Appraisal for Murder by Elaine Orr

his Mercedes. This time he let me ring the bell, and opened the door without comment. Things looked pretty much as they did little more than a week ago. I glanced up at him. “How are you holding up?”
    “I think the traditional reply is ‘as well as can be expected,’ but I’m still really ticked off.” He was wearing gray sweats and an old pair of running shoes, and didn’t look anything like the successful Texas oil executive.
    “I would think sad, too,” I said, as I fished my tape measure out of my purse.
    “Yeah,” he led me upstairs, “I am, but the arrest is so frustrating I mostly think about that.”
    We didn’t talk as I measured and made notes. Fortunately, he had opened all the curtains in the master bedroom, so it looked nothing as it did the day I found his mother in ultimate repose. The upstairs was in the same immaculate condition as the first floor. Someone had done a good job cleaning up the fingerprint dust, which impressed me given how long it had taken me to clean the ink off my own hands.
    One of the bedrooms had been turned into a den of sorts, complete with a large-screen TV and computer, which was housed in a very expensive wall unit that looked like solid maple . That must have been a bear to get up the steps.
    I stopped at the threshold, taking in the green walls, maple crown molding, and rich brown carpet. A man’s room if there ever was one. I glanced at Michael and he was smiling at me. “Yes, she decorated it with me in mind.”
    I must have flushed because his smile broadened. Since I could think of no smart comeback, I said only, “It’s lovely,” and got to work.
    As we walked downstairs I asked him if he needed help with anything. “Mother’s friend, Mrs. Jasper, keeps calling to see if I want help going through mother’s things. It seems a bit early to do that.” He sighed. “I know she’s just trying to help, and mother really admired how much she did for First Prez.”
    “I met her briefly at the house after the funeral.” I hesitated and then told him Aunt Madge’s assessment of her talkativeness, trying to make it sound funny. I failed.
    “Yeah, Mother didn’t have an answering machine, but I bought one to screen calls and I don’t answer when it’s her anymore.”
    “How about Sgt. Morehouse’s calls?” I realized this was a mistake as soon as I said it.
    “That bastard doesn’t have the nerve to call.” He had led me to the kitchen and gestured to some mugs on the counter near a coffee pot. He helped himself and I did the same. “It’s still not clear what they have other than the firm belief that I wanted my mother’s money sooner rather than later.”
    “Surely they have to tell you.”
    “Eventually. My lawyer says we’ll learn some at the probable cause hearing, where the judge hears information so he can decide if the case will go to trial.” He frowned as he took a drink of coffee. “And if he rules I do go to trial, my attorney and I will learn a lot more during discovery.”
    From crime novels, I recalled that this was the process through which the two sides shared a lot of information prior to the trial. “Maybe it won’t even get that far,” I said, trying to be encouraging. “Maybe they’ll find the real killer.”
    “Thanks, but I don’t think they’re looking.”
    “There must be a way,” I was thinking out loud, “to plant a seed of doubt about you. As far as killing your mom goes, I mean.”
    His smile was genuine. “What are you, girl detective?”
    “I used to sniff out some pretty good real estate deals. For all the good it did me,” I said, glumly. I was starting to get letters from all kinds of creditors I’d never heard of. I simply forwarded them to my lawyer, and was resigned to paying him a lot of money to handle it and having a really lousy credit rating for a decade.
    “Sorry you came here?” he asked.
    “Not at all. Sorry about the mess my ex-husband left in Lakewood.”
    “Did you meet my ex