The next morning, Heather buttered whole wheat toast as Steve relayed the contents of Bella's brief text message. "She didn't send it until very late last night. It seems Frau Webber has been without domestic help for over a week. Between the backlog of laundry, cleaning, changing sheets, and vacuuming, Bella worked until she fell into bed after midnight."
Heather spooned and spread strawberry preserves onto the buttered toast and asked, "Did she overhear anything of use yesterday?"
"Not a word. She described the Webber's cook as an old bratwurst stuffed with a critical attitude."
Heather chuckled, "I commend her descriptive creativity, but that doesn't help much."
"As the British say, 'It’s early days.'"
Heather delivered the toast. "Did she meet any family members?"
"She literally ran into Adam Webber, the prospective bride's brother. The stack of clean, freshly folded towels she carried rained down like confetti." He paused. "Those are my words, not hers."
"Did she talk to Adam?"
"Yes, and for too long apparently. She got a taste of Frau Webber’s ire." Steve picked up a piece of toast but waited to take a bite. "The only thing she said about Adam was that he's much better looking in person than in the photo."
Heather groaned. "I have a bad feeling about this. Are you sure she should stay there?"
Steve took a small bite of toast and spoke with it squirreled in the side of his mouth. "In for a penny, in for a pound."
She looked at Steve. "Did you stay up late watching English detective shows?"
"I listened to one of Kate's audio books." He finished chewing the bite and chased it with coffee. "Before you ask, she's doing fine and sends her regards. She thinks it's awesome that Bella's doing undercover work. She said that type of thing is like fertilizer to her imagination."
As usual, Heather wanted to ask more questions about Kate to see if interest between the reluctant widow and widower had grown or waned. The problem was, neither party invited questions of that nature, so she changed the subject. "When did you say Lucy's funeral was?"
"The day after tomorrow. We'll need to restrict our interviews to the staff for the next several days and not bother the family members."
"It may not take that long to wrap up the case if we get lucky."
Steve dabbed his mouth with a napkin. "Slow and steady will win this race."
Heather thought for a moment. "I don't think that's a British saying."
With toast in hand, Steve said, "I spoke it in English. That's close enough."
* * *
The first conversation of the day proved to be the shortest. It took place on the small front porch of the Greens’ home and involved a near collision with Howard Green as Heather led Steve to the front door. The scowl on Howard's face intensified as he recognized the detectives. "Oh. It's you two again. I'll expect you to be gone by the time I get back."
Steve didn't hesitate. "We understand this is a difficult time for you, and we'll restrict our questions to the staff until after the funeral."
Heather wasn't as considerate as Steve. It was part of the good-cop, bad-cop routine they'd rehearsed if they found themselves confronted by Howard or any other family members. "We're here at the request of your father. Since we don’t know where you’re going or when you'll be back, we may or may not be here when you return. In fact, you can expect us to be regular visitors, and we look forward to your cooperation."
Howard squinted as he said, "Anything I have to say to you will be through my attorney."
"That's the type of response I expected," said Heather. "Perhaps we should tell the police to start formal proceedings to have you subpoenaed and deposed."
"Now, Heather," said Steve. "Let's allow Howard time to grieve the loss of his wife in peace."
Heather sighed. "You're right, Steve. There'll be plenty of time to depose him later."
Howard shouldered his way past Steve, bumping into him and turning him sideways. The car door slammed with a resounding thud. He laid a long ribbon of black on the driveway before the two-seater sports car gained traction.
"Interesting," said Heather. "He drives a new Corvette, a sure sign he's chasing his youth."
Steve added, "He'll never catch it, even in a Corvette."
Heather turned as Butch opened the door. "The boys called me when they saw you drive up. Did Howard try to run you off?"
"Let's just say he'd rather we weren't here," said Steve. He stepped into the foyer and immediately changed the conversation. "How is Mr. Sid today?"
"So far, it's a good day. He's excited about you two starting your investigation."
"Is he up to seeing us? There've been fresh developments since yesterday."
"It's still early in the day," said Butch. "He's always better in the mornings, but he tires easily. It's best if you could limit your time with him to less than thirty minutes. His mind is still sharp, but his body is another story. If you could bend the rule in your contract and give him something new to think about every day, it would bring him peace of mind that progress is being made."
"Will he be going to Lucy's funeral?" asked Heather.
Butch gave his head a nod. "I talked him into not going to the burial because heavy rain is in the forecast, but he insists on going to the church service."
With that, Butch extended a hand inviting them to follow him. The trio passed between two bodyguards who secured locks behind them. Fortress Green was still on high alert.
Heather asked, "Do you have someone trailing Howard?"
