"Don't pester the poor guy, Gracie. Let him do his job. Now, watch this."
Bill moved a small wheel back and forth so she could see how the chain tightened and relaxed with the change. He adjusted it so the chain hung half an inch below the yardstick and tightened the nut holding it in place. "That ought to work better. Grab that can of chain lube off the workbench and I'll oil it for you."
Gracie brought the can and watched as he sprayed oil on the chain. "You knew Dad really well, do you have any idea who'd want to kill him?" she asked.
"My money would be on Jennifer, I never did understand why he wanted to marry her," he told her. "I tried to tell him she was only after his money, but he insisted. So I was Best Man at his second wedding, too; what else are friends for?"
"But Jennifer was freaking out over the burglary when it happened," she pointed out.
"Yeah, I know. Kinda shoots that theory, doesn't it? Ride it up and down the street and see if it shifts better now."
Gracie rode to the end of the block, turned around and came back. "That's a
lot
better, Bill. Thanks a bunch. Want me to stay and help with the sanding?"
"No thanks, I can handle it. Be careful on your way home."
Gracie heard the sander start up again as she rode off. She wondered if Bill would have more skinned spots tomorrow.
* * * *
It was getting on toward evening now, so Ken decided it was time to talk to the neighbors. Then he wanted another look at that den. Once in the neighborhood he knocked on doors across the street for nearly a block in both directions. As he'd suspected, people had either not been home yesterday morning or they hadn't noticed anything out of the ordinary. No one had seen Mrs. Greene leave or noticed Mr. Greene's Jaguar in the driveway. Neither had anyone seen any service vehicles parked along the street. Same story with the house to the west. George Thompson, who lived in the house east of Greene, had been home all day. Unfortunately he hadn't seen or heard anything either.
Ken rang the bell at the Greene home, but got no answer. He tried calling the house phone just in case Mrs. Greene wasn't in the mood to receive visitors, but got voice mail. He called her cell phone with the same results. Hard to say whether she was avoiding
him
or just didn't want to talk to anyone. The only other thing he could think of was to talk to the ex-wife, maybe she knew something about the den.
He got another call on his way to Ms. Stewart's house.
"Lieutenant? This is Joe in Ballistics."
"Yeah, Joe," Ken said. "It's after 5:00, what's up? Figured you'd gone home already."
"The guys at the garage dug two bullets outta that Jag you had brought in and got 'em to me about an hour ago. Figured it was important, so I stayed to check 'em out," Joe said.
Ken simply said, "And?"
"They both match the slug the ME dug outta the corpse," Joe said deadpan.
"They do, huh?" was Ken's response. "Somehow that doesn't surprise me. Someone had a go at him in the parking garage, and finished him off later. Any match on the computer?"
"No, there wasn't," Joe replied. "They were .38's, lotta those out there. You find me a gun and I'll see if it matches them. Thought you'd want to know ASAP, I'm going home now. Bye!"
When Ms. Stewart answered the door she told Ken she and Gracie were just sitting down to dinner, and invited him to join them. He probably should have declined, but Gracie said she wanted to hear everything he'd found out and told him she'd feel bad if he just sat there watching them eat. The kid was the only one who seemed to really care what had happened, and a nice family dinner would put everyone at their ease. It would give him a chance to help sort things out in his mind as he talked.
Ms. Stewart's dining room was much more congenial than her former husband's. The walls were a light sage green and the carpet a sort of golden brown color. Table and chairs of a simple traditional style were made of a warm, dark wood. Taupe curtains with an olive stripe at the bottom, comfy-looking chair cushions and a runner over the small buffet in a burnt-orange leaf print gave it an earthy feel. Various ceramic pieces in aqua set off the earth tones. Once the food had been served Ken began asking questions.
"Ms. Stewart, you used to live in the house where your former husband resided, is that right?"
"Yes, Sir, I did," she replied. "I know the wife usually gets the house in a divorce, but I didn't want it. It reminded me of too many painful things, and I wanted to put them behind me. Besides, it's
huge
, what would I do with all that room? Clarke was going off to school and Justin elected to live with his father, so it was just Gracie and me. In lieu of the house Charles gave me half its value and I used it to buy this one."
"That certainly sounds civilized," Ken said around a mouthful of a very delicious chicken casserole.
Ms. Stewart laughed, a pleasant and light-hearted sound. "It was anything
but!
" she said. "Since I'd already moved out he tried to tell me I'd abrogated my right to the house, and it took months of legal wrangling to arrange the transaction." She waved her hand around the room. "But as you can see it was eventually worked out."
"Did you visit Mr. Greene's house often?" he asked, and then added, "You were there at the party on Saturday."
"Yes, I visited occasionally," she said. "I take every advantage to see my sons. Justin is at that stage where he thinks he can do without parents, so Clarke's visit was a good excuse to see them both. Before you ask, I got along OK with Jennifer. I wouldn't say we were friends, but I'd fully expected Charles to remarry after I left him so I didn't resent her presence. But I wasn't in the habit of socializing with them, unless there was some family event."
