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respects about the ranch’s security. There was an obvious breach. Two of the guards were homicide victims, but there are two others who were on duty who’re missing. We’re working with a man named Neptune Brady. Do you know him?”

      Mace said, “Neptune has been under Guy’s employ for a while…first in the business and then he took him as his personal head of security.”

      “Why?” Grant asked. “Do you suspect him?”

      “Just gathering information,” Decker repeated. “What did Brady specifically do in the business?”

      “I’m not sure,” Mace said. “I’m East Coast-based.

      Grant said, “He’s a licensed private detective. He did some freelance work. There were some numbers not adding up in the accounting office—embezzling. Dad put Neptune on the cases and he did good work. So Dad being Dad offered him a full-time job at the Coyote Ranch as head of security at an exorbitant salary.”

      “He was a generous guy?” Marge asked.

      “Generous one minute, a tightwad the next. You never knew how his pocketbook would swing. Dad was paying Neptune a fortune, but Dad insisted that was how you kept them loyal.”

      “Do you get along with Mr. Brady?”

      Grant said, “Neutral. We don’t have much to do with each other.”

      “What about you?” Marge asked Mace.

      “I barely know him. You think he did it?”

      “We’re just gathering information,” Marge said. “You said something about your dad hiring delinquents?”

      “What are you talking about?”

      “You mentioned that your father hired security guards who were former delinquents.”

      “Yeah, Gil mentioned something about that to me. Is someone going to check up on my brother?” Grant looked at his two underlings. “Joe, find out what’s happening with Mr. Kaffey.”

      After the assistant left, Decker said, “Can you help me sort out the specifics of the company? For starters, how many people does Kaffey Industries employ?”

      “At the height of the real estate boom, maybe a thousand,” Grant told him. “Now we’re down to around eight hundred. Six fifty on the West Coast, and Mace and I got about a hundred and fifty working for us.”

      “You’re real estate developers?” Marge asked.

      “Primarily,” Grant said.

      “Shopping malls?”

      “Primarily.”

      Decker said, “Have you two always worked on the East Coast?”

      “Dad decided to expand about ten years ago. At first, we were commuting bicoastally. Then we decided to relocate.”

      “My wife’s from New York,” Mace said. “She jumped at the opportunity to move back east. Guy still came out every month. Not necessary for him to do so, but my brother has a hard time delegating. Grant can back me up on that.”

      “Dad’s a workaholic,” Grant told him. “He not only keeps long hours, he expects everyone else to keep long hours.”

      “Is that a problem?” Marge asked.

      “Not with us, because we’re three thousand miles away,” Grant said. “My brother gets the brunt end. Dad accuses us of being soft because we have a life. But that’s just Dad being Dad.” Tears formed in his eyes. “Dad came from humble beginnings.”

      “We both did,” Mace said with a bristle. “My father came over from Europe with nothing. He opened a small appliance repair shop back when people still repaired things. He was frugal and saved and managed to buy a couple of apartment buildings. Guy and I parlayed our dad’s holdings into an empire.”

      Grant gave his uncle a hard stare and then turned his irritation on Decker. “What does this have to do with his murder?”

      “Just trying to get a feel for your family, Mr. Kaffey. It helps to know some background. I’m sorry if you find the questions intrusive.”

      Marge stepped in. “Was your father having problems with anything specific? Maybe the embezzling accountant?”

      “He was actually an account executive,” Mace said. “Milfred Connors. I think there was talk of a lawsuit, but Guy paid him off.”

      “Son of a bitch,” Grant said. “He steals and then he threatens to sue.”

      Marge wrote down the name. “So why pay him off?”

      “Because it’s easier than a protracted legal battle,” Mace told her.

      Grant said, “We had enough lawsuits going already.” He backtracked. “Nothing out of the ordinary. Some we initiated. Some were initiated against us.”

      Mace said, “What about Cyclone Inc., Grant? They were really pissed when we pulled the permits for the Greenridge Project.” He turned to Decker. “They’ve been impeding the project for years. We finally got all the permits and approvals, so they don’t have a leg to stand on.”

      Decker said, “Why is Cyclone Inc. pissed at you?”

      Grant said, “They own the Percivil Galleria and Bennington Mall—both of which have been around for twenty or thirty years. Bennington was knocked for a loop by the Woodbury Commons—one of the busiest outlet malls in the country. But Percivil was doing all right because it’s across the Hudson where there isn’t competition.”

      “Then we came on the scene,” Mace said. “Kaffey is developing a state-of-the-art mall that’s going to blow the Galleria out of the water.”

      Grant said, “Not only will it include almost every chain and luxury goods store, we’re in the process of developing a resort hotel with two Tumi Addams-designed golf courses.”

      Mace said, “One indoors, one outdoors.”

      “Golf year-round. Plus we’ve signed on with some of the country’s best chefs to open up restaurants.”

      “Wow,” Marge said. “That would blow any existing mall away.”

      “Exactly!” Mace crowed.

      Decker asked, “Where exactly is the development?”

      “Upstate New York in Clarence County surrounded by some of the most beautiful land that ever existed,” Mace said. “The area is filled with ecological nuts, but we did our due diligence. We’ve filed all the necessary environmental impact reports. The whole project is going to be green.”

      “Cyclone’s been raising a stink about graft and corruption,” Grant said. “Totally unfounded accusations. Assholes! They’ve already sicced the county tax assessors on our books. We came away clean. We’ve got nothing to hide!”

      “Who’s the CEO of Cyclone?” Decker asked.

      “Paul Pritchard.” Grant paused. “He’s an asshole, but murder?”

      Mace said, “Our project will kill his last profitable mall, Grant. Pritchard’s a bastard, and I wouldn’t put anything past him.” He turned to Decker. “Check him out.”

      “We will,” Marge said. “Getting back to the more immediate, does Gil live near your father?”

      “Gil lives in L.A. Dad lives on the ranch and in Palos Verde Peninsula. The company is headquartered in Irvine.”

      Decker raised an eyebrow. “Not so far from Palos Verdes but far from Coyote Ranch.”

      “That was the purpose,” Grant said. “When Dad wanted to get away, he wanted to get away. Initially he bought the property for Mom and her horses, but Dad came to love it. Mostly they entertained at the Palos Verdes house, but every

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