last stop?â
âThe last walking stop. From there, shuttle buses transported people to three locations. Three buses left at the start, each going to a different spot. Then all the other shuttles went first to the Samuel Reed House, followed by the Grove Park, and finally Helenâs Bridge before returning to Pack Square.â
âThe Reed House. Thatâs now the Biltmore Village Inn, right?â
âThe owners gave a tour of their B and B while dressed in Victorian formal wear. They served hot cider and crumpets.â
âSo, no actors,â Newly said.
âNo. We had a loop of Gay Nineties music with the occasional footsteps and sounds of a pool table.â
Samuel Reed had been George Vanderbiltâs attorney and he built his Victorian home in 1892 on a mountain overlooking Biltmore Village on the south side of Asheville. No murders occurred in the home, but of Reedâs nine children, only four made it to adulthood. Residents of the house have heard footsteps on the back stairs and the crack of balls and childrenâs voices in what had once been the billiard room.
For the first time, Newly flipped back through his note pad, searching for something heâd written earlier. He stopped and tapped his ballpoint on the center of a page. âHewitt Donaldson was on the south side last night. Was he at the Reed House?â
âYouâll have to ask him,â Nakayla said. âHe was mobile as a troubleshooter. With all the vans going back and forth, we wanted a quick response in case someone was left behind or a vehicle had mechanical trouble.â
Newly pressed the point. âSo, he could have been in the Reed House?â
âWhat are you driving at?â I asked.
He closed the note pad. âNothing particular. Just getting a sense for where everyone was. Sounds like you planned for everything.â
âWe didnât plan for a double homicide.â
âNo.â Newly stood. âBut somebody did.â
Nakayla and I took his cue and rose from the porch swing. I figured our conversation had ended.
âAnd you didnât see anything in the shed or yard that could have left those dirt tracks through the house?â Newly asked.
âNo,â I said. âBut I have my suspicions.â
âCare to share?â
âAfter you answer a question for me.â
He crossed his arms against his chest. He didnât like negotiating over information. âWhatâs that?â
âWhy are you so interested in Hewitt?â
âIâm not. At this point, Iâm interested in everyone.â Newly was a good detective, but a terrible liar. âSo, whatâs your suspicion?â
âLook for a wheelchair.â
We left Newland waiting for forensics, but not before he admonished us not to mention anything about the scene or our conversation. What did he think we were going to do? Call the newspaper?
Nakayla dropped me at the office and headed to her home in West Asheville for a shower and change of clothes. She would check in later and weâd grab lunch somewhere in town.
I exited the elevator and passed by our door, heading straight for Hewittâs office down the hall. His whispered message had carried an urgency that he wanted to see me without delay.
I found him at Shirleyâs desk where he must have been waiting for me.
âLetâs go to the conference room,â he said.
âWhereâs Shirley?â
âI told her to make her calls from home. She knows those apparition people better than I do.â
Hewittâs conference room was unlike any other lawyerâs Iâve known. Instead of a long table, a circular one filled the middle of the floor. Even though he had a massive ego, Hewitt displayed his tenet that all are created equal in the eyes of the law. There was no head of the table.
The walls were empty of the obligatory shelves of leather-bound books or professional degrees and awards
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