Bernadine Fagan - Nora Lassiter 01 - Murder by the Old Maine Stream by Bernadine Fagan

smiled. “We’ll see.”
    I liked his smile. Broad. Warm. He had a dimple that showed up when he smiled. I felt the urge to kiss his dimple. Geez .
    “I have to go to Percy’s house again,” I said. “Maybe I’ll find out more this time. Do you want me to check a few programs on his computer? Like Quicken? Or Microsoft Money?”
    “No. Stay out of it. Stay out of his house. I told you Percy’s no one to mess around with. Besides, it’s none of your business.”
    He was right. But it didn’t change my mind. The determination must have shown on my face because he said, “I want to be very clear about this, Nora. I’m in charge of this investigation. I don’t want you involved, especially where Percy Kendall is concerned.”
    “I promised Mary Fran I’d get photos.”
    His mouth thinned. “All right. Take your damn photos. Of him coming out of some motel, or out of his house with this woman, but that’s it. That should be enough.”
    “Of course.”
    As we headed back to the station house, he said, “The first murder in Silver Stream was back in 1855. Some guy shot another guy for horse theft. Then about twenty years ago we had a real brutal murder.”
    “Percy, senior.”
    “So you heard. Guess it’ll be talked about now. He was bashed with a baseball bat.”
    “What an awful way to die.”
    “Yes. A crime of passion, for sh-ur. It was the bat the Auto Mart guys used when they played on the local softball team. Very handy weapon.”
    He stopped and looked at me. “I only have book knowledge of this type of investigation. I wish you really were a hotshot New York Detective. I could use the expertise.”
    The admission surprised me. Not many men would admit they needed help. I was impressed. This was a notch above asking for directions.
    “Sorry,” I said grimly. “Maybe I could help anyway.”
    “No.”
    “How soon did you check me out?”
    “I didn’t have to.”
    “But you did?”
    “Within a hour of meeting you.”
    “No grass growing under your feet.”
    We spotted the reporter and the video guy waiting on the station steps.
    “I’ll head home now,” I told him. “Good luck with the sharks.”
    He reached for my hand and gave it a slight squeeze. “Thanks.” Then he added, “I’ve had your statement about the murder typed up. You can read it over, make any corrections and sign it later.”
    “Okay. I know you think you don’t want my help, but you saw my résumé, so you know … my areas of expertise.” Nora, Nora, Nora.
    He raised his brows, and grinned at me. “It caused quite a stir among the boys, you know. I don’t think they bothered to read it. Never got past the picture.”
    “I’m guessing Trimble enjoyed it.”
    “Hell, I enjoyed it. If your “detective” career doesn’t pan out, you could try modeling for Sports Illustrated .”
    I felt so pleased I wanted him to say more. “Yeah? You think so?”
    “Oh, yes ma’am.”
     
    TEN
     
    I couldn’t get Percy out of my head. Mary Fran didn’t think he was capable of killing his partner, but I thought she might be wrong. Had she ever heard his Gestapo boots stomping on the floor?
    I stopped the car in front of the library, and called myself ten kinds of a fool for even letting my thoughts run in this direction. What dreamland had I mentally moved into? I was going home in a day or so, and I had no business even thinking about what Ida overheard here. That was the sheriff’s business. I stared at the library building. I should not go in. Should not. There were three pickup trucks and a red Honda Civic parked out front. It wasn’t crowded.
    The Silver Stream Public Library did not look like most libraries I’d been in. It was a small, one-story wooden building with a steeply pitched metal roof, one of those special roofs you see in Maine that the snow can slide off of easily. I guessed the building would fit into a ladies’ room of the New York Public Library with a few cubicles to spare. Since I was here, I