Crocker took a big swallow from his bottle, but kept looking at his computer screen. “You’re right. And I think she hit pay dirt. You probably know that your family has more than its share of nutcases.”

James tensed but couldn’t deny it.

“The Cahill and Amhurst family tree has a lot of branches and roots and is a real clusterfuck when it comes to the gene pool.”

He knew that much. His full name was James Amhurst Cahill; his mother was an Amhurst, a child born to one of his grandfather’s mistresses. She ended up marrying his stepfather, Nick, a Cahill.

“And you, my friend,” Rowdy said in awe, “you’re one of the few heirs to the Amhurst fortune. It’s not the Cahills who will make you rich, though they’ll do their part, but the Amhursts . . .” He let out a long, low whistle, and Ralph, from beneath the table, lifted his head, ears pricked.

“I have sisters. And a relative in San Francisco with a couple of kids. They’ll inherit.”

“Will they?”

James tensed.

“Your grandfather’s will. He left the lion’s share of a huge estate to you. Almost all of it. In trust. Your sisters? Not so much. And that half-sister, Cissy, she gets a nice chunk of change, but you, my friend, are the big winner in the Family Fortune Sweepstakes!”

James asked, “What does the inheritance have to do with Charity Spritz and her murder?”

“Well, that’s just the thing, isn’t it? Remember I said there was this pretty messed-up and comingled gene pool where all sorts of Cahills and Amhursts were involved with each other, with kids conceived out of marriage, those who were once called ‘illegitimate,’ though that’s not PC today. You had a whacked-out half-cousin or something, a woman who did some major damage a few years back, right? Like your mother’s half-sister’s secret daughter or something.”

“Something like that.”

“Created a lot of scandal.”

“At the least.” The woman had terrorized Cissy, nearly driven her insane. Cissy had barely survived.

“Right.” Crocker nodded, agreeing with himself. “A real nutjob. Well, guess what?”

James’s stomach knotted. He didn’t know what was coming, but he sensed it was bad. Real bad. “I couldn’t.”

“I haven’t got all of the details yet,” Rowdy admitted, “but it looks like she had a kid before she started all of the mayhem for your family. A daughter, I think, though I don’t have all the details. And she gave the kid up for adoption through—drum roll, please”—he waited expectantly and looked a little deflated when James didn’t respond—“through Cahill House, of course, that place in San Francisco your own family started for pregnant teens.”

James’s bad feeling was getting worse by the second. “So what exactly are you getting at?”