Sidney Sheldon's Angel of the Dark by Sidney Sheldon, Tilly Bagshawe Page B

them with little for the finer things in life.
    â€œWhat’s she bitching about this time?” Matt’s sister, Claire, was not a fan of her sister-in-law.
    â€œShe doesn’t like funerals,” said Matt loyally.
    â€œProbably scared somebody’s going to shine perpetual light upon her and we’ll all get to see the scars from her latest eye lift.”
    Matt grinned. He loved Claire. He loved his wife too, but even he was beginning to come to the painful realization that the feeling was probably no longer mutual.
    On the drive back to L.A. after the funeral, Matt tried to build bridges with Raquel.
    â€œI’m about to start working on a new idea,” he told her. “Something different. A documentary.”
    The faintest flicker of interest played in her eyes. “A documentary? Who for?”
    â€œWell, no one yet,” Matt admitted. “I’m writing it on spec.”
    The flicker died. Just what we need, thought Raquel. Another unsold spec script.
    â€œIt’s about my father,” Matt pressed on. “My biological father.”
    Raquel yawned. To be honest, she’d forgotten that Harry Daley wasn’t Matt’s real dad. Harry had married Matt’s mom when Matt was a toddler and Claire a baby in arms.
    â€œI found out recently that he was murdered more than a decade ago.”
    If this piece of news was intended to shock Raquel, or even pique her interest, it failed. “People get murdered every day in this city, Matthew. Why would anyone want to sit through an hour of television about your unknown father’s demise?”
    â€œAh, but that’s the thing,” said Matt, warming to his theme. “He wasn’t unknown. He was an art dealer in Beverly Hills. Famous, at least in L.A. And seriously rich.”
    Now he had Raquel’s attention. “You never mentioned this to me before. How rich?”
    â€œFilthy rich,” said Matt. “We’re talking hundreds of millions of dollars.”
    â€œ Hundreds of millions? My God, Matt,” Raquel gasped, swerving dangerously across lanes of traffic. “What happened to all the money?”
    â€œIt went to his widow,” said Matt, matter-of-factly.
    â€œWhat, all of it? What about you and Claire?”
    â€œMe and Claire? Oh, come on, honey. We hadn’t had any contact with him for over thirty years.”
    â€œSo?” Raquel’s pupils dilated excitedly. “You’re his children, his blood relatives. Maybe you could contest the will?”
    Matt laughed. “On what grounds? It was his money to leave as he chose. But anyway, you’re missing the point. The story gets juicier.”
    Raquel struggled to imagine anything juicier than a payout of hundreds of millions, but she forced herself to listen.
    â€œThe widow, who was only in her early twenties at the time, and who was violently raped by whoever killed my old man, gave all the cash away to children’s charities. Every last penny. It was the biggest single charitable gift in L.A. history. But barely anybody knows about it because instead of sticking around to bask in the glory, this chick hops on a plane just weeks after the murder and disappears. Literally vanishes off the face of the earth and is never heard of again. It’s wild, isn’t it? Don’t you think it’s a great story?”
    Raquel didn’t give a damn about Matt’s stupid story. What sort of man didn’t lift a finger to stake his claim to a multimillion-dollar fortune? She’d married a cretin.
    â€œHow come you never brought this up before?”
    The anger in her voice was unmistakable. Matt’s spirits sank. Why do I always seem to make her angry?
    â€œTo be honest, I sort of forgot about it. I heard about it a few months ago, but I thought it might upset Dad if I showed too much of an interest, so I let it go. But now that Harry’s gone, I figure it couldn’t hurt to explore it.