Hanson adjusted his glasses, then looked across the table. “What we speak of in this room goes no further, agreed?”
Hunt and Kelsey exchanged glances, then nodded toward the attorneys.
Hanson drew in a breath. “I believe—”
“We believe,” Lange interrupted, shooting a look at his colleague.
“We believe,” Hanson corrected with a nod, “that Vivienne was murdered. We haven’t been able to prove that yet, but we’ve hired a private investigator to look into the matter. For the last six months, since Vivienne’s death, he’s been gathering information.”
“It’s no secret that Vivienne struggled with alcohol.” Lange leaned forward to rest his elbows on his knees. “Her addiction was well documented in the media. She liked her wine, and she liked to flaunt the image of herself enjoying her wine. Vivienne was ‘old-school Hollywood.’ We often joked she should have been working in the thirties and forties instead of today. But she was never a fan of hard alcohol, and she never did recreational drugs.”
Hanson shifted in his seat. “When she was found dead by her housekeeper, we were immediately suspicious. The official autopsy report said they found a cocktail of painkillers and sleeping pills in her system. But none of those fit with what we knew of Vivienne. After all the years we’d worked together, not just on her film deals but on her personal deals, neither of us could reconcile what we knew of Vivienne with the media’s story of an accidental overdose. Just didn’t fit.”
Hunt glanced between the two men. “You have a theory about who killed her, obviously. Otherwise you wouldn’t be hiring a PI to dig.”
The men exchanged glances again, then Lange said, “We do. Our money has always been on Foster. The fact he grew quiet the last few years concerned us. It was out of character for him.”
Hanson sighed and leaned back in his chair. “Only a few people know this. Vivienne kept it tightly under wraps. But she married Foster in a civil ceremony right after she graduated from high school. She was only seventeen at the time and lied about her age. We weren’t even aware of the marriage until after her death when Foster petitioned the courts for fifty percent of her estate. California’s a community property state, and they were never legally separated or divorced. It’s caused all kinds of red tape, as you can imagine. Her assets are technically in limbo until the courts rule on the legality of that marriage.”
A tingle rushed down Hunt’s spine. That gave Foster motive.
“Foster is unstable,” Hanson said, glancing Kelsey’s way. “He has been for a long time. We’re confident the courts are not going to rule in his favor, but we want you to be aware of everything going in. I know it’s not much help, but if what you told us is true, that Vivienne’s memoir was found in his place not far from pictures of you, then I would suspect he already believes you’re Vivienne’s daughter, and he’s not happy you’re alive.”
Kelsey stiffened, and this time Hunt didn’t even hesitate to reach for her hand. He closed his fingers possessively around hers and held on tight when he said, “He won’t get to her. Do either of you have any idea where he might go?”
“No.” Hanson blew out a breath. “The only person who might know—and it would be a stretch—is his son.”
“He has a son?” Kelsey asked.
Hanson nodded. “He’s a few years older than you. From a previous relationship. He works for a tech company in San Francisco. He and his father had a tense relationship most of his life, but whenever we had problems with Foster harassing Vivienne, he was always willing to help us get him reined in. For all his faults, Vivienne never wanted Foster arrested. She just wanted him to leave her alone.”
Hunt glanced toward Kelsey. “I think we need to talk to him.”
She nodded in agreement.
Hunt looked back at the attorneys. “What about the man Vivienne wrote about in her memoir? Her child’s father? Do either of you know where he is?”
Lange shook his head. “She never told us who he was.”
“Is there anyone who might know his name?”
Kelsey shot a look his way, and he didn’t miss the what the heck are you doing? warning in her eyes.
Hanson brushed his thumb over his lips, considering. “The only person who might know is her best friend. Catarina Brunelli.”
“The actress?” Hunt asked.
Hanson nodded. “Vivienne and Cat broke into the industry at the same time. They had a lifelong friendship.”
“I thought I read somewhere they couldn’t stand each other,” Kelsey interrupted.