Gracie stopped eating long enough to say, "I go over there sometimes. Dad's got the pool, and he didn't mind if I brought my friends. I've got a key, we go over and swim sometimes after school. Dad said I could keep some stuff at the house, but I didn't want to."
"Do you still have a key to the house, Ms. Stewart?" Ken asked.
"No," she said. "I gave it to my lawyer as part of the agreement."
Gracie was spooning more broccoli onto her plate. She paused to look up at her mother. "Dad had the locks changed," she told her. "He gave me a new key over a year ago."
Clarissa just smiled and said, "Guess that shouldn't surprise me."
Ken took a minute to savor his food, giving himself a chance to think. Unless this was just a little act put on for his benefit it sounded like the ex-wife hadn't had a key. But her daughter
did
, and it would be easy enough for her to have a copy made if she'd wanted one. She could've gotten in the house to look for something, maybe deliberately made a mess to throw us off.
"I've been thinking about the burglary," he announced.
"Me too," mother and daughter said in unison.
"Have you had a chance to go through Mr. Greene's papers yet?" he asked.
"I was going to do that this evening," Clarissa replied. "I called Jennifer when I got home from work, but she wasn't home. I can understand that she might not want to stay there right now, with all she's been through. I'll try again after we finish dinner, how's that?"
"That'll be fine," he replied. "The sooner the better, but there isn't much you can do if Mrs. Greene's not home. If you can't get hold of her tonight let me know and I'll see what I can do."
"We know some of what was taken from the office – cash, coin collection, and a gun. At least Mrs. Greene thinks there was a gun in the office," he continued.
"That's where he usually kept it," Clarissa agreed. "At least, it was when I lived there."
"Do you know what kind it was?" he inquired.
Clarissa furrowed her brow in thought for a moment. "I believe it was what's popularly called a 'snub-nosed .38'," she said. "It was a revolver, though I have no idea what brand it was. He always kept it loaded, said we needed it for protection." She offered a wry smile. "How ironic that the thief took it."
"OK, that covers the office, except for any papers that might be missing," he said. "Jewelry was taken from the master bedroom, and prescription drugs from the bathroom. Justin's room was searched too – did he mention if anything was missing?"
Gracie was taking a bite of chicken, and suddenly began coughing. Her mother thumped her on the back and handed her her glass of iced tea. "Are you OK, Gracie?" she asked with concern.
Gracie took several gulps of her tea, and coughed again. "Yeah, I just put too much food in my mouth," she said a little weakly. "Please excuse me for a minute." She got up and walked out of the room.
"I'm sorry, Lieutenant," Clarissa said. "In spite of my best efforts Gracie's table manners could use some improvement. What was it you asked?"
"Did your son say anything was taken from his room?" Ken asked. "I'm not sure why a thief would look in a teenager's room."
"He didn't tell me if anything was gone." Clarissa looked off in the distance for a moment, as if deciding what to say next.
"No parent likes to admit this, but Justin smokes pot. I'm not aware that he takes other drugs, but unfortunately I'm no longer in a position to know for sure. I'm sure that's why the burglar would have searched his room."
Gracie had just walked back into the dining room, but upon hearing her mother's statement she stopped in her tracks. "You
knew
about the pot?" she asked in disbelief.
Clarissa turned to look at her daughter, giving her a faint smile. "Yes, dear, I did. The scent is unmistakable, I noticed it when I did his laundry. He started about a year before I left your father; I feel a little responsible because I was so involved with my own problems that I didn't have enough time for him. And of course your father never spent much time with you kids, I'm sure that's why Justin started, to get attention from his parents."
Gracie sat back down at the table and stared at her mother. "But Mom, we all knew you and Dad were having trouble, partly because you started doing a lot more things with us even though Dad seemed to be around less. It was
Dad's
attention Justin wanted, that's why he wanted to stay there."
Clarissa put her hand over Gracie's and said, "Thanks. It really makes me feel better to hear you say that."
Gracie ruined the tender moment by asking, "But what I want to know is, how do you know what pot smells like?" She gave that impish grin of hers.
Her mother returned it. "I went to college, Gracie, and I did my share of partying! I may not have been as wild as Candy is, but I knew what went on. There was usually a group sharing a joint in some corner of the room, or outside if the weather was good. You may not believe me, but I promise you I never tried it. Still, you don't forget the smell."
Ken spoke up to say, "Ms. Stewart, I may be a policeman but I'm not going to arrest you for smoking pot twenty years ago!"
Clarissa looked hurt. "But I
didn't
, Lieutenant, honestly. I got my kicks from beer – until I met Charles and he introduced me to Scotch. Then we got married and I got pregnant with Clarke; I quit school and settled down to be a mother."
"Mom would tell me the truth," Gracie said positively. "Even in front of
you
. She's big on honesty, it's one of the things I like about her."
"Which is why I need to be honest, too," she continued, with a serious look on her face. "I knew about my brother's habit and I knew where he kept his stash. Last night I was thinking about the robbery and razzed him about its being stolen. I don't think he believed me at first, but when I told him he hid the baggie behind the A/C vent – where anyone with half a brain would look first – he knew I was right. He swore it hadn't been taken, and I think he was telling the truth. He said he'd hide it somewhere else, but I doubt he will."