Winter House by Carol O'Connell

Charles quite liked the old man.
    When Paul had excused himself from the table and the waiter had departed with their menus and lunch orders, Sheldon Smyth leaned forward, voice lowered. „So, my boy, Cleo said the house was full of police – standing room only. Why all this fuss over a burglar?“
    „Well, he was a dead burglar. You didn’t know?“
    „No, my ex-wife neglected to mention a corpse. So typical of Cleo,“ he said, as if dead bodies lying about the house were an everyday nuisance. „I think she was more concerned that you might cause problems for Bitty. When I called my office this morning, I was told that the police had paid a visit. Well, naturally… I wondered if you’d pressed charges against my daughter.“
    „No, sir, it never occurred to me.“
    „Good man.“
    Salads arrived during the ensuing silence. Then Charles further reassured Bitty’s father, saying, „I had a long talk with Bitty last night. I’m satisfied that she isn’t the least bit dangerous.“
    „Quite right. No more than a simple schoolgirl crush. I’m sure you found it quite charming.“
    Charles understood this from his host’s perspective. Quite comical, really. A man like himself, one with the attributes of an eagle beak and bullfrog eyes, would have so few choices; how could he fail to be flattered by the fixation of a neurotic elf?
    Between one course and another, he learned that the Smyth firm had served the Winter family for more than a hundred years. The old man’s eyes were always fixed upon Charles, as if he regarded his guest as the most important personage on the planet. It was an illusion from a lawyer’s bag of tricks to win over juries and stalking victims alike, but Smyth had perfected it to a fine art, and Charles felt that his immunity to flattery was slipping.
    Meanwhile, heads were turning at all the other tables. Mallory had arrived to work her usual effect upon a room. No one thought to stop her forward momentum across the wide floor. She was so obviously one of the power people in this gathering. What waiter would risk being trampled? There were nods of approval all around. Yes, the patrons assured one another, she was one of them, though so few of them carried guns to lunch. Hers was exposed – quite deliberately, Charles thought – as she swept the blazer to one side and reached into a rear pocket of her jeans, where she kept her gold shield.
    Only now did Smyth realize that his table had become a spectacle. He looked up to see the young homicide detective standing beside his chair. She was no longer displaying the gun, but only discreetly holding out her badge.
    Mallory gave Charles a curt nod. „Hello, Dr. Buder,“ she said, employing a title he never used, though his credentials entitled him to do so. And with this pointed formality, she wiped away their friendship, their business partnership and the years that they had known one another. They were merely recent acquaintances – that was her message to him. And now, after forcing Sheldon Smyth to wait out this little farce, she turned her eyes on him. „Your office told me I could find you here.“
    „Really,“ he said. With those two syllables, Smyth managed to convey that some minion would be parted with his head just the moment he returned to his office.
    Hardly inclined to wait on an invitation, Mallory pulled up a chair at the table. As if she did not already have Smyth’s complete attention, she asked, „Can you think of any reason why someone would want your daughter dead?“
    Smyth stared at her, then shook his head and kept his silence, perhaps adhering to a lawyer’s code to ask no question to which he did not already have the answer. And then, of course, he could not have been more stunned if she had pistol-whipped him.
    Mallory seemed to like that reaction. She liked it a lot. „Money motives work for me. Who inherits if your daughter dies?“
    The words were slow to come. „No one,“ said Smyth. „I drew up her