Murder On The Mind

Murder On The Mind - Chapter 9

CHAPTER 9

“The pot’s empty.”

Brenda and I looked over our sections of newspaper to stare at Richard.

He turned his coffee cup over to show us it, too, was empty.

“I made supper,” Brenda said, her voice flat. “And washed up.”

“I can’t get the filters out with only one set of fingers,” I said, showing him the limited range of motion my cast allowed.

Richard scowled, let out a breath, and got up to make a fresh pot.

Evenings had fallen into a pattern. After dinner, we’d sit around the kitchen table drinking coffee and reading the paper which we hadn’t gotten to in the morning. Later, I’d try to stay out of Richard’s and Brenda’s way. Things seemed strained between them, and no doubt my presence was a contributing factor. Then, for as long as I could concentrate, I’d reread the newspaper articles on the murder, or maybe glance at the library books, before going to bed. A boring lifestyle, but I wasn’t up to much more.

The coffeemaker chugged and Richard took his seat again.

The front doorbell rang.

The various sections of the papers were lowered again as we glared at one another for long seconds, daring each other to answer it.

It rang again.

Without a word, Richard pushed back his chair and disappeared down the hall.

I turned my attention back to the financial page and felt sorry for old Rich. It seemed like he was doing all the fetching and carrying lately. Did a man as well-educated and professionally situated as my brother feel degraded by such trivial matters?

Brenda got up to pour herself another cup of coffee as Richard returned with grumpy-looking man in tow.

“Jeff, this is Detective Carl Hayden. He’d like to speak with you.” He didn’t bother to introduce the plainclothes cop to Brenda.

My stomach suddenly knotted. I recognized the name from the newspaper articles. Hayden was the lead investigator on the Sumner murder. He was big—about six-four, maybe two hundred and fifty pounds—and he looked pissed. With a crew-cut and heavy-featured, he reminded me of a slow-moving freight train—deadly, and not to be underestimated.

“Detective Hayden.” I offered my hand, which he ignored.

“Would you like some coffee?” Brenda asked politely, but her body language belied her solicitous words as she eyed the cop with suspicion.

Hayden shook his head, all business, turning his full attention to me. “Sir, Mrs. Claudia Sumner called Orchard Park Police Department this afternoon. She said you’d paid her a visit.”

“Yes, sir.” I figured I’d better be as polite as he was. After all, I didn’t want to be charged with obstructing justice, if that’s what he ultimately had in mind.

“You told her you were an insurance investigator. But she doesn’t deal with The Travelers.”

Neither did I, any more.

“Sir, do you now work for Travelers?”

I carefully considered my answer. “No.”

“Have you ever worked for that company?”

“Yes.”

“In Buffalo?”

“No.”

I hoped my curt answers wouldn’t bug him, but I didn’t want to give him any more information than I had to.