Back in Black (McGinnis Investigations #1) - Rhys Ford Page 0,54
explain about the house. My suspicions were still firmly on the side of “the Brinkerhoffs didn’t live there,” but I needed Marlena to confirm that. “We ended up surprising a gunman who shot up the front of the house, then bolted out. I actually landed in the cactus on the side of the bungalow trying to avoid getting shot.”
“House?” Marlena glanced at me, confused and worried. “They live in a high-rise downtown. They haven’t lived in a house in over ten years. They sold the old place by the studios. Said it was too big for them with me gone. They said—”
I’d been around so many people who’d been lied to I’d lost count. First as a police detective and then as a private investigator, I’d had a front-row seat for every single farce and betrayal someone could dream up. Having been one of the unwitting actors in my own tragic play, I knew all too well the devastating tsunami of emotions hitting Marlena at that moment. There were things about her family I didn’t understand, and I was going to have to dig through what was left of her life in order to find out who killed her grandmother and what that man was looking for in a house her grandparents supposedly didn’t own anymore.
“I need to ask you a few more things. And I know I’m pushing that time limit you gave me, but it’s very important. I had a feeling your grandparents staged that house for some reason, and something your imposter said made me think they had a very good reason—maybe even an illegal one—for keeping that house.” She wasn’t looking at me and flinched when I touched her arm, but Marlena nodded, her upper teeth clenched over her lower lip. “She told me your grandparents were… criminals in the past, specifically a thief and an art forger. Is there any truth to that?”
“Yes.” Her murmur was a weak mewl, and she folded into herself, rolling her shoulders in until she was nearly bent over, cuddling her coffee cup to her stomach. “They took me in after my mother died. She’d left home when she was nineteen, because… she didn’t want to live like them. For seven years she kept me away from them, even though it was just the two of us and it was hard. But what they did was wrong. She hated growing up always looking over her shoulder. Then a drunk driver hit her, and they took me in.
“At first I didn’t understand what my mother hated about them,” Marlena confessed, letting out a bitter, short laugh. “But we kept moving. I kept changing schools, and my grades were suffering. But it was exciting because Mama taught me things like how to pick locks and pockets and our walls always had these gorgeous paintings on them. They took me to museums, and we traveled around, living out of small apartments or vans. But sometimes, late at night, they would tell me to stay in my room and people would come over. The next day some of the paintings would be gone or Mama would tell me it was time to go and pack up my things.”
“When did you find out?” I prodded. “I mean, you’re an assistant DA now. I’m guessing something changed.”
“I walked out during one of those visits. I can’t remember why. I think I wanted ice cream or something to drink, and there was a man standing in the living room, looking over something on the coffee table. He either didn’t know I was there or maybe he didn’t see me, because he began shouting, and the next thing I knew, I was on the floor and my arm was bleeding.” She swallowed, gulping in air. “He’d shot me. Pulled out a gun and shot me. I was nine, and he didn’t even pause. Thank God Poppa jumped at him and threw his aim off or I’d be dead. I don’t remember much after that. I passed out. But I think Mama might have killed him. When I woke up, some of their friends were there, and I was patched up.”
“Is that when they moved to the bungalow?”
“No. Not just yet. It was about a year later. They argued a lot. I was scared, and I told them I didn’t want to live with them anymore. Not like I had a choice. There was nowhere for me to go. I remember that.” She snorted, giving another shake of her