Hanson dropped his hand. “Oh, they had their ups and downs, but any quarrels they had over the years were usually about roles. They were often up for the same parts, which, sadly, become harder to come by for women as they age in this industry.” He looked toward Hunt. “I can have my secretary give her a call if you’d like, see if she’ll meet with you both this afternoon? I’m sure she’d be more than happy to talk to you.”
“Yeah, I think we’d like that.” When he caught Kelsey’s confused look again from the corner of his eye, he quietly said, “She might be able to give us information they can’t.”
She didn’t seem thrilled by that idea, but she didn’t argue.
Lange jotted a name and number on a piece of paper, ripped it off, and handed it across the table to Hunt. “This is Trey Foster’s number.” Looking at Kelsey again, he said, “The good news is you’re safe now.”
That was the good news. Hunt tucked the paper in his pocket. But for how long? That second text Kelsey had received proved Foster wasn’t ready to give up his need for revenge just yet. And until he knew more he wouldn’t be able to relax.
“Mr. Lange?” The intercom on Lange’s desk rang out with his secretary’s voice. “I’m sorry to bother you, but the lab is here.”
“Wonderful.” Lange rose and crossed to his desk where he pushed a button and said, “Send them in.” He looked Kelsey’s way as she stood. “After we read your bio, we called the lab to come over and take a DNA sample. It’s highly routine, I assure you. Just a swab of your cheek and possibly a blood sample.”
A nervous look passed over her face. “Are you saying—?”
“That it’s highly likely? Yes. Everything you’ve told us today coincides with what we know about Vivienne’s daughter, right down to dates and locations.”
Hunt moved up beside her and placed a hand at the small of her back, just in case. She eased a half step closer to him.
“Vivienne’s estate is quite large.” Hanson moved up on Lange’s left as the double doors opened and two lab techs entered the room carrying trays of medical instruments. “We’ve been looking for you since she died.”
“But I . . .” Kelsey swallowed hard. “We don’t know yet that I’m her daughter.”
“Not yet.” Lange grinned. “But we will soon. Lab results take about two to three days. If they come back the way we expect, your entire life is going to change. For the better.”
“Oh, I really don’t care about finding out if I’m—”
“It’s really all routine,” Hanson said, pushing her gently toward the lab techs at the table. “I promise.”
The waver to Kelsey’s voice pushed Hunt into protective mode. “Do we really have to do this today? She’s already been through a lot recently, and—”
“The sooner we know the truth, the better it’ll be for everyone,” Lange cut in, positioning himself between Hunt and Kelsey so Hunt couldn’t get in the way of the test. “There are legality issues that need to be resolved for the estate. Trust me.” He patted Hunt’s arm in a way that did nothing to ease Hunt’s stress. “It’ll be better all around once we have the results.”
Hunt wasn’t so sure. And the wary look Kelsey shot him tightened his chest, but not for the reasons she thought. Not because he was afraid her world was going to change for good or bad, but because he knew in that moment he’d do whatever it took to protect her from being hurt. From a long-dead mother, from her unhinged ex
, from a crazed stalker even, if that’s what this turned out to be.
He’d even do whatever it took to protect her from himself.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
Kelsey stared at a gigantic framed painting of a Tuscan vineyard that engulfed one entire wall in Catarina Brunelli’s living room as she and Hunt waited for the actress to join them. Kelsey wasn’t entirely sure how she’d ended up in the palatial Beverly Hills mansion, but she was eager for Hunt to ask whatever questions he wanted answered so they could get the heck out of here.
A low whistle echoed from the other side of the room, where Hunt stood with his hands in his pockets, examining yet another elaborate painting that had to cost a fortune. “Looks like she’s quite a collector.”
The maid had let them in, then left them alone in this room with its white furniture with gold accents. They’d been waiting for at least fifteen minutes, and Kelsey’s patience was starting to dwindle. Sighing, she turned his way, feeling more uncomfortable by the minute.
He glanced her way, concern darkening his eyes, then moved across the room toward her. “Hey. You okay?”
“Not really. Why are we here again?”
He drew his hands from his pockets and reached for her arms, rubbing her tense muscles. “A hunch.”
