Lying in Wait by J. A. Jance Read Free Book Online Page A

impeccable gray suit that was a perfect match for his hair. The man's mane of silvery hair was combed straight back in the classic style of a 1930s movie star.
    "Bonnie Elgin, please," Sue said, opening her I.D. "I'm Detective Danielson, and this is Detective Beaumont. We're with the Seattle Police Department."
    The man shook Sue's hand while his eyes drilled curiously into my face. "You're kidding me. Really? Detective Beaumont?"
    I nodded. "That's the one."
    Smiling, he turned to me and offered his hand. "Ron Elgin," he said. "Hang on a minute." Then he turned back into the house.
    "Bonnie," he called over his shoulder. "You'll never guess who they sent. Detective Beaumont. Remember? The guy who donated the Bentley to the Rep."
    I couldn't believe it. The damn Bentley again! Who was it who said that no good deed ever goes unpunished? Had a hole opened up in that columned porch, I would have been more than happy to have disappeared into it.
    "Come on in," Ron Elgin said, totally unaware of my discomfort. He led the way into a marbled entryway with a spectacular vaulted ceiling. "Bonnie will be thrilled to meet you, Detective Beaumont," he continued. "And you, too, of course," he added with a polite nod at Sue. "My wife will be down in a minute. Would either of you care for some coffee?"
    "Coffee sounds great," I said.
    Sue nodded. "Coffee's fine," she said.
    "Just go on into the living room and make yourselves at home," Ron Elgin directed. "There's a new pot of coffee that should be ready by now. It won't take me a minute." He hustled off.
    As instructed, I walked into the living room and wandered over to a bank of windows that overlooked the Puget Sound shipping lanes. The fog had lifted just enough to reveal a huge grain ship moving sedately toward the grain terminal.
    "Great view," I said, in a lighthearted but vain attempt to change the subject. Sue Danielson wasn't about to be thrown off-track.
    "What's this about donating a Bentley?" she demanded.
    "It's nothing," I told her. "Nothing at all."
    I would have been fine if Bonnie Elgin could have had the common grace and decency to back me up on that story. But she didn't. In her role as a member of the board of directors of the Seattle Repertory Theater Company, she had to come smiling into the living room, give me a big hug--as though we'd known one another forever--and thank me personally for my generous donation.
    In terms of my ability to get along with Sue Danielson, my new partner, that was the worst possible thing Bonnie Elgin could have done.

4
    As anunwed mother with little education living in the post-World War II era, my mother supported us with her hands. We lived in a tiny two-bedroom apartment over a bakery in Ballard. Mother took in sewing. The whole time I was growing up, she slept on the living-room couch. One bedroom was mine. In the other, Mom's treadle Singer sewing machine reigned supreme.
    Over the years, she became an accomplished seamstress. The word seamstress sounds almost quaint now, like something out of another century, but that's what she was. She numbered some of Seattle's best-known names among her clientele, and not a few of them found their way to our door, climbing up the rickety stairs for fitting sessions.
    I remember her telling me once that some of the society matron BB's--Bottle Blondes--Mother worked for didn't seem all that thrilled with their lives. "They may have all the money in the world, Jonas," she counseled, "but they're not happy. They don't appreciate the good things they have."
    Bonnie Elgin was most definitely a society matron, but she was neither a bottle blonde nor was she unhappy. Her naturally graying, shoulder-length hair was pulled away from her face and secured by a big barrette. She came bounding down the circular stairway and into the spacious living room wearing a white tennis warm-up and an expansive smile.
    Bonnie's doorknob-sized diamond twinkled as she held out her hand to Sue, then she hugged me as if we