Tangled Souls by Jana Oliver

encouraged Janet to stand up to her,” Gregory admitted as he sank into a leather chair. Gavenia sat on the couch, averting her eyes from the picture of little Bradley on the end table. According to the maid, the child’s ghost was increasingly restive.
    The grieving father took a long sip of the strong coffee. He’d poured the steaming liquid from the Starbucks cup into his own and then added an overly generous helping of whiskey. Gavenia barely kept the exasperated expression off her face. His beard was filling in, adding years to his age. The bags under his eyes had a weight of their own, indicative of too much booze and too little sleep. Unfortunately, Gavenia didn’t have good news.
    “Your wife isn’t staying in Palm Springs, despite what your mother-in-law told you.”
    Gregory gave her a puzzled look. “Then why did Augusta say she was?”
    Gavenia shrugged. “Is she in the habit of running interference for Janet?”
    A quick nod. “Mommie Dreadful always bailed her out of whatever mess she got into. Then she would lecture her about what a disappointment she was.”
    “That had to hurt.”
    Gregory’s eyes softened. “It was hard for Janet. I think that’s why she started taking drugs. Her way of trying to cope.” He looked down at the cup of doctored coffee and held it aloft as if it were Exhibit A. “I’m not doing much better.”
    “You’re in a rough patch. You’ll get through it.”
    He shook his head. “I don’t think so. Not without Bradley.”
    Gavenia didn’t want to think about what that meant. “Where else might your wife be staying?”
    “We have a beach house in Malibu, a cabin in Washington State, and a flat in London.” He thought for a moment. “She’s not in London; her passport’s still in her desk.”
    “Could she have left the dog with someone—a friend perhaps?”
    He took a big gulp of the coffee; his hands exhibited a fine tremor not unlike the one that plagued her.
    “She has a friend named Paula.” Another sip of coffee. “She lives in Glendale.”
    “If you have no objections, I’ll give her a call,” Gavenia said.
    “Fine.” He didn’t move, staring at the contents of his coffee cup.
    “Do you have her phone number?”
    He blanked for a moment, then gestured. She followed him down the long hall into a bright room filled with light oak furniture.
    As he rummaged through his wife’s desk in search of the phone number, Gavenia inventoried the walls. She found a number of pictures of Janet and Bradley in loving poses, in contrast to Gregory’s assertion that his wife was an indifferent mother. Then a framed piece made her gasp. It was an obituary. She reread the name, just in case she’d made a mistake.
    “I see you found it,” Gregory remarked as he thumbed through a leather-bound address book.
    “I don’t understand,” Gavenia said, removing the frame from the wall to study the newspaper clipping in detail. “This says your mother-in-law died two years ago, but I talked with her yesterday.”
    “A screw-up. There was a private plane crash in Belgium and we were told Augusta was on the flight. The press jumped on it and ran the obituary before it was officially confirmed. Augusta was furious and sued the newspaper.”
    “I see.” Gavenia skimmed the piece, the final testimony of a person’s earthly accomplishments. Mrs. Pearce was respected, even feared, but not loved. The list of survivors held another revelation: Janet wasn’t the only child. An older daughter, Emily, lived in the Los Angeles area.
    “I’ve got Em’s number,” Gregory crowed, pointing to an entry in the address book. The reaction seemed overblown, as if he’d just discovered the Holy Grail.
    He needs to feel useful , Bart’s soft voice explained. He stood near the doorway, quietly observing the scene.
    “That’s great,” Gavenia said, trying to sound supportive. “Do you have Emily’s address as well?”
    Gregory’s face clouded. “Em? I can try to find it. We