The Death Dealer by Heather Graham Page A

hesitated. “I learned that no one there likes anyone else all that much, that no one liked Thorne, in particular, and that Jared Bigelow is sleeping with his aunt.”
    She gasped. “What?”
    “Well, they aren’t related by blood, are they?”
    “No. Mary was married to Thorne’s older brother, Steven. He was thirty-some years older than she is.”
    “A real love match, huh?” he said cynically.
    “Supposedly it was a good marriage,” she said.
    “Sure. I’d probably be good for that kind of money, too,” he said.
    “You really are a skeptic, aren’t you?”
    “Oh, come on, Gen! You weren’t just a little bit skeptical about that one yourself?”
    “Maybe,” she admitted.
    He was laughing, and suddenly he seemed to be so easy with her.
    “Okay, so she probably married Steven Bigelow for his money,” she admitted. “That doesn’t mean that people always marry rich people for their money.” Why on earth had she said that? Could she be any more obvious about what was on her mind?
    But he didn’t even seem to notice. “I’m sure some women do fall in love with men who are older and richer,” he said. “Just not in that particular case.”
    “And what made you so certain that they’re sleeping together? Jared and Mary, I mean.”
    “The possessive way she hung on his arm. The way he looked at you, and the way she looked at him for the way he looked at you.”
    “You’re reading a lot into the way people look at each other.”
    “Because there’s a lot to be read into it.”
    “So do you think Jared killed his father, or his aunt killed his father or—”
    “I think there are a lot of suspects,” he assured her. “And a lot of motives. Greed and jealousy have both been strong inducements for murder over the centuries. Of course, tonight we were missing one of the traditional suspects.”
    “Who?”
    “The butler, of course,” he said, grinning.
    She had to laugh. But then she assured him, “Bennet didn’t murder Thorne, I can assure you.”
    “Bennet? You know him?” he asked her.
    “Of course. My family and the Bigelows kind of run in the same circles, though I can’t exactly say we were friends.” She pointed a stern finger at him. “And don’t you dare start in on rich people again.”
    “I wasn’t about to.”
    She offered him a doubting sniff.
    “So tell me about Bennet.”
    “Well, he’s old.”
    “How old?”
    “Oh, honestly, sixty-five, maybe. He’s been with the family for as long as I can remember. You could talk to my mom. She would know more.”
    “Actually, I’d like to talk to Bennet himself.”
    “I’ll go with you tomorrow.”
    “No.”
    “Why not?”
    “You need to stay out of this.”
    “But I hired you,”
    “Yes, and if you wanted to do everything yourself,” he said irritably, “you shouldn’t have.”
    “You need my help on this,” she assured him.
    “Oh?”
    “Bennet likes me,” she said. “He’ll be happy to talk to you if you’re with me. He won’t be so thrilled if you’re on your own.”
    “Genevieve, seriously—”
    “If you don’t let me help, I will start doing things on my own,” she said softly.
    He stared at her, frustrated.
    She had him, and she knew it. He still had that protective thing going on, which wasn’t what she wanted, but it would have to do for now.
    “So what time are we going to see Bennet tomorrow?” he asked dryly.
    She smiled. “I’ll talk to him in the morning. He goes to church, and I’m taking Mom to church, so I’ll see him there. So let’s say about…one?”
    He nodded, eyeing her cautiously, as if he had just realized she might be a species of dangerous animal he had misjudged.
    “One o’clock, then,” he said.
    Joe stood there in the doorway for a moment, and she couldn’t help staring at him. Joe, whose sandy brown hair fell over his forehead in such a casual and sexy manner, whose eyes seemed to reflect the world and his knowledge of it. Whose shoulders filled the doorway,