Insidious

“Sherlock and I will be over as soon as we can.” Savich punched off his cell, pulled Sean against him, hugged him, kissed him. “Captain Isbad will have to wait to beat your mama another night, although from the looks of it, you’ve already got her on the ropes. We have to go out.”

Sean pulled back in his father’s arms, studied his face. “Papa, be careful, okay? And take good care of Mama?”

“It’s not like that, Sean, but yes, we’ll take care of each other. Are you ready, Sherlock?”

“Yes, it’s time. I’ll tell Gabriella we’re leaving.”

* * *

Isabel ushered them into the mansion. “The family is upstairs, in the sitting area across the hall from Ms. Venus’s bedroom door, arguing, of course, now that Rob and his girlfriend have arrived.”

No surprise in that. Savich and Sherlock followed Isabel up the wide staircase. Isabel said over her shoulder, “Mr. Sullivan has arrived as well. Ms. Venus told me to seat him in the living room. She wants to speak to you first, Dillon.”

They found Guthrie, Alexander and Rob grouped together across from Venus’s bedroom, Marsia off to the side on a settee, speaking in voices too low to hear until Guthrie said out loud, “Enough is enough. I want to see my mother.” He stepped toward the closed bedroom door only to draw up when one of Venus’s guards barred his way.

Isabel stepped in, calling out, “Ms. Venus made it clear she doesn’t want anyone with her, Mr. Rasmussen, except her doctor and Agent Savich.”

Guthrie whirled around to frown at Savich.

Veronica said, “Dillon, come quickly, Dr. Pruitt said he was alarmed at how anxious she is to see you, and to show you in immediately. Let me tell Venus you’re here.”

“No, Veronica, please stay here with the family.” He looked at each face, then at Rob and Marsia Gay, who gave him a tired smile. He nodded to Sherlock.

“Dr. Pruitt insists Grandmother wants to speak to you, but that’s absurd. I don’t even know why you’re here.” Savich turned as Alexander took a step toward him. “What could she possibly have to say to you that she can’t say to us? What is this about? You’re not even a blood relation, much as you may wish to be—instead of a loser cop.”

Savich smiled, knowing it would only infuriate Alexander more. Sherlock said from behind Alexander, “Don’t tell Dillon’s mother that, Alexander, she might shoot you.”

“Well, that would be par for the course, wouldn’t it? Guns and violence, that’s what you’re both about, like my little brother here.”

Savich was pleased Rob kept his cool. “We’re all here because Grandmother asked us to be, Alexander. I have as much right to be here as you do, as much as you may hate that fact.”

“That’s enough, both of you.” Guthrie laid his hand on Alexander’s shoulder. He took one last look at the guard, at Savich. “We will do as Mother wants. Come along now, we’ll go downstairs.”

Alexander shook off his father’s hand. “And what, Dad? Have a drink?”

Guthrie shook his head, gave his eldest son a long look, and walked away.

Savich didn’t give anyone time to say anything else, though he heard Rob call out his name. He nodded to Sherlock and slipped into Venus’s bedroom, closing the door quietly behind him. As he flipped the lock, he heard Glynis’s voice, high and out of breath from running up the stairs, then her mother, Hildi’s, voice behind her, panting a bit, begging her to slow down.

He heard Glynis say, “So the gang’s all here, I see. And handsome Rob as well. And the girlfriend. What was your name again?” She looked at Marsia but continued before she could speak, “Why all the excitement? Did one of you try to murder Grandmother again?”

Savich heard a babble of indignant, angry voices, Sherlock’s calm voice sounding clearly over the lot of them. He turned to see Venus sitting up in bed, looking too pale. Dr. Pruitt was standing near the windows, speaking on his cell phone with someone at the hospital. He looked up, slowly nodded to Savich, and continued his conversation.

“Venus, everyone’s here. Sherlock’s in charge of crowd control outside your bedroom. How are you?”

Venus waved her hand. “I could hear them all arguing from in here. Of course, Alexander, primarily, accusing Rob of coming back only to murder me and Ms. Gay of being Rob’s accomplice, though how that would work, I don’t have the faintest idea.

“It always amazes me that Alexander never runs out of vitriol.” She sighed. “Of course Alexander would be very happy if you simply disappeared, Dillon.” She gave him a grin. “Sherlock is right, your mother would shoot him. I remember Buck, your daddy, what a man he was. Always ready for a joke, yet he could turn on a dime, and you’d see the FBI agent, flat eyes, all cop. I do miss him.” She paused a moment, as if garnering her strength. “Come sit by me, Dillon. There’s a powerful brew of emotions on the other side of that door. Volatile. All of them are afraid I’m about to pass to the hereafter, worried about what I’ve left them, hoping they won’t be accused of trying to kill me. I do hope Sherlock will keep them apart.”

Savich eased down on the bed next to her, took her hand. Her hands revealed her age, thick veins riding high beneath her parchment skin. But her nails were lovely, painted a soft pink. “You’ve never been a pessimist, Venus, so don’t start now. They’re all more worried about you than how much money you’ve left them. They all love you. Regardless of Alexander’s antics, he loves you, too.”

“Sometimes I wonder, Dillon. I wonder.”

“Don’t wonder. It’s the truth, Venus. You must have heard Guthrie saying he was going downstairs, probably to escape the unpleasantness with a visit to the bourbon bottle.”

“Poor Guthrie,” Venus said. “He can’t face life, any unpleasantness, never could. Angie protected him, but then she died and he dove into the bottle. He simply fell off the earth. It’s been downhill for the last twenty years. Even working for Rasmussen didn’t change his course.”

“Rob’s back. We’ll see what Guthrie does about his youngest son. It might make a difference. Mr. Sullivan is downstairs in the living room. Are you ready to call him up?”

She sighed. “In a moment. I suppose I’m pleased you don’t believe Alexander guilty, at least. He worries me so. I seem to have failed to teach him how to appreciate the people he works with, to value their creativity, help them flourish. He won’t succeed unless he learns that, and so far I’ve failed—oh dear, I should shut up.” The hand he held was shaking. “Maybe I should die, or step down, just go away, and let Alexander have whatever he wants. Maybe I should accept that I’m just an old lady causing a lot of trouble.”