nodded, and found that once she gave into it, the chair was amazingly comfortable. Images of it replacing her own broken-springed sofa ran wistfully through her head.
Morgan got down to business. “Tell me how you happened to come here tonight.” He flipped pages in a notebook, which, Jo was sure, held the information she had already given to the first responding officer. She hadn’t seen Morgan for several weeks, and once again it unnerved her how the sight of him brought flashes of Mike to mind, though there was little actual resemblance between the two men beyond their dark coloring and build.
Jo remembered having spotted the lieutenant during a break at the Abbotsville Country Club’s craft show last fall. She had watched him then, meeting an attractive woman for lunch and greeting her with a kiss on the cheek. What did that kiss indicate? she had wondered at the time, and continued to wonder. Was this woman still in his life?
Jo suddenly became aware of how she must look, knowing how she tended to run her hands through her own dark hair under times of stress. And her nose, she was sure, must be as red as the patrolman’s outside. But as Lieutenant Morgan looked up expectantly, and a bit impatiently, Jo straightened up, annoyed with herself for letting her thoughts wander so frivolously. This was not, after all, a social visit. She launched into her answer to Morgan’s question, explaining about her unsuccessful attempts to reach Holt all day, and finally coming to his house.
“So he wasn’t expecting you?”
“No. I thought my chances of talking with him were better if I caught him by surprise.”
“But Dan Brenner knew you would be coming.”
“Yes, as I said, Dan gave me the address and told me when Mr. Holt would likely be here.”
“Did Mr. Ramirez also know you were coming?”
Jo thought it an odd question. “I don’t know. He might have heard Dan talking on the phone to me, I suppose. Or Dan might have mentioned it to him. Why?”
“Tell me what you found when you arrived at the house.” Jo described knocking at the front door and eventually spotting light at the basement window.
“You didn’t see or hear signs of anyone in the house at that point?”
“No, which is why I went around, looking for another entrance. I thought maybe Mr. Holt hadn’t heard my knocking on the front door if he was in the basement.”
“Uh-huh. And then what?”
Jo told about the side door moving open at her touch, then walking in and seeing Holt at the bottom of the stairs.
“And did you go down those stairs?”
“No. I called 9-1-1. On the slim chance he was alive, I didn’t think I should try to do anything in case moving him at all would be dangerous. But he looked dead.”
“Yes, I guess you, better than some, would pick up on that.”
Jo had been expecting a comment like that. In the past she might have bristled, but now she searched for a glint of humor lurking in the lieutenant’s eyes, and found it.
“Believe me, it’s not something I’m happy to have expertise in,” she replied. “What happened? Did he trip? Hit his head? I didn’t see blood.”
“We’re still looking into that.” The veil of officialdom slipped back down, covering the glint, and Morgan returned to his notebook. “Well, that about covers everything, Mrs. McAllister.”
“You can call me Jo, by now. I’d say it’s been long enough.”
Morgan opened his mouth to respond when a patrolman stuck his head in the door after a single knock.
“Excuse me, sir, but the mayor wants—”
“Tell him I’ll be there in a minute.”
Morgan stood and came around the desk, and, as Jo worked at climbing out of her soft chair, held out a helpful hand.
“I thought I recognized that man as Warren Kunkle,” Jo said, taking Morgan’s hand gratefully and pulling herself upright. “What does the mayor have to do with this?”
Morgan guided her out the door.
“Thank you for your help,”
Morgan got down to business. “Tell me how you happened to come here tonight.” He flipped pages in a notebook, which, Jo was sure, held the information she had already given to the first responding officer. She hadn’t seen Morgan for several weeks, and once again it unnerved her how the sight of him brought flashes of Mike to mind, though there was little actual resemblance between the two men beyond their dark coloring and build.
Jo remembered having spotted the lieutenant during a break at the Abbotsville Country Club’s craft show last fall. She had watched him then, meeting an attractive woman for lunch and greeting her with a kiss on the cheek. What did that kiss indicate? she had wondered at the time, and continued to wonder. Was this woman still in his life?
Jo suddenly became aware of how she must look, knowing how she tended to run her hands through her own dark hair under times of stress. And her nose, she was sure, must be as red as the patrolman’s outside. But as Lieutenant Morgan looked up expectantly, and a bit impatiently, Jo straightened up, annoyed with herself for letting her thoughts wander so frivolously. This was not, after all, a social visit. She launched into her answer to Morgan’s question, explaining about her unsuccessful attempts to reach Holt all day, and finally coming to his house.
“So he wasn’t expecting you?”
“No. I thought my chances of talking with him were better if I caught him by surprise.”
“But Dan Brenner knew you would be coming.”
“Yes, as I said, Dan gave me the address and told me when Mr. Holt would likely be here.”
“Did Mr. Ramirez also know you were coming?”
Jo thought it an odd question. “I don’t know. He might have heard Dan talking on the phone to me, I suppose. Or Dan might have mentioned it to him. Why?”
“Tell me what you found when you arrived at the house.” Jo described knocking at the front door and eventually spotting light at the basement window.
“You didn’t see or hear signs of anyone in the house at that point?”
“No, which is why I went around, looking for another entrance. I thought maybe Mr. Holt hadn’t heard my knocking on the front door if he was in the basement.”
“Uh-huh. And then what?”
Jo told about the side door moving open at her touch, then walking in and seeing Holt at the bottom of the stairs.
“And did you go down those stairs?”
“No. I called 9-1-1. On the slim chance he was alive, I didn’t think I should try to do anything in case moving him at all would be dangerous. But he looked dead.”
“Yes, I guess you, better than some, would pick up on that.”
Jo had been expecting a comment like that. In the past she might have bristled, but now she searched for a glint of humor lurking in the lieutenant’s eyes, and found it.
“Believe me, it’s not something I’m happy to have expertise in,” she replied. “What happened? Did he trip? Hit his head? I didn’t see blood.”
“We’re still looking into that.” The veil of officialdom slipped back down, covering the glint, and Morgan returned to his notebook. “Well, that about covers everything, Mrs. McAllister.”
“You can call me Jo, by now. I’d say it’s been long enough.”
Morgan opened his mouth to respond when a patrolman stuck his head in the door after a single knock.
“Excuse me, sir, but the mayor wants—”
“Tell him I’ll be there in a minute.”
Morgan stood and came around the desk, and, as Jo worked at climbing out of her soft chair, held out a helpful hand.
“I thought I recognized that man as Warren Kunkle,” Jo said, taking Morgan’s hand gratefully and pulling herself upright. “What does the mayor have to do with this?”
Morgan guided her out the door.
“Thank you for your help,”
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