cruiser up to the porch, and Celeste Gordon stepped outside to greet us. We introduced ourselves and she led us inside.
She looked younger than I’d expected. At fifty-one, she was less than two years younger than Bill had been, but she could have easily passed for forty. She looked like she was dressed for a tennis match, in a short skirt and a sleeveless top that showed off her trim and athletic figure. If she’d had plastic surgery, it was good enough not to show.
The house was even more impressive on the inside. It had been fully remodeled into what looked a photo spread for Architectural Digest, artfully mixing rustic and contemporary styles. She led us to a large dining table that I had no doubt had been hand-built from reclaimed wood.
“Can I get you something?” she asked. “Coffee? I have some fresh iced tea?”
“A glass of tea would be nice,” I said, returning her friendly smile. Usually, I turn down beverage offers. But I wanted to get a better sense of her before we started talking.
She looked at Jen. “Detective Tanaka?”
“Nothing for me,” Jen said. “Thank you.”
She went into the kitchen, opened a glass-paneled cupboard over the counter, and took a moment to select a proper glass, then took a pitcher out of the enormous stainless-steel refrigerator. As she poured, she said, “Sugar?”
“Do you happen to have any Splenda?” I asked.
“Of course,” she said. She came back to the table with the glass, two yellow packets of sweetener, and a tiny spoon to stir it with.
I poured one packet into the drink. The glass was thick, intentionally indelicate, with an uneven wave to the outside surface, carefully crafted to simulate a rough-hewn artisanal effect. It went well with the table. It made me think of that line from Springsteen’s song “Better Days,” about a rich man in a poor man’s shirt.
“Thank you,” I said, clinking the ice cubes around with the little spoon.
“No problem.” Celeste smiled pleasantly.
“We’re very sorry for your loss,” Jen said.
“We hadn’t been close, Bill and I, for a long time,” Celeste said. “But still, it’s much more difficult than I would have imagined.”
“I understand,” Jen said. “When was the last time you saw him?”
“That would have been Lucy’s anniversary party. In April.”
Four months, I noted.
“Where was that?” Jen asked.
“Here,” Celeste said. “They were having a rough time with the restaurant, so Larry and I wanted to do something nice for them.”
“Was that before or after it closed?”
“Just after.”
“How were they doing?”
“Oh, Joe was practically distraught.” Celeste looked down at her hands. They were clasped together on the table. “I’d never seen him so down about anything.”
Jen said, “How about Lucinda?”
“Lucy was taking it better than he was. She’d had her doubts about it all along. We all did, really. Larry had even tried to talk him out of it.”
“What about Bill?” Jen asked.
“He didn’t think it was a good idea, either.”
I thought about speaking, but decided to let Jen keep at it. Celeste seemed to be warming to her.
“Did you know about the loan Bill made to Joe?”
“Yes.”
“Why would he do that if he didn’t think it was a good investment?”
“Because he could never say no to Lucy.” Celeste sighed. “I asked him if he really thought it was a good idea to give Joe that much money. He said he didn’t know, but he wanted to do it anyway.”
Jen thought for a moment. “Did he say why?”
“No, but I think I understand. Bill always had a soft spot for Joe. I think he saw a bit of himself in him.”
“In what way?”
“Bill wanted to be a history professor. He loved teaching. But all he could ever find were part-time jobs. He applied for hundreds of openings, literally hundreds, but he could just never land a full-time appointment. ‘If someone would just give me a chance,’ he’d say. Then he inherited the properties from his folks, and he just gave up. I think he wanted to give Joe a chance. It didn’t really matter to him that Joe wasn’t ready. There was an opportunity with some other investors and Lucy asked him to help, and he just couldn’t say no.”
I wanted to ask what she knew about the other investors she mentioned, but I didn’t want to derail Jen’s line of questioning, so I made a note and let her move on.
“Was Bill close to Joe?” Jen asked.
“I think so.” There was a distant sadness in Celeste’s eyes as she spoke. “He always wanted more