Harold said nothing.
Lex looked up, waited.
“What does my personal business have to do with my daughter’s murder or the ring theft?” His voice remained civil but slightly quieter. A small vein had risen along his temple. Lex had angered the notoriously quick-tempered mogul.
“Just covering the bases. I understand you’ve had some history with the old Epstein cartel.”
Silence.
“And that you and Epstein parted on bad terms?”
Harold stood abruptly. “My business is not on the table for discussion. This interview is over.”
“Doesn’t matter what’s on the table, Mr. Rothchild. If there is a vendetta against your family for some reason, bad business blood may be behind it. It could spell motive for murder. Revenge.” Lex paused for effect, cool as trademark granite on the outside. “Wouldn’t be the first time in Las Vegas history, now would it? We all know what kind of secrets were once buried out in that desert. Secrets that people might even to this day kill to keep buried. Epstein had…rather interesting connections.”
Harold’s voice was now dangerously quiet, the controlled expression on his face belied by the small bulging vein, the cords of tension at his neck. “If you’re alluding to a Mafia past, I—”
Jenna sat up suddenly, swiveling her tanned legs over the side of the deck chair. “It was strange that Mercedes Epstein crashed my auction and bid against me like that, Dad.”
Harold Rothchild cast his daughter a withering look.
Jenna met her father’s eyes, a little pulse at her neck beating in pace with her heart, a small droplet of perspiration at the hollow of her throat glimmering in the sunlight.
Now, this was interesting.
Lex watched, still seated, while Harold stood glowering down at his daughter, but neither Jenna nor her father moved. It was then that Lex noticed the shadowy form of Harold’s young trophy wife, Rebecca Lynn Rothchild, standing with a drink in her hand just inside the door of the wet bar, out of Harold’s line of sight. Listening.
Rebecca Lynn caught Lex looking and moved quickly back into the cool shadows of the house.
Even more interesting.
Unfortunately this little domestic interplay was going to force Lex into further contact with Jenna. She looked to be a possible weak link in the family facade right now. A chink into which he was going to need to force his crowbar and leverage open. Just as Quinn wanted him to.
Lex already knew there’d been no love lost between Rebecca Lynn and Candace, who’d been close in age to Harold’s newest wife. The LVMPD had looked closely at Rebecca Lynn as a possible person of interest in Candace’s homicide because of it, but had uncovered nothing but a latent hostility. Lex wondered how well Jenna got on with her daddy’s latest Mrs. Rothchild.
And by the look in Jenna eyes, not all was peaches between her and her daddy, right now, either.
Lex got to his feet, pocketing his notebook. “Thank you for your time, Jenna, Mr. Rothchild. I’ll show myself out.”
Harold moved in front of him, swift as a predatory mountain lion in spite of his age. He motioned with his hand, and Clive appeared as if from nowhere. “Actually, Agent Duncan, Clive will show you the door.” He dismissed Lex with a curt nod of his silver head.
But as Lex entered the house, Harold called out behind him. “And you can forget pug-nosed mafiosos, Agent Duncan. Las Vegas cleaned up its mob act a long time ago, in case you hadn’t noticed. The new Vegas has risen.”
Yeah, right on top of dirty old mob money, thought Lex as Clive shut the massive front door behind him. The ghosts and secrets were buried in the same foundations.
Same snakes, different skin.
He was going to get Perez right onto checking with the FBI’s economic crimes division in New York to see what they were digging up on Epstein. Might find more than one skeleton. More than one closet.
And he was beginning to think one of them might just belong to Harold Rothchild.
“You do know where The Tears of the Quetzal came from.” Jenna glared at her father. “I swear I can tell by the way you answered Agent Duncan.”
“I told you, Jenna, I can’t say where it comes from.”
“Can’t, or won’t? What’s the deal with that rock, Dad? What’re you trying to hide from me? And why?”
He checked his watch. “Are you going to be home for dinner, sweetheart? We can chat then. I’ve got a conference call coming in at—”
“Don’t brush me off. Not this time. You were the one who asked me to get involved in this.”
“Jenna, sweetheart—”
“That’s always it, isn’t it—Jenna, sweetheart. Your sweet little Jenna Jayne, your youngest daughter who hero-worships her daddy and will do anything for him. Including seduce the cop on his case. Yet you won’t treat me like an equal, like a damn adult, like you treat and talk to every other member of this godforsaken family!”