Night Whispers (Second Opportunities 3)

"I wouldn't give a damn if they did."

"Then why am I here?"

"I don't want them to consider Sloan as one."

Robbins studied his employer in silence for a long moment and began to grin. "So that's the way it is?"

He expected Noah to either deny it or ignore the comment. Instead, Noah nodded. "That's the way it is."

Robbins's smile widened, and he said softly, "I'll be damned."

"Probably. But before you are, I want to make sure they find the real killer, rather than contenting themselves with Sloan because she's the newcomer on the scene. Palm Beach doesn't exactly have a high homicide rate, and the cops aren't used to investigating them."

"If Sloan Reynolds is an heir, she's going to be their logical choice, no matter how inexperienced they are."

"Then let's help them find a better choice." Noah slid a list made up by Sloan across the desk and Robbins picked it up. "Those are the names of the people who were at the house that day and evening. One of them either murdered Edith or they let the murderer inside the house. Use your connections, run them through the system. One of them will turn up dirty if you dig deep enough. I'm afraid the local cops will decide Sloan is their murderer and stop digging. I want you to dig and keep digging until you find dirt, and I want it done fast."

Finished, Noah waited for Jack to stand up and get at the task. "Any questions?" he asked.

"Yeah, one—" his friend said with a grin. "Do you happen to have a picture of this woman?"

Noah misunderstood his reason for asking that. "I don't need you to check Sloan out," he said impatiently. "I want you to check out the others. Sloan couldn't hurt a fly. Hell, she's afraid of guns when they're locked in a room."

"I don't want to check her out; I just want to have a look at the woman who finally got under your skin."

"Get out of here and get busy. I don't even want Sloan's name bandied around in the press as a possible suspect." Despite his last statement, Noah had a sudden impulse to show off the woman he loved, and he reached into his desk drawer. "On the other hand," he said as Robbins stood up, "I don't want your curiosity over Sloan's appearance to distract you from your work." He slid the newspaper story about Sloan's party across the desk. At the top was a wide-angle picture that took in much of the general scene that night. Sloan was in the foreground with her father.

"Blond, huh?" Jack joked. "I thought you liked brunettes."

"I like that blond."

"Where's she from?"

"Bell Harbor. She's an interior designer."

"Whoever designed her exterior did a spectacular job," Jack said admiringly. "I see Senator Meade graced the affair with his crooked political presence."

"Naturally. He and Carter find each other eternally useful," Noah added, but Jack wasn't listening. He slid the clipping toward Noah and pointed to a couple who were dancing in the background.

"Paris, Sloan's sister."

"I know Paris. Who is the guy she's dancing with?"

"A friend of Sloan's who came along with her to lend moral support while she met her family for the first time. He's in the insurance business."

"What's his name?"

"Paul Richardson. Why?"

"I don't know. He—looks familiar."

"Maybe he sold you insurance. Check him out along with all the others on your list."

"Will do."

"Mrs. Snowden will show you up to your room. Do you need a computer to use?"

"No." Jack lifted his briefcase, which contained his laptop computer. "I never leave home without it."

41

Andy Cagle slouched contentedly in the passenger seat as Dennis Flynn put the car into gear and pulled away from the curb in front of Grant Wilson's building. The attorney had been delayed in probate court, and they'd had to cool their heels for over two hours in his office before he returned, and then they had to convince him he was in possession of material evidence that would help solve this murder.

The effort had been worth it. What they'd discovered had them both in a state of excited disbelief, because making an arrest in this case was going to be much easier than they'd imagined.

"I'm almost afraid to believe it," Flynn said. "Why do you think Edith Reynolds didn't tell Carter that she'd changed her will and made Sloan an heir?"

"I don't know. Maybe she thought he'd argue. Maybe she didn't think it was any of his business. Maybe she never got around to telling him."

"It doesn't matter," Flynn said with a grin. "All that matters is that Wilson said Edith assured him she'd discussed the new will with Sloan."

Cagle shoved his glasses up on his nose and nodded with satisfaction. "Yep. And the only way Sloan could make sure that Great-grandma didn't change her mind later, when Sloan was gone, was to bump her off right now."

Flynn nodded. "We've got motive and opportunity. We need the weapon. Should we bring her in for questioning and see if we can drag the location out of her, or should we notify the team at the house and tell them what we know? They can start combing her room and keep going from there."

"Let's try to find it without alerting her that we're onto her."

Flynn picked up his cellular phone, called Lieutenant Fineman at the Reynolds house, and filled him in on the latest development.

As Flynn was about to hang up, Cagle had an inspiration. "Tell the boys to be sure and search the shrubbery line along the north side of the property all the way down to the beach. Maitland said she was coming from the north when he saw her that night She probably wasn't stupid enough to hide the weapon in her suitcase or somewhere we'd be able to find it easily. And tell them to make sure she doesn't catch on to what they're doing. I don't want her moving the weapon."

Flynn spoke into the telephone and relayed that message along with a suggestion: "Keep her busy writing out her recollection of the night or something." He hung up. "Let's go make the captain's day," he said dryly. "If they find the weapon in time, Hocklin will have time to primp before he faces the nation on network news."

News of the early breakthrough in the Reynolds murder spread through the police department and brought on a mood of pure elation.

"Pure luck, you guys," the sergeant joked as he walked by.

"Congratulations," Hank said as he dumped an armload of DBT reports on the former suspects onto Andy Cagle's desk. "I guess you won't be needing these anymore."