Dead in the Water (Olivia Grant Mysteries Book 1) by Phyllis A. Humphrey Page B
Book: Dead in the Water (Olivia Grant Mysteries Book 1) by Phyllis A. Humphrey
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Authors: Phyllis A. Humphrey
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Someone, if not Noreen, had arranged similar things together. Maybe a female police officer, since most men can't organize a sock drawer.
Once again, I told myself I was doing necessary work, not even remotely related to snooping. After all, I had to look at every file folder and every loose paper in order to know where it might belong, didn't I? Into the filing cabinet I put receipts, bank statements, copies of land leases, and income tax returns. Also catalogs for everything from paper clips to farming equipment. Into the desk drawers went deeds, correspondence, invoices, copies of stock market transactions, and miscellaneous papers. I enjoyed every minute.
Especially when I found two odd things. First, a seemingly recent application to a building society for a mortgage on what sounded like some family-owned property. A large mortgage, if I could accurately translate pounds into dollars. Who was the person who had applied for the mortgage? None other than the late Mrs. Edward Mason. Apparently Jason had reason to be concerned about what Noreen might have been up to lately.
The second was an invoice to Noreen from a detective agency for "services rendered." The paper stuck to my fingers, my palms grew sweaty, and my heartbeat accelerated. Had I not been sitting down, I might have fallen.
Why had Noreen hired a detective, and what service had he rendered? Okay, so Inspector Kincaid insisted Noreen died from an accident, not murder, but like Nessie from the Loch, another mystery had just surfaced.
CHAPTER NINE
I wanted to speak to Jason about what I'd found among the office papers, but he didn't return from work until shortly before the dinner hour, so I didn't see him until we gathered in the dining room. Elizabeth looked pale but composed, and Chaz didn't show up at all. Beryl told us his band would be performing that night. Then, since she belonged to several women's organizations, she carried on at great length about her activities.
William spoke only when spoken to but, when prodded, came up with the information he'd played golf that day, as he often did. The remainder of the conversation, as it had the night before, revolved around the late, unlamented Noreen, her drinking, her presumably accidental fall into the lily pond, and that a funeral for her was being arranged.
Afterward, Jason went into the office. "Where are those office papers?" he asked. "Kincaid said he'd return them today."
"Aunt Alice and I put the papers away, and she disposed of the boxes."
"What?" His voice rose at least two octaves, and his face flushed. Just as Alice predicted, instead of being grateful for our help, he carried on like a scenery-chewing actor.
"You had no right to do that," he bellowed.
"Alice wanted to tidy things up and I—"
"Nothing should have been done without my permission."
"But I—"
"The papers in this office do not concern you, and you're not to meddle." He swiveled around in the desk chair, turning his back to me.
I reminded myself that since no good deed ever goes unpunished, I shouldn't have been surprised. Even then, I debated whether I should persevere and tell him about what I'd found. Actually, I was miffed. See if I'd ever help him again. Let Jason find out about the mortgage and the detective's invoice by himself.
Then my conscience reminded me I had been snooping as much as helping, and perhaps I deserved his criticism. Maybe I'd ask Uncle William about those papers. Perhaps, despite what Jason had said the other night, William would know something. After all, he'd known about Noreen's drinking and dallying. I gave Jason one last glare behind his back before I left the office.
* * *
As it turned out, I didn't speak to William until Saturday. He told me he didn't play golf on the weekends because that's when all the duffers came out to clutter up the links, often using carts rather than walking as one ought to do. Beryl, on the other hand, had gone to oversee a jumble sale at the
Once again, I told myself I was doing necessary work, not even remotely related to snooping. After all, I had to look at every file folder and every loose paper in order to know where it might belong, didn't I? Into the filing cabinet I put receipts, bank statements, copies of land leases, and income tax returns. Also catalogs for everything from paper clips to farming equipment. Into the desk drawers went deeds, correspondence, invoices, copies of stock market transactions, and miscellaneous papers. I enjoyed every minute.
Especially when I found two odd things. First, a seemingly recent application to a building society for a mortgage on what sounded like some family-owned property. A large mortgage, if I could accurately translate pounds into dollars. Who was the person who had applied for the mortgage? None other than the late Mrs. Edward Mason. Apparently Jason had reason to be concerned about what Noreen might have been up to lately.
The second was an invoice to Noreen from a detective agency for "services rendered." The paper stuck to my fingers, my palms grew sweaty, and my heartbeat accelerated. Had I not been sitting down, I might have fallen.
Why had Noreen hired a detective, and what service had he rendered? Okay, so Inspector Kincaid insisted Noreen died from an accident, not murder, but like Nessie from the Loch, another mystery had just surfaced.
CHAPTER NINE
I wanted to speak to Jason about what I'd found among the office papers, but he didn't return from work until shortly before the dinner hour, so I didn't see him until we gathered in the dining room. Elizabeth looked pale but composed, and Chaz didn't show up at all. Beryl told us his band would be performing that night. Then, since she belonged to several women's organizations, she carried on at great length about her activities.
William spoke only when spoken to but, when prodded, came up with the information he'd played golf that day, as he often did. The remainder of the conversation, as it had the night before, revolved around the late, unlamented Noreen, her drinking, her presumably accidental fall into the lily pond, and that a funeral for her was being arranged.
Afterward, Jason went into the office. "Where are those office papers?" he asked. "Kincaid said he'd return them today."
"Aunt Alice and I put the papers away, and she disposed of the boxes."
"What?" His voice rose at least two octaves, and his face flushed. Just as Alice predicted, instead of being grateful for our help, he carried on like a scenery-chewing actor.
"You had no right to do that," he bellowed.
"Alice wanted to tidy things up and I—"
"Nothing should have been done without my permission."
"But I—"
"The papers in this office do not concern you, and you're not to meddle." He swiveled around in the desk chair, turning his back to me.
I reminded myself that since no good deed ever goes unpunished, I shouldn't have been surprised. Even then, I debated whether I should persevere and tell him about what I'd found. Actually, I was miffed. See if I'd ever help him again. Let Jason find out about the mortgage and the detective's invoice by himself.
Then my conscience reminded me I had been snooping as much as helping, and perhaps I deserved his criticism. Maybe I'd ask Uncle William about those papers. Perhaps, despite what Jason had said the other night, William would know something. After all, he'd known about Noreen's drinking and dallying. I gave Jason one last glare behind his back before I left the office.
* * *
As it turned out, I didn't speak to William until Saturday. He told me he didn't play golf on the weekends because that's when all the duffers came out to clutter up the links, often using carts rather than walking as one ought to do. Beryl, on the other hand, had gone to oversee a jumble sale at the
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