When she tipped her head and frowned, he smiled. “She knew Vivienne personally. In a way her attorneys didn’t. She might be able to give us more insight into Vivienne’s relationship with Foster.”
“Except Vivienne didn’t know Catarina when she was with Foster.”
“All the more reason to find out what she said about Foster over the years.” His expression darkened further. “And find out who the other guy was.”
Her back stiffened. There it was. The whole reason he’d brought them here. “I don’t care who he is.”
“Are you sure?”
“Yes, I’m sure.” She shrugged out of his grip, not wanting to be touched right now. “He’s not involved in any of this, and I have zero interest in finding him.”
“Kels—”
She moved her hand when he reached for her, knowing she was probably being irrational about this but unwilling to budge. “No matter what those test results say, Vivienne Armstrong is not my family. This married man she had an affair with twenty-eight years ago is not my family. My family is flying home from Florida as we speak. They’re the only family I know, and the only family I want to know. And I don’t think I should have to explain that to you.”
“Okay.” His expression softened, and this time when he reached for her hand, she didn’t pull away because she could see in his eyes that he got it. “You’re right. I’m sorry. I didn’t think about it from that perspective. I only thought about—”
“Finding answers. Yeah, I get that.”
His shoulders dropped. “I’m only trying to help. But if you want to leave, say the word. We’ll split right now and head back to Palm Desert.”
She shook her head and frowned, knowing leaving now would just make her look like a coward. “We’re already here. We might as well stay.”
He reached for her other hand. “Are you sure?”
She nodded. “But no matter who this guy is, we’re not visiting him next.”
“Fair enough.” He tipped his head, looking way too damn sexy for his own good. “You’re amazing, you know that?”
She rolled her eyes. “Why? Because I just had a little temper tantrum?”
He wrapped an arm around her shoulder and pressed his lips to her temple. “No, because you’re smart enough to know when you’ve had enough. I should have been paying more attention to how you were handling it all instead of focusing on what I wanted to know.”
She closed her eyes and breathed in his familiar scents of citrus and leather, wishing like hell that comment didn’t make her sound weak. But it did. And she wasn’t sure what to think of that or what to do.
The click of heels on hardwood floors sounded from the archway at Kelsey’s back, followed by a curt female voice, saying, “And I want the finalized guest list on my desk this evening. There’s not a lot of time left to whip this gala into shape.”
Kelsey turned toward the archway where a maid and a very petite fiftysomething woman in a flowing peach chiffon blouse, white ankle-length trousers, and three-inch heels entered the room. To the maid, she said, “That’s all for now, Stella.”
Kelsey straightened as Catarina Brunelli moved toward them. “I’m sorry to keep you waiting.” She brushed a lock of her famous curly red hair back where the rest of her hair was twisted in neat chignon and smiled with perfectly painted lips. Her makeup was flawless, her outfit impeccable, her long nails manicured and painted a soft shade of pink. “I don’t normally entertain visitors this late in the day, but Charles said you have some questions about—”
Her words cut off as she drew close and focused on Kelsey’s face. “Well, I’ll be.”
She blinked and stared, much as Vivienne Armstrong’s lawyers had. And the reaction wasn’t exactly welcome to Kelsey. Her stomach tightened with that strange feeling of impending doom again. She cleared her throat and held out her hand. “Thank you for seeing us on such short notice, Ms. Brunelli. I’m Kelsey McClane, and this is my friend Hunter O’Donnell. We’d like to ask you a few questions about Vivienne Armstrong if you don’t mind. We promise not to take up too much of your time.”
Catarina Brunelli haphazardly shook each of their hands, but her eyes never left Kelsey’s face. Several seconds later she finally blinked and shook her head again, muttering, “Of course. Please. Come and sit.”
She motioned toward a pair of white couches that looked as if they’d never been sat on before. Kelsey moved toward the closest while Hunt followed.
“It really is remarkable,” Catarina said, shaking her head as she sat across from them and continued to look at Kelsey. “Charles said you looked like her, but I didn’t expect . . .” She pursed her lips. “It’s the eyes. They’re exactly like Vivienne’s. And the nose. Your chin and jawline are different, but the eyes are what’re so strikingly similar.”
