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which he’d entitled “A Man’s Life.” Evelyn sat quietly beside her as she skimmed through the text. She found it engrossing. Daniel had a pleasant, readable prose style. What’s more, the files added up to hundreds of pages. Lydia suspected it was three-quarters complete. Another five files contained copious notes. She wondered if Polly would want to finish the book in memory of her father.
    She glanced through the files concerning Daniel’s finances and investments and was stunned to discover that his assets totaled close to thirty million dollars.
    “I can see why Arnold and Denise weren’t happy their father was about to remarry,” Lydia said.
    “Out of spite. They couldn’t care less on a personal level.”
    Lydia smiled. “I must say, Daniel’s new will is the opposite of what we’ve come to expect in this age of prenup agreements.”
    Evelyn’s nod was knowing. “Believe me, his lawyers worked long and hard to change his mind, but Daniel stood firm. He trusted me more than his two older kids.” She laughed. “I don’t need his money. Daniel left me this house and our place in Florida, and I intend to make good use of both. As for the money, Arnold and Denise are welcome to it when I’m gone.”
    With the new will in effect, Lydia thought it preposterous that either Arnold or Denise had murdered Daniel. They simply didn’t benefit from their father’s death. Unless one of them was so angry—Lydia shook her head. She didn’t want to contemplate patricide.
    “I’m bringing up a file called “suspects.”
    Evelyn peered at the screen. “It seems to be written in code.”
    Lydia squinted. She was too caught up in what was before her to get out her reading glasses. “No, simply abbreviated words. There are three paragraphs, each headed by two initials. The first is R. M.”
    “Ron Morganstern,” Evelyn said.
    “M. D. That’s Mick Diminio, I imagine. And B. E.” She looked questioningly at Evelyn. “Do you know who that is?”
    “Probably Billy Evans. He was an old friend of Daniel’s when they were kids. I think he lived in California until he died several years ago.”
    “Three childhood friends,” Lydia mused. “Was Daniel still friendly with Ron?”
    Evelyn shook her head. “I didn’t know they knew each other from childhood until a few weeks ago. Ron or Mick Diminio. Daniel called them both. Afterward he told me to invite them to his party, so I did.”
    “And they came,” Lydia murmured. “So Daniel couldn’t have accused either of them of murder before the party.”
    The notes didn’t tell her very much. The headings were dates, followed by what appeared to be streets, locations, and times of day. Most of the entries ended with a series of question marks.
    Lydia turned to Evelyn, who sat weeping silently into her hands.
    “Evelyn, dear,” she crooned, putting an arm around her. “We shouldn’t be doing this now. You’re grieving.”
    “This is exactly what I should be doing,” Evelyn said as staunchly as she could through her tears. “I’m determined to find the rotten bastard who killed my Daniel.” She turned imploringly to Lydia. “You’ll help me, won’t you? You’re good at finding murderers.”
    “I’ll do my best,” Lydia said, not knowing what else to say.
    A framed penciled sketch of a young teenaged boy on yellowed paper caught her attention. It stood on a bookshelf among photos of Daniel and his children, Evelyn and her daughter’s family, and Daniel and Evelyn.
    “Is that Daniel?” Lydia asked, recognizing the narrow face, the intelligent eyes.
    “Yes. Timmy John Desmond drew it,” Evelyn replied. “He was a friend of Daniel’s when they were young. Daniel said he would have become a famous artist.”
    “What happened to him?”
    Evelyn shrugged. “Nobody knows. He came to live with relatives on Long Island. Then one day he simply disappeared and no one ever saw him again.”

Chapter Seven
    Lydia was about to ask Evelyn what she knew