he worked at Hudson & Davidson through the main part of the investigation, so he must know something. I thought he could at least get his stepfather to meet with me, only he didn’t give me much chance to talk. But I can tell you one thing, Matt Hollister sure got uptight when I mentioned Peter Davidson. What can you tell me about Mr. Davidson? I don’t remember him very well.”
Aunt Dee pulled several items from the refrigerator, frowning slightly. “He was focused and dedicated. We became friends with Peter and his first wife at William’s last posting in Guam. It was Peter who suggested that Will go back to school and get a degree in accounting when he left the navy. That way they could go into business together when they were both out of the service.”
Layne scribbled a note on her pad. “I see. Is that why Mr. Davidson moved to the Seattle area, because you guys were here?”
“Yes, though by that time Shelley, his first wife, had died in an accident. I think that’s why he didn’t come to the house that much—it reminded him of those years when we were all so close.”
Not close enough, Layne added silently. Peter Davidson had hung his old friend out to dry the minute a whiff of scandal appeared.
“Anyway,” Aunt Dee said, “Will started an accounting firm when he got his degree instead of going to work for someone else, and when Peter took twenty-year retirement from the navy, he moved here. William sold him half the company so they’d be equal partners. By that time Peter had already made a fortune on the stock market.”
Layne stared at her aunt who was working at the sink. “You mean the company originally belonged to Uncle Will? I thought they’d started it together.”
“In a way they did—they expanded beyond accounting and the company grew exponentially after that, with huge corporate accounts and an A-list of wealthy clients.”
“I see.” Layne gazed out at the wooded backyard. The house faced on a shallow creek gorge and the yard took advantage of a divine natural setting. Whenever possible over the past seven months she’d helped with the upkeep of the property, though Aunt Dee was awfully touchy about it. “But if Mr. Davidson came out of the mess so clean, why won’t his stepson talk about what happened?”
“Who knows? It could mean anything from a bad relationship with his stepfather to concern about negative press coverage—it isn’t necessarily sinister.”
“I suppose.”
Matt Hollister had annoyed Layne, mostly because he was rich and spoiled and no doubt playing at philanthropy the way he’d played at everything else. There were men like him who’d changed their ways, but they weren’t usually thirty-two and in the prime of their life.
“I wonder how long he’s going to last running the Eisley Foundation?” she mused aloud.
“Is it important?” Her aunt put a plate of Cobb salad in front of Layne.
“Not really, though it isn’t as if he earned the job.”
Dee sat down with her own salad. “The Eisley Foundation does important work. Mr. Eisley earned a fortune in the shipping industry and lumber business, then funneled half of it into humanitarian causes.”
“I know, he’s the Andrew Carnegie of the Pacific Northwest,” Layne said, waving her fork. “But that’s the grandfather, not the grandson. After getting out of college Matthew Hollister mostly partied hard, drove fast and dated supermodels.”
Her research on him wasn’t flattering. Honestly, why did some women think a man who partied every night and risked his life in race cars and doing other dumb things was sexy? Except...Matt Hollister was sexy, his exploits notwithstanding. So sexy he’d tied her tongue into knots. She had to view him as a fact to be researched, instead of letting her feminine instincts jump in and turn her into a stuttering idiot.
“It’s a private foundation, Lani. Mr. Eisley can name anyone to the job. Including his grandson.”
“I suppose.” Layne took a bite of salad. Mmm. It was loaded with blue cheese, hard-boiled eggs and bacon, along with thick chunks of avocado. Not to mention her aunt’s homemade croutons, with fresh-baked yeast rolls on the side. “This is so good,” she murmured.
“It isn’t hard to make.”
“You don’t think anything is hard to make.”
* * *
DOROTHY HUDSON SMILED, trying to hide her concern. Her niece looked tired, no doubt from the late nights she’d spent in Will’s home office. Perhaps she shouldn’t have asked Layne to investigate, but it was hard not knowing why her life had fallen apart. And while she didn’t want to be mercenary, she’d lose everything they’d built together if she didn’t get more than twenty-five thousand dollars from the sale of the company.
She’d talked herself hoarse to the police, calling every day and asking if they’d made any progress. Finally they’d referred her to the Carrollton D.A.’s office, who’d told her in no uncertain terms that while the case was technically open, the only continuing investigation would be to find the stolen money. But it kept bothering her. How could she accept what other people said about William, rather than what she felt in her heart? And lately she could barely sleep for thinking about it.
She believed he was innocent, didn’t she?
Sure, a few years ago, Will and Peter had built an expensive new complex for the company. The cost was astronomical, but they’d felt it presented the right image to clients. But then Will’s father had gotten sick. The elder Hudsons hadn’t had health insurance, so she and Will had helped out to make sure the best treatment was available. Their savings and investments were depleted, putting them in debt for the first time in years.
But millions of people had debts and didn’t resort to theft, and Will had always been so optimistic and scrupulously honest; it was one of the things Dorothy had loved about him. Suicide and embezzling were the last things she would have expected.
“I have to say that Eisley Foundation building has the most scrumptious view of Lake Union,” Layne said, distracting Dorothy from darker thoughts. “If I was Matthew Hollister, I’d just move in and make his office my living room. I nearly died of envy on the spot.”
Dorothy cocked her head. “Don’t you like your house?”
“Yes, and I wouldn’t have my garden in North Seattle, so it evens out. He was defensive about their upscale location, but I already knew the stuff he spouted about the Eisley Foundation restoring the neighborhood.”
“They’ve been criticized over the years for being there,” Dorothy admitted. “People forget how bad that area used to be. They just see that it’s pricey real estate and question a charitable trust operating in the middle of so much affluence.”
Layne gasped in mock horror. “You mean the press criticized old Mr. Eisley, too? I thought he’d been granted sainthood.”
“Almost. What did you hope Mr. Hollister could tell you?”
“More details about the embezzlement, for one thing. The police won’t release the evidence against Uncle Will or anything else about the thefts, and it’s difficult to investigate when you don’t have a clue what you’re trying to find out. But I’ll get another chance to talk to him.”
Dorothy
