Legacy of Lies. Jill Elizabeth Nelson

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      TWO

      Rich stood next to the trench and closed his cell phone, having finished speaking to a liaison at the Minnesota Bureau of Criminal Apprehension. Janet Keller hadn’t told him a thing, but maybe the physical evidence would. A forensics tech from the MBCA would be here in the morning. Dr. Mead was transporting the remains to the hospital where they would await the tech’s arrival.

      “Keep the crime-scene tape up and cover the trench with a tarp,” Rich told Terry. “The tech might want to collect soil or check for other evidence from the site.”

      “Sure thing, Chief.” His deputy grinned. “Don’t mind hangin’ around a little longer. Maybe catch another glimpse of that Keller girl. I remember when this pint-size squirt in pigtails used to visit her grandparents. She sure did grow up into somethin’ to look at.”

      Rich frowned. “I didn’t live in Ellington that long ago, and you must’ve been a grown man already back then.”

      “You sayin’ I’m too old for her?” The grin faded. “You’re not much younger than me, and I can tell you’re not immune to the lady’s charms.”

      Rich didn’t bother to mention that he was more than half a decade younger than his deputy. The guy already had a hard time accepting him as boss without rubbing in the age difference. “I’m saying you’ve been in law enforcement too long to let a pretty face distract you.”

      Terry chuckled, but there was an edge to the sound. “A pretty face doesn’t distract me but it always attracts me.”

      Pressing his lips together, Rich waved to Terry and headed for his SUV. If Nicole fell for Terry’s lines, she wasn’t the woman he figured her for. Right now, he’d better concentrate on his duty. He climbed into his vehicle and checked his watch. Going on 8:00 p.m. But this set of interviews couldn’t wait until tomorrow. By then, rumors would be running rampant and catching a fresh reaction would be impossible.

      Rich turned his vehicle toward the west and the house on the hill. Perched on the highest bump on this stretch of prairie, the Elling mansion brooded over the town like a disapproving parent. Simon Elling, the current patriarch of the founding family, lived there with his wife and assorted relatives. A sparse and motley crew, far from their heyday as the landed gentry of the county, when Ellings occupied most farmhouses within a thirty-mile radius. But they hadn’t lost a bit of their arrogance despite their dwindling numbers. This visit promised to be interesting.

      He turned into the driveway that took him toward the circular drive in front of a three-story brick structure that rambled across half an acre of brown-patched lawn. The grass was faintly shaggy and the trees old and balding. The Ellings hadn’t employed a yardman in years. He stopped the vehicle near the set of broad stone steps that led to the front doors.

      Pressing the doorbell button brought no sound or response from inside, so Rich gave the door sharp raps. Soon a panel swung ajar, and a statuesque woman with a pale, cold face stared out at him. The pulled shape of her gray-blue eyes betrayed one too many face-lifts. He wasn’t much of a judge of clothing, but he was pretty certain her silky-looking blouse and form-fitting pants cost more than Daddy would be happy to pay—as soon as he saw the credit-card bill. As far as Rich knew, Simon’s fiftysomething daughter hadn’t worked a day in her life, but she always dressed as if she lived around the corner from a New York boutique.

      “Hi, Melody. Is your father in?”

      Her artificially plump lips thinned. “What’s Mason done now?”

      “This isn’t about your son.”

      Her eyes widened. “It’s not?”

      He didn’t blame Melody for being surprised. “I need to talk to Simon regarding a matter that’s just come up.”

      “Can’t this wait until tomorrow? The old man’s locked himself in his study again.” One side of her mouth twisted into a sneer, a typical expression of this thrice-divorced former beauty queen.

      “This isn’t a social call. It’s urgent.”

      Melody shrugged one shoulder and motioned him inside. “Take your chances, then.”

      He stepped into an enormous foyer with a vaulted ceiling. The westering sun poured a river of light through the stained glass in the fan window above the doors and sprinkled rainbow colors over a scuffed tile floor. A large Terry Redlin painting hung over an entry table along the wall, but it was a print. If they’d once owned the original, it had been sold long ago. Rich followed Melody’s designer-clad form up a hallway, where another pair of double doors confronted him.

      “Just give a knock and see what happens.” Melody snickered and walked away.

      Rich tapped with his knuckles. “Simon. It’s Chief Hendricks. I need to talk to you.”

      Seconds later, a lock rattled and the door flung wide. A tall, sharp-faced man in his late seventies glared out at him. He cradled a brandy snifter a quarter full of dark liquid in one hand. “What’s that worthless grandson of mine done now?”

      Rich stifled a sigh. “Whatever he’s up to, we’ll catch him, but this visit isn’t about him. The remains of an infant have been found buried in a shallow grave.”

      “Where?” The snifter froze halfway to Simon’s mouth.

      “In town.”

      “A recent burial?”

      “Old.”

      Simon’s Adam’s apple bobbed. “Come in.”

      The study sprawled in faded elegance. Spacious dimensions, a long wet bar and a coffered ceiling clamored privilege and power, but thin spots on the carpet and the worn chairs angled toward the cold fireplace betrayed tight times. Simon led the way to a massive mahogany desk and plopped into a leather chair behind it, motioning for his guest to sit in the chair on the other side. Rich remained standing, the better to observe the man at the desk. Simon’s free hand gripped the arm of his chair is if he thought it might suddenly buck like a bronco.

      “Details,” the senior Elling barked.

      “Not many yet. The body was buried beneath Janet Keller’s rose garden.” That much would be common knowledge in less than a day around this small town. He withheld the information that the bones had been wrapped in yard goods from Jan’s Sewing Room.

      Simon sat up stiff. “You don’t suppose Jan or Frank had anything to do with the kidnapping?”

      “It’s too soon to suppose anything. We don’t even know for sure whose remains those bones are. Do you have any reason to think either of the Kellers might have taken your child? Bad blood of any kind? Raw business dealings?”

      Simon croaked a laugh. “Those two do-gooders? Frank and I cordially disliked each other. No run-ins, just a different way of seeing the world. One reason we never did business together, and I kept our money at the other bank.”

      “All right.” Rich opened his notebook. “I need to ask you a few questions to help identify the remains.”

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