the eye. “I’m sure you know your job. I know you know your job. Far be it for me to tell you how to do it, but John, you are just simply wrong here. Which brings me back to my original question. Why would Mrs. Brissart want to kill her grandson? A grandson, I might add, that she absolutely adored.”
John sighed. “The family history. She knew what he would find.”
I ran my hands through my hair. “What’s that?”
This time John shrugged. “I haven’t a clue.”
“Uh-huh. So this is all speculation. No facts to back it up. Nothing. You are way off base on this one, John. Look somewhere else for your suspects, because I can tell you that Mrs. Brissart did not kill her grandson.”
“And I’m going to tell you something. You don’t know that any more than the police do. I’m not asking you, I’m telling you, stay out of it. You know Mrs. Brissart as a client. But you don’t really know her at all. You’re biased. When is Chantal back?”
“Hopefully tomorrow. The next day for sure.”
“Fine. None of what we’ve just discussed leaves this room. To anyone,” John said more sternly.
“Right.” I nodded while mentally putting Sam, Millie, and Meme on my list of people to share this latest bit of information with. I’m sure he didn’t include them in his “to anyone” comment.
“Fine. I’ll see you later.” And he walked out.
“Well…” I reached into my pocket and pulled out a small bag of M&Ms. “ As long as we have faith in our own cause and an unconquerable will to win, victory will not be denied us . Now I really am going to have to find out who the killer is and get Mrs. Brissart off the hook,” I said aloud. And not being one to put off something so important, I marched out to the living room and into the lion’s den.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
Mrs. Platz put out sandwiches and coffee for the suspects, as Mrs. Brissart now referred to her relatives. At John’s insistence, I promised Mrs. Brissart, Mrs. Platz, and I would only eat things we made ourselves. I stood in the doorway for a moment looking at the food, which made me think of Mrs. Platz and the fact that she seemed to have been automatically eliminated from the suspect list. By whom? I couldn’t remember John mentioning her in connection with anything other than being the unfortunate soul who found Bradley. But the police questioned her, and at some length. Why had she been terminated as a suspect so quickly? Or had she? And what about the gardener?
The more I thought about it, there were even more people, other than the immediate family, on which to cast suspicion. If you threw in neighbors and committee members who worked with Mrs. Brissart at one time or another, well, the number of potential suspects took on a life of its own. My spirits lifted. This might be easier than I thought finding someone else on which to pin the murder. The fact that no motive presented itself for either killing except for the land, and no one outside of the family would be interested in that, I simply dismissed with an imaginary wave of my hand. Details.
A slow rumble in the pit of my stomach brought my thoughts back to the small buffet table and the food covering it. Let them eat whatever they want and kill each other, Mrs. Brissart said. I turned away from the food before my gurgling stomach managed to overpower my logic. Mrs. Brissart’s extended family obliviously gorged themselves on sandwiches and fruit. Vowing to go into town in a few minutes and take care of my own appetite, I ventured into the room. Spying a couple sitting over by the window, I went to introduce myself.
“Nice to meet you. I’m Larry Estenfelder and this is my wife, April.”
I shook hands with the two people before me. April was a spunky looking thing with a head of short black curls—much like Samantha’s first Barbie; the curls anyway, the body looked more in line with reality.
“Won’t you have a seat?” April offered. They parted and I squeezed into the
John sighed. “The family history. She knew what he would find.”
I ran my hands through my hair. “What’s that?”
This time John shrugged. “I haven’t a clue.”
“Uh-huh. So this is all speculation. No facts to back it up. Nothing. You are way off base on this one, John. Look somewhere else for your suspects, because I can tell you that Mrs. Brissart did not kill her grandson.”
“And I’m going to tell you something. You don’t know that any more than the police do. I’m not asking you, I’m telling you, stay out of it. You know Mrs. Brissart as a client. But you don’t really know her at all. You’re biased. When is Chantal back?”
“Hopefully tomorrow. The next day for sure.”
“Fine. None of what we’ve just discussed leaves this room. To anyone,” John said more sternly.
“Right.” I nodded while mentally putting Sam, Millie, and Meme on my list of people to share this latest bit of information with. I’m sure he didn’t include them in his “to anyone” comment.
“Fine. I’ll see you later.” And he walked out.
“Well…” I reached into my pocket and pulled out a small bag of M&Ms. “ As long as we have faith in our own cause and an unconquerable will to win, victory will not be denied us . Now I really am going to have to find out who the killer is and get Mrs. Brissart off the hook,” I said aloud. And not being one to put off something so important, I marched out to the living room and into the lion’s den.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
Mrs. Platz put out sandwiches and coffee for the suspects, as Mrs. Brissart now referred to her relatives. At John’s insistence, I promised Mrs. Brissart, Mrs. Platz, and I would only eat things we made ourselves. I stood in the doorway for a moment looking at the food, which made me think of Mrs. Platz and the fact that she seemed to have been automatically eliminated from the suspect list. By whom? I couldn’t remember John mentioning her in connection with anything other than being the unfortunate soul who found Bradley. But the police questioned her, and at some length. Why had she been terminated as a suspect so quickly? Or had she? And what about the gardener?
The more I thought about it, there were even more people, other than the immediate family, on which to cast suspicion. If you threw in neighbors and committee members who worked with Mrs. Brissart at one time or another, well, the number of potential suspects took on a life of its own. My spirits lifted. This might be easier than I thought finding someone else on which to pin the murder. The fact that no motive presented itself for either killing except for the land, and no one outside of the family would be interested in that, I simply dismissed with an imaginary wave of my hand. Details.
A slow rumble in the pit of my stomach brought my thoughts back to the small buffet table and the food covering it. Let them eat whatever they want and kill each other, Mrs. Brissart said. I turned away from the food before my gurgling stomach managed to overpower my logic. Mrs. Brissart’s extended family obliviously gorged themselves on sandwiches and fruit. Vowing to go into town in a few minutes and take care of my own appetite, I ventured into the room. Spying a couple sitting over by the window, I went to introduce myself.
“Nice to meet you. I’m Larry Estenfelder and this is my wife, April.”
I shook hands with the two people before me. April was a spunky looking thing with a head of short black curls—much like Samantha’s first Barbie; the curls anyway, the body looked more in line with reality.
“Won’t you have a seat?” April offered. They parted and I squeezed into the
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