Lethal Legacy by Louise Hendricksen Read Free Book Online Page A

the curio shops, or the vegetable and flower markets at the
     other end of town."
    â€œDoes Wheeler have an athletic club?"
    â€œI don't know. Do you, Dad?"
    â€œNope."
    â€œI'll check.” Nathan made a note on a piece of paper.
    B.J. turned at a red brick courthouse and cruised through a residential area until the
     houses thinned out and they came to a sign that said, pran's landscape gardens. They
     drove down a densely wooded lane to a graveled parking area.
    Broad overhangs with uplifted gables like those found in Cambodian temples decorated the
     gently pitched roof of the Nguyen house. Carved cedar pillars supported a front porch
     flanked by vine-covered lattice work.
    B.J. pulled up beside a separate building that appeared to be a combined equipment shed,
     garage, and workroom. “Got the key, kitten?"
    Nathan slid open the back door of the van. “Doctor, do you mind if I have a look inside
     first?"
    B.J. shrugged. “How long do you need?"
    â€œTen minutes ought to do it."
    Amy handed him the key Cam's attorney had sent by messenger. “Let us know when you're
     ready,” she said.
    B.J. scowled and slumped down in his seat. “What the hell does he think he can find that
     we didn't?"
    â€œYou might be surprised. His grandfather taught him remarkable skills, and the government
     picked up where he left off."
    Levering herself out of the van, she followed thyme-fringed stepping stones to a
     hedged-in plot. Crushed herbs assailing her nostrils, she opened a wrought-iron gate and
     strolled through Mai's private garden.
    Mai's father had clipped hemlock and boxwood into topiary urns, balls, cubes, and
     castles. He'd shaped and sheared yew into scores of animals, peacocks, rabbits,
     squirrels, even a dragon. What a devoted father he must have been to spend so much time
     on his daughter's garden when he had a landscape business to run.
    Her throat constricted as she recalled Mai and Cam standing beside the castle and dragon
     topiary during their wedding ceremony.
    Through the drifting veils of fog, she gazed at endless rows of trees and shrubs flanked
     by long, glass-enclosed greenhouses. After a moment, she gave a long sigh. Now, Mai and
     her father were dead and poor Cam sat in jail.
    When she heard Nathan's voice, she hurried back through the gate and joined the men
     beneath the covered patio at the rear of the house.
    B.J. stood with his hands in the pockets of his red nylon jacket. “So, what's the
     verdict?” Wind stirred long, suspended lengths of chimes on the porch. Their deep bell
     tones added a grave note to her father's words.
    Nathan propped his shoulder against a black wrought-iron support. “Do either of the
     Nguyens smoke?"
    â€œNot to my knowledge,” Amy answered. “Why?"
    â€œSomeone who was in the house did. How about the sheriff?"
    B.J. focused on a crack in the smooth, pink-concrete pathway. “Never saw him with a
     cigarette."
    â€œWhoever it is smokes Djarum or Samporena cigarettes. They smell like incense."
    B.J. bristled. “Impossible. We would have noticed such a thing."
    Nathan strode to the back door and swung it open. “See for yourselves.” He stood to one
     side and let them file through ahead of him.
    Amy took one look at the kitchen and gasped. “Somebody's been here."
    Cornflakes crackled under B.J.'s shoes. “Jesus, they trashed the place."
    Nathan glanced from Amy to her father. “It wasn't like this when you did your initial
     investigation?"
    Amy shook her head. “It showed signs of a struggle, but nothing like this."
    B.J. stepped carefully around spilled sugar and flour, slipped on rice grains, and caught
     hold of a chair. “What a god-awful mess. Must have been hooligans."
    â€œI don't think so."
    B.J. swung around and glared at Nathan. “Why not?"
    â€œEverything's been put through a sieve. They dumped the rest into pots and pans."
    Amy analyzed the scene.