Envy(135)

He shook his head and laughed softly. “Maris, I have no idea what you’re talking about. I might have come in here that morning. Frankly, I don’t remember if I did or not. But since when is this room off limits to me? From the time we began dating, I’ve been in this room hundreds of times. When I make private calls I usually close the door. Everybody does. If this is about Nadia—”

“It isn’t,” she said tersely. “I don’t give a damn about Nadia or anyone else you sleep with.”

He gave her a look that said he seriously doubted that. She wanted to strike him, to pound the conceit out of his expression. “I also spoke to the authorities in Massachusetts.”

“My, my, you’ve been a busy girl.”

“I questioned their ruling that Dad’s death was accidental.” She hadn’t struck him physically, as she would have liked to. All the same, her statement rid him of a measure of arrogance. His smile grew a little stiff, as though it had congealed. His spine straightened. “Honoring my request, they’ve agreed to reinvestigate. This time they’ll be looking for evidence.”

That brought him to his feet. “Evidence of what?”

“We have an appointment with Chief of Police Randall tomorrow to discuss their findings,” she informed him coldly. “I suggest you be there.”


* * *


The burg’s police department had a staff of six—one chief, four patrolmen, and a clerk who also served as dispatcher and official town gossip. The department handled minor emergencies such as broken-down snowplows and lost pets, parking tickets when tourists passing through stayed too long in an antique shop, and an occasional DUI.

By big-city standards, the gossip wasn’t all that scandalous. It might revolve around who had recently gone to New York City for a face-lift, who was selling their country house to a movie star who futilely wished to remain anonymous, and who had checked their daughter-gone-wild into drug rehab after a tempestuous family intervention. Residents could safely leave their homes and cars unlocked because thefts were rare.

The last homicide in the county had occurred during Lyndon Johnson’s administration. It had been an open-and-shut case. The culprit had confessed to the killing when police arrived at the scene.

The department’s lack of experience as crime solvers worked in Maris’s disfavor. But it worked to her advantage in that a murder investigation stimulated more enthusiasm than tacking up notices of a lost kitty or setting up bleachers for the Fourth of July concert and fireworks display.

The officers had approached the investigation of Daniel’s death with a zealous desire to sniff out the ruthless killer of an esteemed citizen, even if he was a weekender.

She and Noah drove up in separate cars. The exterior of the ivy-covered building looked more like a yarn-and-woolens boutique than a police station. Maris arrived a few minutes ahead of Noah. As soon as he got there, they were ushered into the chief’s office. Both declined an offer of coffee and sweet rolls from the local bakery.

Chief Randall, a ruddy-faced man with a bad, blond comb-over, sensing her desire to cut to the chase, kept the pleasantries to a minimum and settled behind his desk. He seemed more disappointed than relieved to report the outcome of his department’s investigation.

“I’m afraid I haven’t got all that much more to tell you that wasn’t in the initial report, Mrs. Matherly-Reed. My people went over the house with a fine-toothed comb. Didn’t find a thing that suggested foul play.”

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Noah complacently fold his hands in his lap.

“The officers think, and I concur, that your father simply fell down the stairs. There were some bloodstains on the floor where he was found, but they’re explained by the gash on his scalp. It split open when his head struck the floor.”

She swallowed, then asked, “What about the autopsy report?”

He opened the case file and slipped on a pair of reading glasses that were too narrow for his wide face. The stems were stretched and caused the glasses to perch crookedly on his nose. “The contents of his stomach verify that he ate only minutes before he died, which is what Mr. Reed had assumed.” He peered at Noah over the eyeglasses.

Noah gave a solemn nod. “When I went into the kitchen to call 911, there were dirty dishes in the sink. I had cleaned up after dinner, so I surmised that Daniel had gone downstairs for something to eat. On his way back up, he fell.”

“Is it possible that the scene was staged, Chief Randall?”

“Staged?”

“Perhaps the dishes were placed in the sink to make everyone think Dad had used them.”

“Oh, he used them,” Chief Randall assured her. “His fingerprints were on them. Nobody else’s.”

“The dishes could have been used upstairs. He often ate off a bed tray. How do we know he was downstairs?”

“Crumbs.”

“Excuse me?”

“Bread crumbs on his robe, his slippers, and on the floor near the sink. My best guess is that he stood and looked out the kitchen window while he ate his sandwich.”

Patting his comb-over as though to make sure it was still in place, he referred to the file again. “His blood alcohol level was above the legal driving limit but not by much.”

“Any trace of a controlled substance?”