Kelsey shot Hunt a nervous look, then refocused on why they were here. “As you know, we just came from the attorneys’ office.”
“And?” Catarina sat up a little straighter. “Were they able to send you for testing?” When Kelsey hesitated, Catarina said, “Don’t worry, dear. I’m well aware of what’s been happening with Vivienne’s estate. Vivienne and I were the best of friends. We shared everything. Charles and David have been frantically looking for Vivienne’s missing child for the last six months, and I’ve helped out where I can. I’m the executor for her will, you know. So tell me, did they send you for testing?”
“Yes. Sort of. I mean, the lab came to the attorneys’ office.”
“Good.” She leaned back against the leather cushion. “That means they verified your story and believe you have a very strong claim. It’s way past time Vivienne’s estate was settled.” She folded her hands neatly on her lap. “Now, what can I do for you?”
The comment hit Kelsey as odd. Not relief that her friend’s long-lost daughter might be sitting in front of her, just relief that Vivienne’s estate could soon be settled.
Hunt leaned forward to rest his elbows on his knees. “We were mostly hoping you could give us some personal insight into Vivienne’s relationships. Did she ever mention a man named Graham Foster?”
Catarina frowned. “Many times. That man was a menace. He should have been put in jail a long, long time ago. I was always telling Vivienne to stop being so softhearted and have him locked up. But she would never listen. She was a fool when it came to men. Always was. Every man she was ever involved with either used her or ruined her.” She focused on Kelsey. “Word of advice, dear. Don’t be like your mother. Men are not to be trusted. Get a dog instead. Way better companions.”
Kelsey’s cheeks heated, and she fought back a smile as she looked at Hunt, who was trying not to roll his eyes, then at Catarina. Okay, maybe she was
n’t insensitive, just blunt as hell. “Thanks. I’ll remember that. But we don’t know for sure yet that she’s my mother.”
“Charles would not have sent you over here if he didn’t strongly suspect.”
That thought made Kelsey’s stomach roll all over again.
“Ms. Brunelli,” Hunt said, “we’ve heard speculation that Vivienne’s death was not an accident. Do you have any reason to believe that yourself?”
Catarina sighed. “Are you asking if I think she was murdered? My answer is yes. Charles and I have spoken at length about this. I was the first person he and David confided in when they were considering hiring a private investigator to look into her death. I absolutely believe her overdose was not an accident. Vivienne had too much to live for. Oh, I know some people think she was getting too old to keep working, but she had plenty of offers still rolling in, and she was quite happy living off her millions. Did you know she had a young lover in Italy? A twentysomething art student she met when she was vacationing at her villa there a few months before her death.” She sighed again. “You tell me what fiftysomething woman would foolishly overdose when she’s got a young stud like that warming her bed?”
Kelsey smirked. Apparently, according to Catarina Brunelli, men were to be enjoyed, just not trusted. She glanced at Hunt and made a mental note. He caught the mischievous look in her eye and sent her his own quizzical expression in return.
“Besides which,” Catarina went on, oblivious to their silent communication, “I never knew Vivienne to be careless about painkillers and alcohol. Yes, she loved her wine, but she never mixed the two. And I firmly believe Graham Foster had something to do with her death. He had an unhealthy obsession with Vivienne. Why, he filed a petition for half her estate before her body was even cold.”
Hunt looked back at the actress. “Yeah, we were made aware of that. Doesn’t sound like he has a strong case, though.”
She huffed. “I sure hope not. I would hate to see that man get a single penny of her money.”
Catarina turned her eyes toward Kelsey and leaned forward. “I don’t know what people have told you about Vivienne, dear, but most of the rumors you’ve read in the tabloids just aren’t true. Hollywood is a nasty place, and the paparazzi are vile creatures. Vivienne was a free spirit who lived her life without rules and without caring what most people thought of her. For that, I always admired her. The only things you should believe are her own words. She wrote in her biography how much she regretted giving you up. That was all true. She desperately wanted to find you.”