A Motor for Murder (Veronica Margreve Mysteries Book 1) by Valerie Murmel Read Free Book Online Page B

able to give Claire a head start in the world, so that stung.”
    “Did you raise your voice at him as well?”
    “Yes, once.”
    “How long where you in his office?”
    “Maybe... 5 minutes. It wasn't a very long conversation.He was drunk and stubborn, as drunk people can be. And then suddenly laughed out loud and wrote me the check”.
    “Did you cash the check?”
    “Yes, I did. It went through OK, after my conversation with the police”.
    I didn't know whether I would cash a check under such circumstances. But then, Paul and Claire needed the money, that much was evident.
    “What do you do, by the way?”
    “I am an editor for a vegan food website and magazine. And I do freelance writing and editing. But life is expensive.” Yes, definitely – on what I estimated he earned, it would be tough to live in the fanciest part of Bellevue, trying to support a daughter through college and law school. “The house prices are back up, though. I am planning to put this house on the market, maybe next week, and move somewhere smaller when it sells. “
    I thought that it was a good plan – the place, even in its current semi-dilapidated condition, should draw several offers. And the sale would provide him and Claire an infusion of cash.
    I thought some more and said:
    “Did you have a written agreement for these payments?”
    He nodded. “I showed it to the police already.” So some such document existed, then. Although I doubted it fully outlined what the payments were for.
    “Could I see it?”
    He looked straight at me. “No. I've answered your other questions. That's enough. I don't have to show you everything.”
    He held the front door open for me again.
    “I didn't kill him. That is all I have to say”.
    “Thank you for telling me the story. I wish you and Claire the best.” I walked through the open door.
     
    As I drove home, I thought about Paul. The things we do for family. The dreams we have when we are young and idealistic. The promises we make. What remains of them after the years chip away at their crystal clarity; and the humiliations we are willing to subject ourselves to. I no longer though that he was a suspect in the murder.  Evidently, the police were of the same opinion – Paul has not been detained.
     
    Even if he knew the camera was there, could he have been able to figure out whether it was on or off? Besides, he told me during the party that he was going to talk to George – if he had any thoughts of the conversation turning violent or lethal, he wouldn't have said it. The rain and the darkness weighed on my mind, and I didn’t know what to do next.
     
     
     
    When I got home and opened my mailbox, I saw a full-color, plastic-wrapped booklet from Mayfair Motors, personally inviting me to test-drive a Maserati or Aston Martin, showing fancy and fast cars on the cover. I stood by the mailbox, turning the brochure over in my hand, making sure it was really addressed to me. The post mark on it said Saturday.
     

 
    8 
    The next morning I read what the local news said about the incident. The write-ups on the websites of the TV stations and the local paper were about a sudden death from unknown causes. George Ellis was described as both a “self-made man” and “belonging a well-known local family”, well-established in the area, and very rich. (That caused me to ponder for a little bit to what extent one can be a “self-made man” in the financial sense of the term if one comes from a very rich background). They talked about his recent marriage to Rita, and mentioned Roger in passing. I also learned about George’s support of various causes through car shows and auctions and participation in charitable golf tournaments.
     
    I had Vinay's business card from the party, and decided to send him an e-mail. Maybe I could glean something useful from talking to him, since he and George apparently had been golf buddies. In any case, from conversing with him the evening of the tragedy,