I was shaking my head. “I guess Teddy’s back in town.”
“Yep, which probably means they’ve signed off on the settlement.”
“How’d she come out of the deal?”
“I haven’t heard. I know she went into the marriage without a dime to her name, and here she is again, dependent on him to fund her lifestyle, only in monthly increments.”
“How long were they married?”
“Eighteen years. Maybe seventeen. Somewhere in that neighborhood.”
“She must have done okay, don’t you think?”
“Hard to tell. She gets spousal support I’m sure, but other than that, he was determined to keep what was his and she wanted what she was owed. Vanity Fair ran a four-page spread, detailing their shenanigans.”
“I’m sorry I missed that. What were they fighting over?”
“The big bone of contention was their art collection. He knew nothing about art and had no interest in collecting until she talked him into it. Once they split, he claimed the art on the grounds that he assumed all the risk.”
“Why didn’t they just add it all up and each take half? I thought that’s how community property worked.”
“I’m sure they’re liquidating what they can, which is no fun for either one of them. She gave up her stake in the Montebello property, which she couldn’t afford to maintain. There’s a flat in London that ended up on her side of the ledger. She’d be better off taking up residency in the UK, where at least she can start fresh. Even with spousal support, she’ll have a tough time maintaining her lifestyle.”
“She should have just forgiven the transgression and kept the life she loved.”
“Absolutely. I forgot to mention the bombshell widow was Teddy’s best friend, which made the blow more devastating.”
“What happened to the widow?”
“Ari married her last month and they’re about to take off on a delayed honeymoon. Can’t remember where. Someplace pricy and remote. That’s the new trend. Used to be you’d book a spot everybody knew about so they’d appreciate the exorbitant expense. Now you pick a resort so exclusive, no one’s ever heard of it. It’s even better if it’s difficult to reach and requires your chartering a private jet. Does any of this help?”
“Information is always good, and the more the merrier. It still frosts my butt she put one over on me. What’s her game?”
“Beats me.”
“Well, whatever it is, if there’s a way to trip her up, I’ll be happy to pitch in.”
I left Vera’s house twenty minutes later, thinking she’d want to catch a few winks of sleep herself while the little ones were down. Her mention of the Xanakises’ art collection renewed my interest in the art theft Nash mentioned in his initial visit. I’d dismissed the idea of a wealthy socialite stealing art unless she’d been desperate for cash. Clever as she was, she might have been perfectly willing to snitch a painting and then accept payment for its return. Possible she didn’t even view it as a crime, just a minor fiddle between friends and no harm done. She probably knew who owned all the pricy pieces in Montebello and what security was in place protecting them. She might even have known which collections were properly insured and which were not.
Once back at the office, I banished thoughts of Teddy and redirected my attention to April Staehlings and the delivery of the memorabilia that had been left to her. It seemed politic to call in advance. I had no idea how much she’d been told about her mother’s death. She was three at the time and I doubted she remembered Lenore at all. Ned had probably raised her on a sanitized version of the truth, if not an outright lie. With Lenore dead, he could frame the story any way he liked, and who was there to contradict him? Aside from that, I was uncomfortable with the notion of arriving on April’s doorstep if she was unprepared.
I hauled out the phone book and found the Staehlings’ number listed in the white pages, along with their home address. I punched in the number and listened to the ringing on the other end, rehearsing my summary of the long and convoluted story. An answering machine would have been a blessing, but not one I was accorded.
“Hello?”
“May I speak to April?”
“This is she.”
Metaphorically speaking, I took a deep breath and stepped off the edge of the cliff. “My name is Kinsey Millhone. I have a mailing pouch in my possession that contains personal items your mother wanted you to have.”
“You have a what?”
