The Monet Murders (The Art of Murder 2)

“Mr. Greenleaf?” Jason asked.

“I asked what you’re doing here.”

Greenleaf—if this was indeed Greenleaf—was a big man. It wasn’t all muscle, but there was enough muscle to pose a threat—assuming he knew how to handle himself. His hair was yellow-blond; long, but balding on top. A look only legendary rock stars could pull off. His eyes were close set and brown, a shade so dark they looked black.

“I was admiring your clock tower,” Jason replied. His curiosity was aroused by the other man’s instant hostility. Not that people weren’t hostile for all kinds of reasons, but an antisocial attitude just naturally caught Jason’s interest.

“Didn’t you see the sign? Private property. No trespassing.”

“I did. Yeah.” Jason offered his ID. “Federal agent Jason West. You’re Eric Greenleaf?”

“FBI?” Greenleaf scrutinized the badge. It was not the cursory look most people gave official ID. His black gaze raised to study Jason. “Jason West.” He sounded like he was committing it to memory.

“That’s right. Do you live here alone, sir?”

Greenleaf nodded. A man of few words, or experience with the legal system?

“I was hoping to ask you a couple of questions about your neighbors. The Durrands.”

Greenleaf’s look of distrust deepened. “What about them?”

“Well, to start with, how well do you know them?”

He shook his head. Shrugged.

“You’ve lived on the island your entire life?”

“Off and on.”

“Did you know the Durrand brothers when you were growing up?”

“Sure.”

Greenleaf was about the age of the Durrands. The Durrands had spent summers on the island—and Greenleaf was their closest neighbor. It seemed likely the boys would have gravitated toward each other.

“Would you say you were friendly with the Durrand brothers?”

Greenleaf’s smile was humorless. “I knew them.”

“What were they like?”

“Spoiled rich kids.”

Jason glanced instinctively at the crumbling structure behind Greenleaf. “Not like you?”

“Depends who you ask.”

“I’m asking you.”

The black look that flittered behind Greenleaf’s pale gaze prickled the hair at the back of Jason’s neck. Yeah, there was something about this guy…

That didn’t mean Greenleaf had anything to do with the Durrands and Jason’s case. Not everybody loved law enforcement or the federal government. It would still be a good idea to stay sharp while in Mr. Greenleaf’s presence.

“I work for a living,” Greenleaf said. “I’m an underwriter for Cape Vincent Savings Bank.”

“I see. Then you’re able to work from home?”

“Why are you so interested?”