moments, then turned a page in the file before him and began a new tack.
“Mrs. McAllister, did you, when you lived in New York, have dealings with a Niles P. Sandborn?”
Jo’s shock must have shown, since Morgan looked gratified.
“Niles? Where did you dig him up?” Why was her life suddenly being examined? What was going on?
“You had business with him?”
“Yes, at one time. He is a dealer. He bought jewelry from me, for a while.”
“Was your relationship amicable?”
“As a matter of fact, no, it was not, at least not always. When I got tired of his late payments and other finagling, I put an end to it.”
“ You put an end to it?”
“Yes.”
“It wasn’t the other way around?”
“Oh, Lord. What did he tell you? Yes, I know Niles tried to sue me for breach of contract. But it came to nothing. Our ‘contract’ was quite flexible, allowing either of us to end it easily, and he knew it. He was just blowing smoke.”
“I suppose you never threatened him either?”
“Lieutenant Morgan, what is going on here? Does the fact that a crime happened to take place in my storeroom give you the right to invade my privacy? Does it automatically make me the prime suspect? The only suspect? For heaven’s sake, look for someone who actually knew the victim, why don’t you? I never even saw Kyle before he showed up at my store in his clown suit.”
“Didn’t you?”
“No!” Jo nearly shouted it. She drew a breath to say more, but something in Morgan’s face stopped her. “What?” she asked.
“You never encountered the victim, Kyle Sandborn, in New York, during that entire period you dealt with his uncle, Niles Sandborn?”
“Niles Sand . . .” Jo’s voice died in her throat. “His uncle? I, I never made the connection. We seldom used each other’s last name. I barely remembered what it was.”
“You barely remembered the name of the man who threatened you with a lawsuit?”
“Yes,” Jo answered weakly, acutely aware that Morgan didn’t believe her. She looked desperately to Ainsworthy whose eyes were now closed. To her horror she heard a soft snore rise from him.
Morgan drilled on. “Kyle Sandborn went to visit his uncle in New York regularly. He stayed with him so he could go on auditions, and occasionally helped him in his business. Niles Sandborn is positive you met his nephew.”
“If he says so, perhaps I did. But I doubt the man was in clown makeup at the time, don’t you, Lieutenant?”
“So you admit you did know him?”
“I said ‘perhaps,’ didn’t I?”
“I’m wondering why you never mentioned this to us, Mrs. McAllister, this prior connection to the victim.”
“I’m wondering why I bothered to come here and listen to these outlandish insinuations, Lieutenant Morgan. In fact I refuse to listen to any more. If you have something to charge me with, you know where to find me.”
Jo stood, exchanging glares with the man behind the desk, holding her breath at the same time to see if in fact he would slam her with some ridiculous, trumped up charge of murder, or manslaughter, or whatever he thought would hold water. When he remained silent, she shook Earnest C. Ainsworthy, who woke with a series of coughs and snuffles.
“Come on, let’s go,” Jo said, dragging him upward.
She heard Ainsworthy stumbling through his “good days” to Morgan, but she reached for the door, unwilling to look at Morgan and see the sneer that was likely gracing his face. Their exit wasn’t as forceful as her last one, as Ainsworthy seemed unable to negotiate the maze of desks with any rapidity. Eventually, though, they made their way out, Jo’s emotions swinging between relief—at actually leaving—and anger and amazement over the whole unbelievable situation.
What the heck, she wondered, was going on?
Chapter 11
Jo dropped Ainsworthy back at his office, struggling through gritted teeth to remain civil to her so-called lawyer as he mumbled inanities laced with legal
“Mrs. McAllister, did you, when you lived in New York, have dealings with a Niles P. Sandborn?”
Jo’s shock must have shown, since Morgan looked gratified.
“Niles? Where did you dig him up?” Why was her life suddenly being examined? What was going on?
“You had business with him?”
“Yes, at one time. He is a dealer. He bought jewelry from me, for a while.”
“Was your relationship amicable?”
“As a matter of fact, no, it was not, at least not always. When I got tired of his late payments and other finagling, I put an end to it.”
“ You put an end to it?”
“Yes.”
“It wasn’t the other way around?”
“Oh, Lord. What did he tell you? Yes, I know Niles tried to sue me for breach of contract. But it came to nothing. Our ‘contract’ was quite flexible, allowing either of us to end it easily, and he knew it. He was just blowing smoke.”
“I suppose you never threatened him either?”
“Lieutenant Morgan, what is going on here? Does the fact that a crime happened to take place in my storeroom give you the right to invade my privacy? Does it automatically make me the prime suspect? The only suspect? For heaven’s sake, look for someone who actually knew the victim, why don’t you? I never even saw Kyle before he showed up at my store in his clown suit.”
“Didn’t you?”
“No!” Jo nearly shouted it. She drew a breath to say more, but something in Morgan’s face stopped her. “What?” she asked.
“You never encountered the victim, Kyle Sandborn, in New York, during that entire period you dealt with his uncle, Niles Sandborn?”
“Niles Sand . . .” Jo’s voice died in her throat. “His uncle? I, I never made the connection. We seldom used each other’s last name. I barely remembered what it was.”
“You barely remembered the name of the man who threatened you with a lawsuit?”
“Yes,” Jo answered weakly, acutely aware that Morgan didn’t believe her. She looked desperately to Ainsworthy whose eyes were now closed. To her horror she heard a soft snore rise from him.
Morgan drilled on. “Kyle Sandborn went to visit his uncle in New York regularly. He stayed with him so he could go on auditions, and occasionally helped him in his business. Niles Sandborn is positive you met his nephew.”
“If he says so, perhaps I did. But I doubt the man was in clown makeup at the time, don’t you, Lieutenant?”
“So you admit you did know him?”
“I said ‘perhaps,’ didn’t I?”
“I’m wondering why you never mentioned this to us, Mrs. McAllister, this prior connection to the victim.”
“I’m wondering why I bothered to come here and listen to these outlandish insinuations, Lieutenant Morgan. In fact I refuse to listen to any more. If you have something to charge me with, you know where to find me.”
Jo stood, exchanging glares with the man behind the desk, holding her breath at the same time to see if in fact he would slam her with some ridiculous, trumped up charge of murder, or manslaughter, or whatever he thought would hold water. When he remained silent, she shook Earnest C. Ainsworthy, who woke with a series of coughs and snuffles.
“Come on, let’s go,” Jo said, dragging him upward.
She heard Ainsworthy stumbling through his “good days” to Morgan, but she reached for the door, unwilling to look at Morgan and see the sneer that was likely gracing his face. Their exit wasn’t as forceful as her last one, as Ainsworthy seemed unable to negotiate the maze of desks with any rapidity. Eventually, though, they made their way out, Jo’s emotions swinging between relief—at actually leaving—and anger and amazement over the whole unbelievable situation.
What the heck, she wondered, was going on?
Chapter 11
Jo dropped Ainsworthy back at his office, struggling through gritted teeth to remain civil to her so-called lawyer as he mumbled inanities laced with legal
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