As soon as Leon shut the front door behind him, Heather spoke in a loud whisper. “I know you. You’re rolling over how to start the investigation in your mind.” She placed Steve’s hand on her arm and set off toward the well-worn path between the two massive homes.
“Who said I wanted to take the case?”
She let out a spurt of a laugh. “Amanda reminded you of Maggie. The old bloodhound caught a scent and here we are walking on freshly mowed grass. My plans are on hold and you think there may be a link between the cold case and Amanda’s death.”
Steve came to an abrupt halt. “The pace you’re on tells me I’m not the only hound walking across these yards. Admit it. You wouldn’t be able to sleep tonight if we didn’t find out what Belinda has to say. Who knows, she might have changed her mind and wants to sell the right of way.”
“You don’t believe that for a minute.”
“No, but you won’t know until we get there what she has to tell us.”
Heather mumbled a comment under her breath but kept walking. After climbing several steps, she used an ornate knocker on the massive front door. Footsteps clicked across the floor and the door swung open. She looked eye to eye with Johnny Mattherson. This time he didn’t undress her with his gaze, but motioned them inside with his hand. “Come in and prepare yourself. It’s going to be a bumpy ride.”
A circular marble entryway held a large, round table topped with a substantial vase of fresh flowers.
“Leave your jackets on the table. Belinda’s running hot and cold these days, and today, she has ice in her veins. There’s a roaring fire in the study tonight.”
Steve slipped off his jacket, but Heather only unbuttoned hers. “We saw all the cars earlier. It looked like a couple belonged to the police.”
“The sheriff and two detectives from Houston. They didn’t stay long.”
Johnny led them to the second door branching off from the entry. When the door opened, he took a step back. Belinda stood to the side of the fireplace, holding a glass tumbler filled with ice and something amber. “Good. You’ve come.”
Johnny moved to a wet bar. Turning his head toward them, he announced, “The bar’s open. Care for something over ice?”
Heather and Steve both declined. This seemed to please Belinda as she moved to the couch and sat beside a man wearing a moderately expensive suit. “This is Andrew Curry, an attorney from Palestine, the next county to the east.”
A quick head to toe examination gave Heather a measure of the man. Dark hair, slicked straight back, touched the collar of his white shirt, a clean shave, and black lace-up shoes that reflected light from the overhead chandelier. Very professional, even at this time of day.
Johnny confirmed Heather’s other suspicions about the man. “Andy is the best criminal defense attorney in this area. He and I try to play a round of golf once a week. One of these days I’ll beat him.”
This brought the obligatory smile from the attorney, but nothing else.
As expected, Belinda took over. “Mr. Curry suggested we hire private investigators to help us make sure overzealous police don’t ruin my son’s life.”
Heather asked, “Which son are we talking about?”
“Brian, the youngest.”
Steve said, “You have us at a disadvantage. Why would the police want to ruin his life?”
Mr. Curry fielded the question. “If you haven’t yet heard, a jogger found Amanda Palmer’s body in Houston’s Hermann Park. It didn’t take long for the police to zero in on Brian. He had the good sense to call home and refused to answer questions when they detained him for questioning. A friend of mine had him released in less than two hours.”
Steve interrupted. “You said the police have already come and gone from here?”
Belinda barely let him finish the question. “Two detectives from Houston. They were horrid… asking all kinds of leading questions. Brian is a sweet child who wouldn’t hurt anyone. I called Johnny the moment they arrived. He said for me not to say anything.”
Johnny raised a glass toward Mr. Curry. “Andy came as quick as he could get away. He told them we weren’t prepared to say anything. We need detectives who know Houston. We made some phone calls and your names rose to the top.”
“What are your expectations of us?” asked Steve.
The door flew open and in walked an elderly woman leaning heavily on a cane. Her hair was a stringy thatch of gray. She wore a tie-dye blouse, a flowing tan colored skirt and sandals. In her wake walked a half dozen cats.
Belinda sprang to her feet. “Mother. You know you’re not supposed to be out of your bungalow. It’ll be dark soon.”
The woman gave a confused look and stated, “Why do you call me Mother? My name is Babbs, and my guests are hungry. There’s no more paté for them, only the cheap dry stuff you keep buying.” Her cloudy eyes stared at the fireplace. “Besides, it’s never dark if you walk in the light.”
The look Belinda gave her husband could wilt the flowers in the entry. “Johnny, did you pick up the order like I asked?”
Johnny took the glass from his lips. “Sorry, dear. Forgot.”
A huff that communicated more than disappointment came from Belinda. “Can’t you think of anything besides golf?”
Johnny took a long pull from his drink.
Belinda wasn’t through. “Take Mother to her bungalow and make sure all the bowls around the driveway are full. And take all these cats with you.”
The elderly woman issued an inappropriate smile. “No need to wig out, Belinda. Remember what the Beatles said, ‘Give peace a chance.’” She flashed a peace sign and wobble-walked out of the room with Johnny and the cats following in her wake. All but one, who was doing a figure eight around and between Steve’s legs.
Steve reached down and picked up the black and white cat. He stroked its head and said, “You missed one.”
Belinda grabbed the cat from Steve’s hands, took it to the door and threw it in a motion not unlike releasing a bowling ball. It skidded on the marble floor and bounced against her husband’s leg.
Belinda returned. “Please excuse the interruption.”
Heather nodded. “How old is she?”
“Eighty.” Belinda came back to the couch, sat down, and cleared her throat. “Let’s talk about your terms. I’ve consulted with Mr. Curry about the standard rate for private investigators, and I’m prepared to pay more than that, provided you give me daily progress reports.”
Heather started to answer, but Steve talked over her first word. “What are your expectations of us?”
“It should be obvious. Gather evidence that proves Brian had nothing to do with Amanda’s death.”
“And what if the evidence we uncover points to Brian’s involvement?”
The response came back fast. “You won’t. But if you find something that is harmful to my son, I’ll expect you to remember who you’re working for.”
Mr. Curry broke into the conversation. “What Belinda meant to say was, whatever you discover will need to come to me and not to the police first.”
Steve unfurled his cane. “You’ve given us a lot to consider. Before we commit to anything, we’ll need a day or two to do some preliminary inquiries.”
It was a good thing Steve couldn’t see Belinda’s expression. It appeared she expected not only a quick answer, but one that fit her narrative of the employer/employee relationship. She shifted her withering gaze from Steve to Heather. “While you and Mr. Smiley are sitting on your hands, remember that I’m the owner of the land you need for your train.”
It took every drop of patience and tact Heather could muster not to tell Belinda what she could do with her land.
Heather seethed on the trip back to the Wells mansion as cats scurried toward the back of the Mattherson’s massive home.
Steve stopped her before they cut through the hedges separating the two properties. “What did you think of Babbs?”
Of all questions that Steve could have asked, that one wasn’t on her radar. “I thought we were trying to decide whether to take a murder case or not.”
“That’s only a third of the reason we’re here. Sure, there’s a recent murder case, but also an old case that needs solving. And don’t forget, you came to Mattherson to buy land.”
Heather’s mind was still on the coercion Belinda tried to use. “What does a geriatric cat-lady have to do with any of those?”
“I’ll let you figure that out after you get over being mad.”
Heather stomped her foot and gave voice to her thoughts. “You don’t know how much it aggravates me when you do that.”
“Do what?”
“Get logical when I’m ready to throw a fit. You make me think and it spoils everything.”