bet. He assumed she’d be amused. She wasn’t. What he considered to be a silly game, she considered to be the ultimate betrayal and humiliation. I don’t know all the details. Nor did I ask. I only know that Wallace was a wreck when he came home. He briefly told us that Meili had ended things between them, and why. Then, he went off like a wounded bear—cut himself off from everyone. He spent the week before the holidays holed up in his town house. He wouldn’t talk to a soul. The only reason he went home to East Hampton the following week was for Sophie. He’d never let her spend a Christmas without him.”

Sloane was mentally calculating dates. “You said the affair lasted over three years, and ended before the holidays. So that was December 2005.”

“That’s right.”

“Did Wallace say anything else, describe anything else, that you can remember? Anything about Meili’s background, her family, her life when they weren’t together?”

Matthew frowned. “I remember him saying she didn’t like to talk about her past. I think she had some kind of major falling-out with her family, after which she severed all ties with them. She was a struggling artist when he met her, working in a bar. He put a stop to that right away, and helped get her a job as a hostess in an upscale restaurant while he tried to kick-start her art career. He said there was a fineness about her that smacked of good breeding.” A hint of a smile. “That’s old-money Wallace for you. Always a keen eye for class. Anyway, other than that, all he talked about was the present.”

“Thank you, Dad.”

Sloane had all she needed—well, almost. Her father’s story dovetailed perfectly with Lucy’s. Wallace was the rich, married man Meili had gotten involved with and, ultima

tely, committed suicide over. And the tragic aftermath of their relationship, which Wallace probably knew nothing about, all stemmed from an idiotic bet about Meili’s virtue. There were pieces to the equation still missing—like what the connection was between Meili and Cindy Liu—but those could be uncovered. As for Cindy’s sudden appearance in Wallace’s life—now that was no coincidence. Not with them being so physically similar. But her father had met Meili. And she wanted a qualified opinion. A picture might be worth a thousand words. But there was nothing like the real thing to confirm the facts.

“Do you want to tell me what this is all about?” Matthew was asking.

“I can’t. Not yet. But I do need one more thing from you.” Sloane clamped a hand on her father’s arm and led him to the door. “I need you to take a quick look at someone and tell me what you see.”

“What I see?” Matthew looked utterly baffled.

“Don’t ask questions. Just wait till I tell you. Then, look.” Sloane eased the door open a crack and peered out, scanning the room. She spotted Wallace and Cindy, talking quietly to each other. An instant later, Wallace nodded, crossing over to get their coats, and leaving Cindy standing alone.

Sloane waited until Cindy was turned in their direction, her face visible from their angle.

“Now,” she directed, pointing at Cindy through the narrow slit in the doorway and urging her father’s focus onto her.

Matthew complied, and started in surprise. “That’s Meili. I don’t understand. When did she get here? Why didn’t Wallace tell me that—”

“It’s not Meili,” Sloane interrupted. “It’s Cindy Liu. So you do see the resemblance?”

“A dead man could see the resemblance.” Matthew stared as Wallace rejoined Cindy, a tender expression on his face. “Unbelievable.” Shutting the door, Matthew turned to Sloane. “What does all this mean?”

“As I said, I can’t supply the details. Not yet.” Sloane held her father’s gaze. “But, Dad, you can’t say anything about this to Wallace. Don’t even mention our conversation. There are things I need to verify first.”

“How does this relate to Phil’s murder? Or to the Rothberg sale? Or to Xiao Long?”

“Let’s go back to Phil’s wake.” Sloane’s nonresponse was intentional. “Keep this discussion and what you just saw between us. I’ll answer your questions as soon as I can.”

A few minutes later, Sloane returned to the wake. She glanced around until she spotted Derek, who quickly disengaged himself from one of Phil’s sons, to whom he’d been expressing his condolences.

“I was beginning to think you’d slipped out the back door,” he muttered as he joined her.

“I’m sorry I vanished for so long,” Sloane replied. “But it was critical.”

“I saw Leo haul Ben out of here a while ago. He was docile as a lamb. I’m sure you had something to do with that.”

Sloane shrugged. “I eased Ben back into reality as gently as I could.” Her gaze darted around, searching for Wallace and Cindy.

“If you’re looking for Wallace and his girlfriend, they just left,” Derek informed her. “I tried to go over and engage them in conversation. But she clearly wanted no part of chatting. She avoided me like the plague. And she wasn’t too much better with everyone else. She expressed her condolences, stayed as long as Wallace felt it was necessary, then urged him out the door. I’m sure she felt out of place. So do I. But I got the distinct impression it was me she was avoiding. Maybe she saw my gun and got nervous, or maybe I’m imagining things.”

“You’re not imagining things. If Wallace told her you’re FBI, it’s possible she has reason to avoid you.”

Derek’s brows drew together. “It sounds like you accomplished a lot more at this wake than just calming Ben down.”

“I did.” Sloane slipped her arm through Derek’s. “Let’s say our good-byes. You and I really have to talk.”

“Done.”