Chapter 13

“The world is full of obvious things which nobody by any chance ever observes.”

-Sir Arthur Conan Doyle, The Hound of the Baskervilles

I pushed my Miata as hard as I could in the fierce downpour on my way to Romani’s. Chicagoans expect this kind of blustery April weather, so I concentrated on my driving, trying to avoid hydroplaning. The Rain-X treatment on her windshield helped a lot, too.

At twenty-five minutes after six I pulled in a few spaces behind Woodley’s Cadillac. He left at once, before I even signaled with my fog lights. I knew he’d be okay about the twenty- five minutes. He’d frequently been over an hour late relieving me on this particular surveillance.

I turned off the engine and settled in, rubbing my eyes and stretching to shake off the lethargy. I was worried about Tom, but it was too early to phone Debra.

I munched on the granola bar and thought about my visit to the Grange mansion yesterday. It had triggered more questions than answers about Tom’s fall. Everyone there except maybe the Tollers had a reason to want that diary. And Jean Toller’s story about the Dowager and a hidden safe raised some new issues. Tom and the Dowager both falling down stairs in the same house was a big coincidence. I frown on coincidences. The insurance industry doesn’t like them either. I grabbed my computer and checked the National Safety statistics. The odds of falling to your death in any given year were 210,640 to 1.

My cell phone vibrated and I answered immediately, hoping it wasn’t bad news about Tom.

“McGil,” Woodley said angrily. “You were half an hour late and didn’t let me know. Just to be up-front, I want you to know I called United Insurance and reported you.”

“Wait a minute Woodley. I...”

“You know the rules McGil. Especially on a job like this one you can’t be late. They’re mad, and they’re gonna dock you and maybe take you off the case.”

“Look, you’re the one who’s been late every day for the past two weeks. I...”

“Not true. My word against yours. Nobody reported me late. You’re the one in trouble McGil, not me.”

I sputtered. “You can’t...”

I heard a click. Woodley hung up on me. The asshole.