of husbands who were enamored with Natasha, assistants who didn't think she paid them enough. Oh, and there was Julia, a talented professional tennis player. Natasha knew her from her childhood in Moscow. They reconnected when Julia moved to the States. But Julia always felt that Natasha had turned her back on her Russian roots. They argued quite a bit. They had quite a public scene one night here at the club."
"Natasha never mentioned a Julia. What is her last name? Is she still alive?"
"I don't know if she's still alive. I haven't seen her in years. Her last name was Poplova when I knew her, but she has probably married since then."
She shook her head. "That name I would have remembered."
"Natasha had a nickname for her. It was a bird or a butterfly, I can't remember."
She tensed. "Was it the Lark?"
"I think that was it. If I had to say someone spiked Natasha's booze or pushed pills on her, I'd put Sally or Julia at the top of the list. I hope you'll find out who it was. If someone killed Natasha, I would like them to suffer the same fate," he said with cold cruelty in his gaze. "You will tell me if you come up with a lead. Perhaps I can help you."
She didn't know what to say, considering he'd pretty much just implied he'd help her punish whoever had killed her grandmother. The thug in Constantine was showing its ruthless face.
"You will tell me," he repeated.
"I'll tell everyone. I want the world to know what happened to my grandmother."
"The world, huh? How does your father feel about that? I'm surprised he hasn't shut you down."
"Why would he?"
"Your father hated his mother. It broke her heart. She cried so many times about how she'd messed up her son. She was only twenty-one when she had him. She wasn't ready to be a mother. She admitted to me she had made huge mistakes."
"She wasn't there for him."
"No, she wasn't, but she was worried about him right before she died. She'd seen him at a park with some older boys, and she thought he was buying drugs. She apparently stormed into their conversation and embarrassed him greatly. She told me he ran away from her, but she was determined to get him to see a therapist. She was going to talk to Phillip about it. I don't know if she ever did. That was probably the day before she ended up dead of an overdose. The irony did not escape me."
His words put a frown on her face. "My father is as straight as can be. I can't picture him doing drugs."
"He was hanging out with older kids and drugs were prevalent in Beverly Hills then—and now."
"Was one of those kids Blake Cordero?"
"Might have been. I don't know." He leaned forward. "I wasn't going to bring this up, but after talking to you, Maya, I can see that you're a smart woman, and you're going to be ruthlessly persistent. While in my heart, I still believe that Natasha accidentally overdosed, there may be one person you don't want to interrogate and that's the person you absolutely should question."
"Who?"
"You won't want to hear this."
She stiffened, feeling quite sure she didn't want to hear whatever he had to say, but she couldn't stop him. She swallowed hard. "Go ahead."
"There was a fast-food bag in the car on the floor on the passenger side."
"I know. I saw that in the police report."
"Natasha didn't eat hamburgers and French fries. Never. But your father did. She told me the only time she could ever get him to talk to her was when she drove him to get a burger. For some reason, that seemed to put him at ease."
A chill ran through her. "You're saying my father was in the car?"
"That's exactly what I'm saying."
"He was fifteen. He didn't kill his mother."
"I didn't say he did. I just said he was in the car. You should ask him about that. See what he says." Constantine picked up his cane and slowly got to his feet. "Good luck."
"Wait."
He gave her an expectant look. "Yes?"
"Natasha used a lot of nicknames in her journal. Besides Lark, she referred to someone she called the Wolf. Do you know who that was?"
He slowly shook his head. "I don't. Did she give you any clues as to who it might be?"
"Unfortunately not."
He gave her a bemused look. "I have no idea who she was referring to."