"Affirmative," said Butch. He pulled out his phone and pushed a couple of icons. "I put a tracker on Howard's ’Vette. He's following his usual route to his office, where he'll likely stay until noon. After that he'll meet his lady friend for lunch and spend the rest of the day with her at her townhouse. He usually stays well into the night and sometimes overnight. But since Lucy died, he's been coming home at five-thirty."
She asked, "Does Howard's attorney know he's being comforted by his girlfriend every afternoon?"
"He warned Howard not to see her until the police make an arrest."
"That seems to have fallen on deaf ears," said Steve.
Sid sat erect in his wheelchair as the trio come in. A boyish impatience seasoned his words. "I hope you have news. That fool of a private detective Howard hired won't tell me anything. I don’t think he knows anything; he only wants to pump money out of Howard until the well goes dry."
Steve took over. "We normally don't give our clients regular updates, but Heather and I decided you deserve to know what’s happened in the last twenty-four hours." He then told Sid the short version of them landing an undercover operative in the Webber household without using Bella's name.
Sid slapped his knee. "That's more like it. What else have you done?"
Heather explained they'd done fairly extensive background checks on the family members in both households and had a good idea who had alibis. She didn't say who obtained the information or how.
"Also," said Steve, "there will be a new homicide detective added to the case who will take over for Detective Vega. Leo was involved in an accident and will be on medical leave for a while. The new detective's name is Kirby. I can vouch for him; he's an honest cop who's been around for a long time."
"Let me get this straight," said Sid. "You have someone in the Webber house feeding you information and you have contacts in the police department helping you fill in gaps with both families?"
"That pretty well sums it up," said Steve. "We'll interview as many of your staff as we can today. Don't expect us to come back every day with updates, but that doesn't mean we're not working on the case."
"Just like drilling wells," said Sid. "It takes time to drill down far enough to get past the dirt, rocks, and water. Many of the wells don't produce, but all it takes is one good one to make up for the ones that come out dry." He looked at Butch. "Make sure everyone knows they're to give Steve and Heather anything they need and I'd better not hear of them not cooperating."
Butch gave a quick, affirmative answer and nodded for a bodyguard to let Steve and Heather out of Sid’s room.
Once in the hallway, Steve whispered to her, "Do you know where the kitchen is? I want to start with their chef, and I'll need your expertise in questioning about wine."
They followed the maze of hallways back to the entry, where a man who looked too old to be one of Butch's body guards came from the great room. He walked toward them with an over-confident swagger, his silver hair and weathered skin confirming he was past being anyone’s body guard.
"You're wasting your time," were the first words out of his mouth.
Steve responded with, "Aah. You might be one of Mr.Crankshaw's attorney buddies, but my money is on you being Henry Drake, the PI Howard hired."
"The latter," said Drake. "You've done your homework."
Heather asked, "Do you mind telling us why you believe we're wasting our time?"
"You should be next door. That's where you'll find Lucy's killer. Ingrid Webber may not have done the deed herself, but she knows who did. She's grown more and more bitter over the years as she watched her fortune melt away like wax in a very large candle. She probably made her husband kill Lucy to make up for all the poor business decisions he's made over the years."
"You're well informed," said Steve.
This earned a laugh. "Mr. Smiley. I started doing work for Howard before I left the force, but you already knew that. Don't worry, I won't do anything to get in your way." He opened his arms wide. "The house and everyone in it are all yours. Unrestricted access. I've already interviewed everyone and they all have legit alibis."
Steve stood with right hand on his cane. "Tell me Mr. Drake…"
"Just Drake. I dropped my first name a long time ago."
"All right, Drake. You're a good PI who was a good cop, just like me and Heather. You've worked for Howard Green off and on for years. Karl Webber, Ingrid's husband, is responsible for losing much of the family fortune." Steve took his time before he said, "I'm thinking you’ve stayed busy for about twenty-five years digging deep and finding out all kinds of information to help Howard make sure the Webbers’ fortune dwindled."
"That's much better, Smiley." He pointed at Steve and wagged an index finger in a way that communicated admiration. "There's the quick mind I've heard so much about. In business, information means money, and Howard pays very well for the sort of information I can give him."
Drake turned to leave, but stopped and faced them again. "I know you won't take my advice, but you're wasting your time talking to anyone in this house. Like I said, the killer is right next door."
One of the bodyguards unlocked the front door and Drake walked into the sunshine. Heather looked at Steve. "I wasn't expecting that."
Steve didn't respond at first, then he held out his hand for Heather to lead him. After several steps he said, "Drake's right about one thing. We're not taking advice from him. The kitchen must be in the direction we're heading. I can smell the bacon they had for breakfast."