Mausoleum Read Online Free PDF Page B

insurance was invented. Grace nodded, and Jeannie put down her pen and covered her ears.
    I said, “You have to appear to pay me decently. Otherwise it won’t look like much of an effort. Just between us, I won’t keep such close track of every hour. Besides, this will all be moot the second the cops nail the killer, and all you will owe me for is an hour of time for attending this meeting.” I raised a hand to quell howls of protest. “My first conversation earlier today with Rick and Dan and Wes was on the house.”
    Dan said, “Wait a minute. Nobody charges for the first conversation.”
    â€œArchitects do,” I said. “So do some lawyers. And if you ask Pinkerton Chevalley why your car’s making that clunking noise, Pink’s reply will cost you.”
    Rick Bowland offered to drive me home. I said I’d rather walk. It was maybe five minutes from Grace’s place on the edge of the borough to mine on Main Street.
    â€œSo I’ll walk you home.”
    â€œWhat about your car?” I had had enough cemetery chatter for one evening. Also, to do a proper job for them, I had to get out of their mind-set and into my own.
    â€œI’ll get my car later.”
    The old Borough has sidewalks, uprooted by aggressive maples, and narrowed by hedges. The houses are smaller and mostly lived in by long-time residents whose kids have grown up and moved away because they couldn’t afford to buy in their home town with new house prices going nuts year after year. There was no traffic on the side streets.
    â€œSo what do you want to talk about?” I asked Rick.
    â€œWhat do you mean?”
    â€œYou’re walking me home. I’m relieved you didn’t offer to carry my books.”
    â€œHuh?”
    â€œWhat’s up, Rick?”
    â€œI was just wondering if you have any idea who killed Brian.”
    â€œI doubt he interrupted a burglar.”
    â€œMeaning he knew the guy? The guy who killed him?”
    Curious, wondering was he toying with me, I asked, “What makes you think that?”
    â€œThey were alone in the mausoleum.”
    â€œNot necessarily. There was room for several people.” The list, which I kept to myself, would include Donny Butler, Sherman Chevalley, or a blonde’s husband who was also a Village Cemetery Association trustee like Dan Adams or Wes Little. Or you, Rick Bowland.
    Rick stepped off the sidewalk where a hedge leaned close and called from the street, “What do the cops think?”
    That was a good question; almost as good as: Why did you or Dan or Wes fight so hard to hire me to investigate? Was one of you really hoping a half-assed amateur would throw dust in the cops’ eyes?
    I said, “Beats me. But I would guess that they are looking for witnesses who might have seen Brian go inside with someone. Or seen someone go inside who wasn’t Brian.”
    â€œHow would he get in without a key?”
    â€œMaybe Brian lent him a key. Maybe he picked the lock. Maybe they went in together.”
    â€œBut the cemetery was full of people for the tour and setting up the tour.”
    â€œYou can be sure the cops will be talking to them.”
    Which was why I wanted to talk to Sherman as soon as I found him.
    Rick said, “You should talk to Donny Butler. He might have seen something. He’s there all the time.”
    â€œSince Brian Grose pressed charges against Donny for creaming his Audi and punching his eye, you can bet the cops are grilling the hell out of Donny.”
    â€œDonny wouldn’t shoot Brian.”
    â€œProbably not.”
    â€œWho do you suppose Brian would take into the mausoleum?”
    â€œSomeone he wanted to show off to, or someone he wanted to do some work on it—fix something; or install something. He already hooked up audio. Maybe he wanted running water or a barbeque or high def video. Maybe it was just someone he wanted to get laid