How Secrets Die. Marta Perry

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      * * *

      MAC PULLED INTO his parking space in front of the police station the next day, fuming. The meeting he’d had with the district attorney had been an exercise in frustration. They both knew of the increasing presence of drugs in their community, and of illegal prescription meds in particular. But the problem wasn’t solved by talking about it—or at least, not by talking with a DA who was up for reelection this fall and wanted to be able to show voters he’d been actively involved in fighting drugs. All the DA wanted to do was give lip service to the problem.

      Mac spared a passing thought to appreciate the crisp, clear weather that was so typical of fall in Pennsylvania. He didn’t have time to enjoy it today, unfortunately. He headed for the door of the solid redbrick building that had housed the station for the past century. The cement block addition along one side might not have the beauty of the original structure, but it gave much-needed space for police cars as well as the paramedics.

      A glance at the clock on the bell tower of Town Hall informed him that the morning was nearly gone, eaten up by talk that led nowhere. Marge Bailey, their dispatcher/receptionist, gave him a sympathetic look as he came in out of the bright fall sunshine. Marge was fond of telling people how she used to babysit for Mac and his brother, and her motherliness with him was balanced by the crisp, no-nonsense way she dealt with police matters.

      “No fun?”

      He grimaced. “Maybe it’ll satisfy him for the moment, so I can get some work done. Did the state police crime stats come in yet?”

      “On your computer.” She glanced toward his office door. “But first, you have a visitor.” Marge rolled her eyes. “Bart Gordon. All het up about something. I told him you were tied up in a meeting, and that if he had something to report, another officer could speak with him, but he insisted on waiting for you.”

      “Right.” Bart was one of those people who always had a list of complaints, most of them not police business at all. Looked as if the last shreds of his morning were being swept away. Well, his job was to protect and serve the community, even when they wasted his time.

      Mac strode into the office, tossing his cap onto the desk. “’Morning, Bart.”

      Bart Gordon shot out of the visitor’s chair that took up too much space in Mac’s tiny office, already crowded with desk, chair and files, made to seem even smaller by the framed photos of various town dignitaries and events that covered most of one wall.

      “It’s about time you’re getting back. I’ve been waiting.” Bart looked prosperous, self-satisfied and florid, as usual. He was enough older than Mac that their lives hadn’t really touched at any point.

      “Didn’t Marge tell you I was at a meeting with the DA?” he asked blandly. “I’ll have to speak to her about it.”

      Taken aback, Bart sat down again. “She mentioned it,” he said reluctantly.

      “Well, what can I do for you?” Mac edged around his desk and sat in the creaky swivel chair he’d inherited from his predecessor.

      Bart seemed to get up a head of steam again. “Are you aware that Jason Reilley’s sister is in town?” He made it sound like an accusation.

      Now, what was there in Kate Beaumont’s presence to make Bart so hot under the collar?

      “Yes, I’ve met her.” He kept his voice carefully neutral. “Is there a problem?”

      “A problem? When a perfect stranger walks into my office and starts prying into my business?” Bart seemed to take a breath, maybe deciding that wasn’t the way he wanted to present himself. After a moment he leaned forward, an earnest expression on his ruddy face. “Now, Mac, you know I always have the best interest of Laurel Ridge at heart. Adverse publicity about a prominent business like ours can’t do anyone any good. I’m just trying to protect the reputation of our town.”

      More intrigued by Bart’s attitude than anything else, Mac raised an eyebrow. “Is Ms. Beaumont threatening you with bad publicity? How?”

      “Not exactly.” Bart hesitated as if balancing the wisdom of confiding in the police against his obvious irritation with the Beaumont woman. “But she’s stirring up talk about her unfortunate brother’s death. You know how uncomfortable that was. I think it best that it be forgotten, not dragged into the public eye again.”

      In other words, Bart Gordon had the wind up because of Kate Beaumont’s interest in her brother’s death. But why? There’d never been any suggestion of involvement on the part of the company.

      “I can’t run the woman out of town because she makes you uncomfortable,” he pointed out.

      “I know. But it’s just so inconsiderate. We’ve already dealt with all that unpleasantness, and it certainly wasn’t our fault. If I’d known the boy was likely to go back to drugs, I’d never have agreed to give him a chance.” He was beginning to sound petulant, and Mac’s supply of courtesy was running dangerously low.

      He rose, hoping to indicate that the interview was over. “I’ll have a talk with her.”

      “Yes, well, I suppose that will have to do.” Bart made it as far as the door before his grievance burst out again. “What does she want here, anyway? And why did it take her over a year to decide she had to come?”

      Muttering a soothing word or two, Mac eased him out the door and closed it firmly.

      But the question lingered in his mind. Little though he wanted to admit it, Bart Gordon did have a point. Why had Kate Beaumont waited over a year to come to the place where her brother died?

      * * *

      KATE WALKED THE flagstone path to the cottage, disappointed but not deterred by the failure of her effort to speak to Russell Sheldon. Apparently it was true that the retiree was in poor health, since a caregiver had opened the door at his house and politely but firmly declined Kate’s request to speak to him.

      Very firmly—almost as if she’d been warned that Kate might come calling. Someone from the financial office had probably tipped off the woman, and it would be interesting to know who it had been.

      She passed into the shade cast by the tall hedge along the side of the bed-and-breakfast, chilled when she stepped out of the bright autumn sunshine. She glanced up. The clear, crisp day seemed to accentuate the bright colors that appeared here and there on the ridge that isolated the town. She wasn’t sure she’d enjoy living in a place where the hills crowded so close.

      One refusal didn’t spell the end. The caregiver had to leave sometime. She’d just have to catch Sheldon at a time when he was alone. No good reporter would ever give up after the first rebuff.

      The walkway led to the stoop at the front door, where she exchanged the shadow of the hedge for those of the shrubs that overhung the cottage. Had Jason ever felt claustrophobic, living in such an enclosed space?

      Kate drew out her keys, her fingers caressing the silver dragon on the key ring before they selected the door key. But when she touched the door, the key wasn’t necessary. The door was unlocked, and it swung soundlessly open a few inches.

      She stepped back, her heart pounding. She hadn’t left the cottage unlocked. Double-checking the locks was second nature for someone who’d СКАЧАТЬ