Carolyn G. Hart_Henrie O_01 by Dead Man's Island

might have taken it?”
    “I don’t know.” He Looked thoughtful.
    “When did you last see it?” I led him through a series of questions.
    In sum, the book was there on Wednesday. Today was Friday.
    Anyone on the island could have taken it.
    Why?
    To keep me from seeing it? That only figured if the person who fed the author confidential information was on the island and feared that I was there for that reason.
    A stretch. But the guilty flee …
    It would be critically important to the informer to remain unknown. Exposure would, at the very least, result in expulsion from the family or the business.
    That could be a strong motive for murder.
    “If it’s important, I can pick up another copy when I go over to the mainland on Monday.”
    Burton’s offer interested me. Obviously, he didn’t care whether I saw the notorious biography. So apparently what worried him was the fact that someone would
take
it.
    It didn’t worry me. It interested me enormously.
    “Thanks, Burton. I would appreciate it. Now, let’s get to work. This will be only the first of many, many sessions we’ll have during the course of my research on Mr. Prescott’s biography”—I tried to sound as mellifluous and reassuring as a $200-an-hour shrink—“and today I want to focus on you.”
    “On me?” His face froze in the startled-deer look made famous by a late-twentieth-century vice president.
    “My practice is always to start an interview by finding out about my contact. We’ll relax and chat. When I know more about you, I can put your thoughts about Mr. Prescott into a better context.”
    This is, actually, sound interviewing technique. Stay the hell away from the sensitive questions until you’ve disarmed your subject. It’s also a good way to finger a liar. Feed questions that have no bite—where were you born, where did you grow up, where did you go to school, what was your college major, etc.—then when everything’s easy and smooth, slip in a question that matters. It’s astonishing what you’ll learn. If you watch eyes and hands, you’ll never need a he detector.
    Of course, that kind of interviewing also has a secondary effect. It turns contacts into real people forthe interviewer. I learned about Burton’s older sister, who had raised him after his mother died. (The quick blinking back of tears when he told about her funeral last May.) He collected stamps and raised tropical fish.
(“They have so much personality, just like people.”)
The stress of temping.
(“God, you never know what will happen, and they always blame the temp!”)
    I opened my purse, rather ostentatiously dropped my pen and notepad inside, and settled back in a relaxed fashion.
(“The better to eat you, my dear,”)
“What’s it like, working for Chase Prescott?”
    He smiled falsely. “Oh, it’s fascinating. Always something new and different. Mr. Prescott is brilliant. He’s always two steps ahead of everyone.”
    Poor little guy. It was easy to imagine what kind of hell it could be to try to satisfy the demands of a man who thought himself to be very special indeed.
    I waited. Most people can’t stand silence.
    Burton shifted restlessly in Chase’s big chair. “People who don’t understand him think he’s bad-tempered. It isn’t that at all.” Cautious pale eyes blinked nervously. “He’s impatient. You see, his mind works so quickly, and he expects everyone to be as smart as he is.”
    Actually, I didn’t recall that of Chase. Rather, I felt Chase prided himself on being smarter than anyone around him. Not, really, an attractive quality on his part.
    “Are you as smart as Mr. Prescott?” This wasn’t, of course, a fair question. But skewering through defenses isn’t a pretty exercise.
    He flushed. “Are you making fun of me, Mrs. Collins?”
    “No.”
    “If I was as smart as Mr. Prescott, I wouldn’t be a secretary. I do the best I can.”
    “I suspect Chase is more fortunate than he knows to have a secretary like